I Want her Here

Kalen

My eyebrows rise so high I feel them in my hairline. "You were exiled?"

That explains a lot. Why she was distraught. How she got so far from her territory.

But does it explain the attack?

She bites her lip, her expression pained. "Yes. For challenging the authority of my Alpha." She shakes her head, her voice bitter. "His father promised me as his mate, as if I were a prize to be won."

"And you didn't want that?"

She sighs, her shoulders slumping. "I tried. I love Ethan, and I thought maybe I could love him as his mate. But I don't feel the bond with him. And I—I don’t agree with the ways of the pack. They’re archaic, our women are suppressed, and our children are literally sold to the Slavers. I’ve spoken up before, but this time, I did it in front of the elders. Maybe Ethan felt he had no choice . . . But he banished me."

A shudder runs through her, and she lowers her eyes, her fingers coming up to trace the wound on her neck.

There’s something she’s not saying. I follow the movements of her fingers, and my jaw tightens.

“Would he do this to you? Would Ethan attack you for speaking up? To make sure you don’t come back?”

She shakes her head, but there’s a pause first, and too much hesitation, too much pain in her eyes. “No. He would never hurt me.”

She doesn’t believe it. 

And my feud with the Blackwood pack just got personal. 

I take her hand, pulling it away from her neck. A scent wafts off her, and my nostrils flare, my wolf sniffing the air, her tantalizing smell. 

Down, boy, I tell it.

I expect her to pull back, but she doesn’t. She lets me hold her hand.

We sit in silence for a moment, our hands intertwined, the weight of our shared burdens hanging between us. Then she pulls away. "Show me how to make those salves," she says, gesturing to the table.

"Of course.”

We spend the next hour gathering additional herbs and grinding them into a paste, mixing them with beeswax and oil to create a smooth, soothing salve. Lyla is a quick study, her fingers deft and sure as she works.

I find myself watching her, captivated by the way her brow furrows in concentration, the way her lips purse as she tastes the mixture, the way her hair falls in loose waves around her face. 

She's exquisitely beautiful.

And her scent is intoxicating.

I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. This is dangerous. I can't afford to let myself get attached. Not with the curse hanging over my head, not with my pack just outside the cabin, not with her scent lingering in the air.

But it's too late. I'm already falling for her.

"What's this?" she asks, holding up a small vial of liquid.

"Willow bark tincture," I say, taking it from her and uncorking the bottle. "It's good for pain relief. Here, let me show you."

I dip a cloth into the liquid and press it against a particularly nasty gash on her leg. She hisses, her fingers curling around the edge of the table, but she doesn't pull away.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I know it hurts. But it will help with the pain." My eyes dart to the wound on her neck. “You should be dead. These medicines help, but they don’t work miracles. Your wolf is strong, to heal you like it did.”

She doesn’t answer. But I sense there’s more to the story than she lets on.

I finish tending to her leg, then I turn her around and lift her shirt until I find the one on her back. She tenses as I rub the salve across the wound but keeps still. My fingers linger on her skin, tasting the softness of her flesh, my heart racing in my chest. When I finish, I step back, my hands trembling.

"There," I say, and I clear my throat when my voice cracks. "That should help."

She nods and exhales as she pulls her shirt down. “I can do the rest. The sooner I heal, the sooner I can leave.”

I nod, swallowing hard. 

I can’t argue with her. She shouldn’t be here.

But I want her here, and there’s no logical reason for it.