Bound by Fate (Moon Bound Series Book 1) Page 14

  “What have you done to me?”

  “It means a great deal,” Bradley told her now. “If you can’t form the same attachment with my son.”

  “I have,” she insisted. “I love Donovan.”

  “But you are Bound to another.”

  “I don’t know what that means,” she protested, voice barely above a whisper, eyebrows pulled together in a frown.

  “You really don’t know how a Bond works, do you?” he questioned on a low growl.

  Shaking her head, she started to say it didn’t matter, but the look in his eyes, so fierce, so serious, froze the words in her throat.

  “Did they teach you nothing in Loam Floor?” he demanded angrily.

  “I was un-mated,” she shrugged.

  “No excuse!” He rose and began to pace, his giant strides eating the ground between steps. His powerful arms shook with anger as he growled low in his throat. “You were intimate with this male?”

  “Yes,” she admitted, slack-jawed. “How did you–”

  A wave of his hand cut her off. “When two wolves share intimate experiences of a sexual nature, it can form a Bond between them. One that distance and time may or may not sever. It can make it stronger in some extreme cases. You begin to take on characteristics of his scent, and vice versa.” He glanced at her for confirmation and she nodded numbly.

  “Separation can be…difficult to deal with,” he went on in a lecturing tone, still pacing. Beth watched him avidly. Finally someone was explaining the intricacies of pack life to her. Albeit a little late, it seemed. “First comes sadness, then anger, and jealousy, frenzied emotions all roiling and boiling inside, just waiting for a chance to let loose.”

  He seemed to know exactly what he was speaking of, and Beth had to wonder who it was that hurt this hulk of a man so soul-deep. “Left alone, the beginnings of a Bond will most times unravel and fade, unless both parties are happy to complete it. When you are finally Bound, you will both wear a scent marker. Proof, if you like, of whom you belong to.”

  “Scent marker?” Beth questioned, her face draining of color. “But what does it all mean?”

  “What does it mean?” he rounded on her, anger in his tone now directed at her. “It means that you had better form the same Bond with Donovan.”

  “I will…I had planned–”

  “To the Devil with what you had planned, Elisabeth Tall Grass,” he hissed, halting his steps to tower over her. “I am a reasonable man,” he went on quietly. “But you cannot walk around my pack wearing the scent marker of a foreign wolf!”

  “I understand.” He stood there quietly, watching her face pale with dark eyes which never left her face.

  “Do you?” he asked her with quiet intensity. “I doubt it, Elisabeth, I doubt it very much. But let me make this clear to you.”

  She forced herself to meet his eyes as his body language was demanding.

  “This cannot be tolerated. You must break this Bond. When you carry a scent marker from another, you will no longer be Bound to this Gareth,” he explained slowly. “And as your Alpha, I demand it be sooner, rather than later.”

  She swallowed thickly, trying to deny the fierce need to ask her next question. “What will happen to him?” She cleared her throat. “Gareth, I mean.”

  Shrugging his colossal shoulders, he affected an uninterested air. “He might Bond again some day.”

  “He won’t be hurt?”

  “That’s beside the point. This Bond has to be broken. It is unspeakable that you should flaunt being under the ownership of another male. Think of my son, if no one else.” His intense glare seemed to pin her to the spot.

  Of course she knew it was devastating for Donovan. She wasn’t stupid. She knew that it was a trial for him to even be close to her when all he could smell was his rival and what they shared. “I think it’s time we were on the road, Beth. You and Donovan need to spend some time together if you are to Bond him.” Bradley held out a beefy arm and offered her a strained smile. She told herself she was imagining the nasty glint in his eye.

  She took his arm and let him lead her back toward the car while her mind wandered. Time and again it came back to the way Bradley wouldn’t answer her when she asked if Gareth would be hurt. She had to find out more.

  The two and half hours spent driving back to Tall Grass pack land were spent in stifled silence. Both wolves considering their own thoughts quietly while the scenery passed in a blur of greenery and wild flowers.

  When at last the car pulled up to the vast Den House that belonged to the Alpha, Beth put her hand on the door to step out. Swift as a snake, Bradley clamped a hand on her forearm, bringing to mind the hand of some muscular god.

  “Beth,” he whispered conversationally. “I will be spending the night on the hunt. I won’t be home until dawn. If I were you, I’d spend time together with my son. Bonding.”

  It was said pleasantly enough, but Beth could read the threat between those lines. It said if she dared make a fool of his son there’d be trouble to spare, and hell to catch.

  “Yes, Alpha.”

  He smiled and released her arm. Beth fought the impulse to rub the feel of him from her skin. Every time she revised her opinion of the Alpha of the Tall Grass pack, he reminded her that he was the ultimate authority here. And that he wasn’t above his darker nature.

  “Beth!” Donovan called from the doorway. “Wait until you see,” he bellowed his face the very picture of an over-excited child. “We’ve picked the perfect spot for our Den House. You’re going to love it. Work begins first thing!”

  “Wonderful,” she replied in her best, I’m-thrilled voice. Her own Den House couldn’t be further from her mind. She was expected – no, ordered – to Bond with Donovan this very night, and she couldn’t go through with it without first finding out what consequences it would have for Gareth.

  “Donovan,” the Alpha roared. “Stop your hollering and come collect Beth’s purchases from the car. I’m going to attend to some duties in my office before tonight’s hunt.” He glared at Beth in passing. “I’ll be leaving just after sun-down. Don’t disturb me.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  Bradley had just locked himself away in his office, and Donovan begged her to take a look at the site of their new home. “Don’t you think it would be more romantic to take me to see the finished product, rather than a patch of dirt?”

  She knew she was being deliberately standoffish, but she simply had to speak to someone who might know enough to help her understand. The ladies were probably still in the weaving house at this hour, although she couldn’t say they’d be there much longer, with the sun sitting so low in the sky.

  “I suppose you’re right, my mate,” Donovan replied, kissing her hand. God, but she didn’t deserve him. Here she was, raining all over his parade, and he was still gracious and forgiving. Even agreeing with her. She wanted nothing more than to stare at that patch of dirt and imagine her own home standing there in the days to come, but she had to speak to Margo and Marybell as soon as possible. If she was to mate with Donovan tonight, she needed to be sure.

  “You’re home earlier than I had planned for,” he told her regretfully. He wrapped her in his strong arms and kissed her temple. “I still have things to hash out with Hale, but I’ll be back before you know it,” he promised.

  “Alright,” Beth forced herself to inject some regret into her own voice. “I suppose I can pass the time with the ladies in the weaving house.”

  “You do that, my mate, and I’ll count the seconds until we meet again.”

  She smiled, sick to her stomach already with the deception. “I’ll bring a stool with me this time, my butt still hasn’t recovered.”

  Laughing, Donovan strode away with her bags containing table cloths and other dressings. “I’ll grab one for you from our room.”

  “What would I do without you, Donovan Tall Grass?” she asked his retreating form.

  “Fetch your own stool,” he replied with a wink
.

  “Ah, so you’ve returned, have you?” asked Margo, her rheumy eyes taking in the stool in hand. “Planning a long visit, I see.”

  “I have,” she answered glibly. “And I am.” Giving Marybell a wide smile, she settled in beside the fire and poured tea for herself. It was a smooth blend, different to the last and was going down easy. She drained the whole cup before Margo once again spoke in her direct way.

  “Spit it out, child, or choke on it. What’s brought you here?”

  “You see right through me,” she admitted with a slight grimace.

  “It’s not hard when you reach my age, child. I’ve seen it all and am rarely impressed.” She continued her hemming of a pair of ladies pants, her deft fingers moving swiftly, belying her age.

  Marybell listened to the conversation with a dispassionate ear, sipping occasionally from her tea cup.

  “I need to know everything you know about being Bound.”

  “We wondered when you’d get around to that,” Marybell spoke for the first time. “What do you want to know, Beth?”

  “Everything.”

  “Everything is a lot, child,” Margo quipped. “Be specific, unless you want to be still sitting here at supper time tomorrow.”

  The heat in the little house worked its fiery fingers into the chill along her spine, and eased her concerns from her dry mouth. She poured herself another cup of tea and settled in to tell the story for the second time today. Both women listened, interrupting occasionally to clarify a point or ask a question. Neither one judged prematurely nor told her how stupid they no doubt thought she was.

  “It’s no wonder you’re in a muddle,” Marybell announced with an air of sympathetic grace that Bradley had severely lacked. “Here you are, little more than a child, knowing less than most children of this pack, dealing with issues best left to the adults.”

  “Hush, Marybell,” Margo admonished. “She doesn’t need to hear all that right now. What she needs is confirmation that her present Bonded will not be harmed when the Bond is broken.”

  Beth nodded eagerly. “That,” announced Marybell. “Unfortunately, we cannot give you.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “When one is Bound,” explained Margo, her face wrinkling in distaste. “It rarely unwinds by itself, as our Alpha would have you believe.”

  “Rather,” continued Marybell. “It fades, turns sour and recedes to the most inner-recesses of the heart. But,” she frowned in sympathy. “It doesn’t just go away. Ever.”

  “So the Bond can’t be broken.” Her heart hurt. She was forever chained to Gareth. Oh what a tangled web she’d weaved that night on the banks of her creek.

  “Now we didn’t say that,” Margo rushed to correct Beth, white head shaking from side to side. “It can be broken. But, like anything else that’s broken by sheer force of will, it will not be pleasant.”

  “It could be downright dangerous!” Marybell added, her eyes following her stitches in deep concentration.

  “Marybell has the right of it, child.” Margo sighed. Laying her hemming aside, she folded her arms and gestured for Beth to pour from the pot of tea sitting by the fire.

  Beth filled three cups as Margo spoke, her hushed tones lending gravity to her claims. “When a Bond is forged, it is usually for life. But there are times when for one reason or another, the ties must be severed.”

  Marybell opened her mouth and drew breath. To say what, Beth couldn’t guess; Margo hushed her violently, with censure in her eyes. “When this happens, it is usually a mutual decision. Some matings just aren’t right. And even then, when both parties want out, it can be dangerous. It depends on the strength of feeling to begin with, and strength of will.” The old woman took a slurp of her tea, regarding Beth over the rim of the delicate china cup.

  “Sometimes it works as hoped.” Marybell nodded agreement. “Sometimes it doesn’t work at all. Sometimes, one or both parties get heartsick,” she explained softly. “And they never get heartwell again, understand?”

  “No,” Beth whispered. Heartsick? Her head felt woozy.

  “Sometimes the Bond is simply supposed to be there,” clarified Marybell. “Fate, Divine Intervention – call it what you will. But when you get heartsick, and a bad case of it, you never recover. Wolves with heartsickness retreat into a world of their own. A world full of pain and mistrust. A world where nothing is as they wished it would be. A world they don’t want to be in.”

  “And then,” Margo whispered sadly. “When they can’t stand it anymore, they assume their wolf-form and withdraw from civilization, fading from the world, becoming the wolf forever.”

  “So they turn feral? Never again to assume human-form?”

  “There’s only been one that we ever knew to come back from the brink,” Marybell whispered, eyes flitting to Margo for signs of censure. “And he left his heart there.”

  “So you see, child,” Margo concluded. “It is a wager on a death sentence.”

  Crestfallen, Beth nodded twice slowly, sipping once again from her cup. This tea was wonderful. It made everything seem clear. All she had to do was never mate with another male, suffer in silence and convince Donovan to do the same. And then everyone was, not happy, but alive and healthy.

  “How many teas have you had, dear?” Margo inquired, with concern.

  “A few. Five, perhaps?”

  “Oh dear,” muttered Marybell.

  “You don’t want to be drinking any more of that, dear,” Margo told her, removing the cup from her fingertips. “It’s laced with my own infusion of herbs.”

  “No wonder I feel so calm while my life is falling apart,” Beth laughed uproariously. She had no idea what was so funny, but something sure was.

  “It’s a calming tea, dear. A sedative.” Margo snorted and laughed, finishing off with a good hearty cough. “And will have you asleep in less than ten minutes if you’ve drank that much.”

  “Oh dear,” Beth laughed. “No Bonding for me tonight, then. Just as well, really. I don’t want Gareth to die, even though he’s an ass.”

  Both ladies snorted with laughter this time, and Beth, in good spirits for the first time all day, joined them.

  “Fetch one of the boys,” Margo instructed Marybell. “One of the good ones,” she emphasized. “One who’ll help her home to bed.”

  “Can’t I just hide out in here for a while longer?”

  “No dear,” Marybell’s voice wavered in and out like a dream. “You’ll be missed, and we can’t be accused of drugging you,” she whispered with a wink that seemed to make several eyes sprout on her forehead.

  “Too late, I’m afraid,” Beth chuckled. “Evil old biddies, drugging me. Poor Donovan won’t get his way with me tonight!”

  “Tsk.” That was Margo, she thought. “Impudent child.” She said this good natured. “Time for bed, my dear. Go, Mary.”

  “Hey, who’re you?”

  “I’m Mickey, remember? We met yesterday, although I can’t say we got so close then.” His yellow eyes twinkled in the moon light. How long had she been in the weaving house drinking that concoction for? Long enough to tell her story and get some sort of straight answers, she supposed.

  “Ooooh, I remember you.” She tapped the end of his nose with her index finger. It took three tries; her hands didn’t appear to want to work in her favor right now. “You have owl eyes. Pretty.”

  “Why thank you, ma’am,” he drawled. “Any more of that and you’ll have one more admirer in this pack.”

  They were walking across the clearing toward the Alpha’s house, Mickey supporting Beth like a drunk and half walking, half carrying her toward the door. “One more?”

  “Made quite the impression on some of our males here, you did, Miss. Seems there’s a fan club starting up soon.” He smiled down at her, and it was so kind that she almost start blubbering on his shoulder.

  “You should tell them I’m not half as nice as they think I am. I’m quite devious, actually.”

  “No
w, I don’t believe that for a second,” he told her, hoisting her up the steps. “Butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth,” he surmised, laughing while propping her against the door frame.

  “You’re laughing at me?”

  “Yes, ma’am. A fine sight you are. Legs akimbo, slumped over on your own doorstep.”

  “Oh.” When had she fallen?

  “Give me your hand and I’ll get you inside,” he said, holding out one callused hand. They were rough and scratchy on her palm, and she longed for Gareth’s hand in hers. Afraid she’d start to sniffle again, she allowed him to help her inside and, with some assistance from the balustrade, managed to get her to the foot of her bed, where she curled up in the fetal position and murmured a sleepy thank you before the door clicked and she was at last, alone.

  “Beth?”

  She was floating on a pink corduroy cloud, trying to catch a flake of blue snow on the tip of her tongue. Perfectly at ease, and then the voice interrupted her once again.

  “Beth? Hey, darling one.”

  “Wha…”

  “There you are. I thought you were out for the count,” Gareth told her. Only it wasn’t Gareth’s voice. It was Donovan's voice in Gareth’s mouth. She laughed. Both of her mates rolled into one. “C’mere,” she muttered, trying unsuccessfully to clear away the cobwebs from her brain. “Kiss me.”

  Warm and moist, his lips met hers and she drank from them, greedily pulling at the lapels on his jacket. “Missed you…”

  “Missed you too,” he murmured between kisses. “If I’d known I’d get this sort of reception, I’d spend more time away.”

  “No,” she barked into his mouth. “No away.”

  “No,” he agreed, spreading fire through her body with his lips. They trailed from her lips to her cheek and the lobe of her ear, earning a sharp yip when he bit down. He stretched out on the bed beside her, and she could feel the difference in his body. It wasn’t as lean and chiseled as it was in real life. She didn’t care. She just didn’t want to wake up.