CHAPTER FIVE

Standing in the middle of destruction, his chest rising and falling, Clyde slowly raised his black vacant eyes to meet his mate who had watched him tear apart limbs and heads. She was coiled in a corner, her eyes screaming fear. 

He took a step closer, disappearing into the darkness for only a brief moment before reappearing only inches away from her. He was standing before her, his soulless black eyes staring into hers. She was unable to suppress her fear and trembled beneath him. 

He couldn't discern if she was terrified of the massive head he held like a trophy or his demeanor. He didn't have to know that. All he knew was that she was terrified of him. He didn't blame her. He killed eleven men, who she watched transform into unknown creatures far from humans.

He didn't kill them with a gun or knife like she intended. No. He had ripped off their heads with his hands, bathing himself with the blood of her enemies. She should, of course, be terrified of him. 

Power flushed through him, in an attempt to wrap her with comfort. He didn't intend to terrify her. He feared she was too shaken to understand anything if he spoke. Or that she was planning how to launch an attack on him to defend herself.

His wolf needed to calm her. He watched as her body relaxed, and his power coaxed through her. That was the upside. The downside was that her body was too weak to absorb the power completely. 

He pulled back, but it was too late. He stared as her eyes struggled to remain open. Slowly, her hands fell limply beside her as her muscles rested, and she fell silently to the ground. 

But she wasn't dead, as her heartbeat continued to pierce the silence of the night. 

With a deep breath, Clyde threw his trophy to the ground before stooping low to gather a motionless Emma into his arms. His heart flipped in his chest, and a strange sensation trickled through him as he stared at her.

Since the six years he had discovered she was his mate, he had never had any physical contact with her. 

She didn't fit into his idea of a perfect mate, but she was beautiful and fierce. She had managed to remain alive longer than any human who encountered eleven werewolves at a time. But she was still human, weak, and too feeble to defend herself or lead a pack. 

Clyde carried her in his arms while he made his way out of the warehouse. Before midnight, Carrington would be aware that some of his pack members were slaughtered gruesomely. A cold smile appeared on his face. 

With calculated agility and swift movement, Clyde reached Emma's apartment in a few minutes. Of course, he knew where his human mate lived.  There was rarely any night he didn't visit her.

He had developed a habit of watching her sleep, listening to the sound of her unladylike snores and the gentle rhythm of her beating heart. She lived alone and had no desire for a relationship, which to his surprise, pleased him. 

Clyde went into one of the bedrooms as if he were very familiar with it. He probably was. He placed her on the bed as soon as he walked in, and hurried to find materials to clean her up. There were plenty of things in the room that an inexperienced werewolf could use. 

He usually spent time in the company of humans, but it posited that he had done so only when he was watching over his mate. He knew nothing about dressing injuries or the sort of plants humans used to heal themselves.

Werewolves could heal at a very fast rate and if that wasn't impressive enough, he was an Alpha, so he healed faster and rarely ever needed any treatment. 

That's why he couldn't think of anything to use on her. He needed to at least stop the bleeding. He picked her up again, carrying her to the bathroom and placing her in the tub.

He hissed as the first blast of water hit him too. He washed her hair, which was tangled and drenched with her blood, then proceeded to her neck, his movement brisk and efficient. 

He tore her overalls off and gently maneuvered her arms and legs out of the holes. He stopped and studied every inch of her nakedness, a jolt of heat rushing through him. He was distracted for a second. 

Concentrating again on cleaning her up, his hands settled on her thighs as he washed the dried blood off her skin. Did he think he was doing a good job? Yes, he did. 

After a few minutes, he managed to clean her up and stopped the bleeding. He scooped her out of the tub and laid her back on the bed. He gave himself credit for dressing her in one of her comfortable clothing. He gave the same hurried attention to her body as he clothed her, ignoring the ache in his body

Clyde stared at the young girl lying on the bed. His eyes lingered on her legs, dark bruises and cuts appearing all over her creamy skin. He didn't know what had caused her to do such a stupid thing, but he knew she was desperate for something.

So desperate that she could risk her life. He didn't know what it was about, but he wondered if it was worth risking her life. 

She was pretty enough to be wanted by several humans. She smelled like wet morning daisies, but she was not one as fragile as a flower.

He knew that beneath her outward fragile demeanor, there was something far fiercer, more intense and stronger than the way she appeared.

Why else would she risk her life to break into a warehouse? Why would she continuously put herself in danger to seek justice for other people? It was something that they both had in common. He protected his pack and she protected hers. 

Though she was strong in her way, he still did not understand why the moon goddess had matched their souls together. He had seen far more powerful and beautiful women in his lifetime.

He didn't desire a human. Her features were pleasant, attractive even, but not refined. Her brown eyes were full of warmth and passion. Yet, they also appeared cold, curious and dangerous sometimes. Her skin was smooth and creamy, like caramel.

Her lips were pink and lush, but the fight had left them swollen. Her hair, scrubbed free of its blood coating, was now a light-brown color. She was skinny, her collar bones stuck sharply out and her bones were prominent at odd places. She was so unguarded, so innocent and human. 

Clyde set his jaw as he continued to watch her. She wasn't his type. The typical Luna he desired was fierce and powerful. They lavished hours hunting down enemies of the pack and slitting their throats. Emily Hales, his ex-lover. Agnes or Mathilde.

Wolves who knew how to fight and defend their pack, who would bring more honor to his name, who would bring him the head of his enemies at night, and make love to him aggressively. 

And most importantly, they would conceive a strong and future Alpha of the pack. 

His mate, on the other hand, spent hours in the police department, reading through files and hunting petty humans. She could not fight and clearly saw her gun as her survival asset.

She wasn't just a kind human, she was the sort to run two blocks breathlessly after a man's car to return a wallet full of cash. She was the type to raise a rabbit in her apartment and treat the animal like her offspring. She was not fit to be a Luna. 

Now, even though Clyde had long since planned to mark her, his body still felt tight with uncertainty whenever he thought of revealing himself to her. He had tried to convince himself that she would understand.

That she wouldn't, she wouldn't attempt to shoot him in the head. 

His throat closed. How could he explain to her that she couldn't live an ordinary human life? That she would have to quit her job, as a matter of fact, and join him to lead a group of werewolves? How could he explain that even though he looked like he was in his early thirties, he had lived three hundred and four years? How to explain that, even though he seemed like a human, he wasn't? 

He sighed, looking down at her again, his expression unreadable. She looked so young, sleeping. Had he ever been that young? He suddenly felt an unwelcome desire to take care of her.  To love her. 

Strong emotions, he realized in shock. He hadn't felt that in a long time. 

Rising to his feet, he turned away from her sleeping form. He walked towards the window as he intended not to use the door. Once he was far away from her, his calming wolf power would fade out. But she was in her home and protected. 

He put a foot out cautiously while the rest of his body was hanging in her room, holding the window frame. 

With one last look at his mate, he was gone. The whooshing sound of the wind followed his movement. 

But he would return.