16. The Bond
The Bond
G eralt sat behind his oak wood desk, chest constricting with the distance between him and his mate, only absently listening to his team talk strategy. He wasn’t sure he was exaggerating when he relayed to Gabriel that it nearly killed him by departing from Greta. The bond stretched taut between them. He’d forgotten the strength of the mating bond since the death of Angel. Even unconsummated, the bond with Greta and the desire to mate now that she was safe consumed him. Ryker remained difficult to leash, but Geralt knew rushing things would ruin any chance of Greta choosing them willingly.
“We can always ask Crescent Moon for help,” Sebastian was saying. A snarl twisted Geralt’s lips, a growl barely leashed in his chest. Sometime during Geralt’s absence, Sebastian, Gabriel’s twin, made a surprise visit. The younger Alpha greeted him at the pack borders while he held an unconscious Greta in his arms.
“Rogue—” Rex snapped before Gabriel shifted from his position near the door, ready to defend his twin.
“Enough!” Both of Geralt’s hands rose to rub at his temples. His cock jerked behind his pants. His nostrils flared and tension seeped into his limbs .
“Get out,” he ordered his warriors, ears picking up the soft steps of his mate approaching his office door. A chord tugged in his chest, drawing him to his feet. Within a blink, he’d pulled the door open, eyes seeking the witch out.
Dark circles made her blue eyes appear brighter and her skin paler. His eyes landed on the reminder of her status in the king’s pack, half healed scars circling her slender neck, collar bones jutting out. We need to feed her, Ryker spoke up in his head.
Geralt stepped away from the door. He motioned with his hand for his team to exit his office. For extra measure, he turned his neck, letting his crimson gaze flare briefly, landing on every member present. They tilted their necks, feet leading them out of his office.
Greta stepped back hastily, placing her back against the wall. An oversized white t-shirt hung off her thin frame, barely showing the hem of denim shorts encasing her long legs. She appeared small, watching with wary eyes as his warriors filed out of his office. Each of them tilted their heads at her respectfully, keeping their eyes downcast. She didn’t possess a wolf, but if she chose him, she would become Luna of his pack, a position left unfilled for over 18 years.
Greta watched them, confusion furrowing her brow. Her eyes shifted back to him once the males disappeared out of sight. Hunger gnawed in his belly, the bond demanding he quiet the hum beneath his skin. His bones felt too heavy, stretching his skin.
He cleared his throat, his hand motioning her to come in. Words failed him. If he opened his mouth, he suspected he’d have his tongue down her throat within minutes. Even in her emaciated state, she tempted him. Possessive rage threatened to boil over at the thought of how radiant she’d look once she lost the remnants of the ravages of starvation and enslavement.
He couldn’t entertain the thought of her future beauty or he’d knot her from behind, bent over his desk, letting her moans ring out for the entire packhouse to hear so everyone would know she belonged to him.