Chapter 42 Ditch #2
“I can make people furious—that’s my power—and you’ve been soaking it in.
” Words spilled now that she’d finally admitted it.
“You’re so unacquainted with fury, you must love the rush.
The recklessness. It amplifies everything.
Our nights together felt so explosive because magic fueled them.
I see it so clearly. Your pacing, your dilated pupils. You’re here for a fix.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You might be using magic on me, but you’ll never convince me I doona feel more for you.
I godsdamned know my own heart. And this”—he pounded his chest—“is real.” He stepped close enough that she felt his heat.
“I’ve always been different, dreaming of life outside my pack.
My beast has been quiet. My Instinct chimes in only about once a year.
So why would I no’ experience matehood differently too?
I want to choose my female.” His hands settled gently but firmly on her shoulders. “And, Meera, I choose you.”
Her heart stuttered.
Lowell heard, hope lighting his green eyes. “I think you’re falling for me too.”
“We can never be together,” she whispered. “There’s no future for us! The longer we drag this out, the worse it’ll hurt when we end it.”
“Then we doona end.”
“Once Ditch plays her hand, your king will suffer. At best, he won’t let you see me—as I suspect he did this last week—and Ditch will forbid it as well.”
“Then let’s leave. Strike out together. Homestead in Umber.”
“Are you crazy?” Her laugh came out shaken. “Destiny always wins. And you’d hate yourself for abandoning Craigdúr when the kingdom fell apart without you. I can’t be the reason for your self-loathing, or you’ll grow to hate me too.”
“Self-loathing? I finally feel like I understand myself. I am a fate fighter. Always will be. I want you. I choose you. Why won’t you choose me back?”
“Our sacrifices would not be equal.” Her voice thickened.
“Your future mate will comfort you. But I’ll look back at lost years.
I want a family. There’s a cradle in my attic that my foremothers have passed down through generations.
I want to fill it with a cooing baby, one I’ll never have with you. If I stay here, I have options.”
Lowell’s gaze darkened dangerously. “Warlock options?”
His seething jealousy made her toes curl. “A mating season is being planned. It begins the night after the Hunter’s Moon.”
A muscle ticked in his cheek. “Is that what you want?”
“I want to be a mother, yes.” She swallowed. “I can’t give that up for you. For anyone.”
“Then we’ll adopt. We’ll make our own way.” He made it sound so easy.
“How could we turn our backs on our people? If witches cried out, I’d go to them. And you’d return to your pack. When war comes—”
“It will no’. Our leaders are mated.”
She shook her head hard. “Ditch is playing with Thane. My mentor died because of her. A good and decent witch is just gone.” Lazara would be aghast that Meera had let a relationship with a Lykae get to this breaking point.
“And you think Ditch will simply roll over?” Her voice cracked.
“We can never have a real future. You will meet your mate eventually.”
“Maybe no’ for a millennium. We could have a thousand years of happiness. And who knows? We might both die in the next Accession!”
“You were born for someone else. Your family is waiting for you, but it begins with your mate.”
“So you’re fine with never seeing me again?” he rasped. “I thought…gods, I thought your feelings mirrored mine.”
“It doesn’t matter.” She squared her shoulders. “I’m needed here. That’s all that can matter.”
He stared at her, wounded and furious. “No. I refuse this.” His voice dropped. “I think I’m in love with you. And I think you love me too.”
I do! “I don’t.”
“Lies,” he said softly. “They spill from your beautiful lips, but your watchful eyes are begging me to fight for you. To find a way. So I will. You might be ready to give up a future with me, but you’re no’ ready to give up the pleasure on offer right now.”
Hecate help me, he’s right.
“I’ll take advantage of that over and over until you surrender. I can scent your arousal, know you’ve been needing me for all these nights. You want me to tear off your clothes, take you to your bed, and work off this bite of anger. Not sex—I ken your boundaries—but you do love a good come.”
“That’s not what I want.” I want it more than anything! “I never want to see you again.”
“You like my mouth pressed between your thighs.” He undid the top button of his shirt. Then the next. “You tighten so sweetly around my fingers as I tongue you. I’ve a mind to do that while I fit my cock between your lips at the same time.”
Heat punched through her. He was walking temptation—everything she hadn’t known she needed until she’d had him. And he knew it. “Stop. I told you I didn’t want a male fated to another.”
“Then I’ll make it so good you have to give me more.” The sexy wolf dripped lust. He stripped off his shirt, muscles flexing, confidence radiating.
Her magic flared like a torch, arcing between them. She felt weightless; he was the only solid thing in the room. “How good?” she whispered in defeat, already knowing the answer.
His hand cupped her nape, thumb warm at her pulse, a quiet claim that guided her close. His other hand found her breast and kneaded, slow and thorough, as if his palm had been made to grip her. “You’re about to find out.”
And then they were kissing, mouths reckless, teeth grazing, his canines scraping just enough to warn, the sharp scent of him flooding her senses…
And then they were coming with muffled yells, her nails biting into his muscles, his roars breaking against her flesh…
And then they were riding the aftershock. Skin slick, hearts loud, the world narrowed to heat and pulse.
And she realized it was the last time.
The sweetness of him—the connection, the illusion of future—only made the loss sharper. Grief slammed into her like a fist, harder than pleasure. Fate can’t be fought. She tried to blink back tears, but one escaped. Then another. More salt against the delectable taste of him.
“Gods, Meera,” he breathed, voice raw. “Please doona cry, lass.”
She sobbed, “It’s n-no good.” She couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t stand the tenderness in his eyes. “It never will be. We can’t win this fight. We never could.”
“Fuck,” he rasped, shaken for the first time. “Mayhap I am enchanted. But what I feel for you—what we have—’tis pure. Has to be. It canna have been fouled by magic.”
And with those words, she understood: the divide between them was a chasm no amount of pleasure could bridge.
“Goodbye, Lowell.” Heart turned to stone, tears drying, Meera rose and walked away—knowing she would not survive the memory of him intact.