Chapter 13 - Fern
The bastard left me in the woods.
I wake to birdsong and dappled sunlight, and my body aches from sleeping on the forest floor. The white dress is bunched beneath me like a makeshift blanket. Leaves and broken flower petals are tangled through my hair from whatever Luna pinned there last night.
Last night.
Memories flood back in vivid detail. Connor’s mouth on mine. His hands everywhere. The way he made me fall apart against that tree, and then again with him inside me. That strange new connection between us magnified everything until his pleasure fed into mine and mine into his.
And then he just left.
I push myself upright and scan the clearing. No sign of him. No note, no message, and nothing to indicate he was ever here except the soreness between my thighs and the faint marks his fingers left on my hips.
Some protector. Some mate.
I grab my dress and yank it over my head. The zipper catches halfway up my back, and I have to contort my arm at an awkward angle to force it closed. My underwear is somewhere in the underbrush, and I refuse to go hunting for it. Let some woodland creature make a nest out of it for all I care.
The walk back to the cottage takes twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of barefoot trudging through the forest and dodging roots and rocks and replaying every moment of last night. I get angrier with each step. By the time I reach my front door, I’m practically vibrating with rage.
I slam inside, strip off the ruined dress, and head straight for the bathroom.
The shower takes a few seconds to heat up.
I step under the spray and let the water pound against my shoulders.
The heat washes away the dirt and leaves, and evidence of what we did.
My skin still smells like him. That woodsy, masculine scent clung to me all night and made me feel safe even when everything else was spinning out of control.
I hate that I liked it. I hate that even now, furious and abandoned, part of me wants him here.
My hands move on autopilot. I reach for the soap, work it into a lather, and scrub my arms, stomach, and thighs. Everywhere he touched. Everywhere his mouth explored. The memory of his tongue between my legs makes heat pool low in my belly, and I squeeze my eyes shut against the unwanted arousal.
Stop it. He left you. He doesn’t deserve your thoughts.
But my body doesn’t listen to reason. My body remembers how good it felt when he lifted me against that tree. His fingers curled inside me and found that spot that made me see stars. He growled my name when he came, like it was the only word he knew.
My hand drifts lower without conscious decision. I press my palm flat against my stomach and let my fingers trail down through the slick heat between my thighs. The first touch against my still-swollen flesh makes me gasp.
This is wrong. I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be standing in my shower and thinking about the man who dragged me into a forced marriage and then disappeared before dawn.
But I can’t stop.
I brace one hand against the tile wall and let the other work between my legs. My fingers find my clit, and I circle it slowly and imagine Connor’s hands instead of my own. His rough palms. His calloused fingertips. The way he touched me like he was memorizing every inch of my body.
Water streams down my back as I increase the pressure.
In my mind, Connor is here with me. He’s pressed against my back, and his erection is hard against my ass, and his mouth is hot on my neck.
One of his hands cups my breast while the other mirrors what I’m doing now and strokes me toward release with maddening patience.
I slide two fingers inside myself and moan at the fullness.
It doesn’t feel as good as him. Not even close.
But it’s enough to chase the building pleasure coiling in my core.
I pump my fingers in and out and grind my palm against my clit with each thrust. The tile is cool under my supporting hand, and the contrast to the heat flooding through the rest of me makes me shiver.
My mind conjures the image of Connor on his knees in front of me. Those blue eyes looked up as his tongue worked magic between my thighs. He gripped my hips to keep me from bucking against his mouth. He made obscene sounds while he devoured me, like I was the best thing he’d ever tasted.
I add a third finger and curl them the way he did. The stretch burns, but the pleasure far outweighs the discomfort. My legs start to tremble. I’m close now. So close. I chase the peak with desperate strokes.
I think about how he lifted me against that tree and drove into me with one smooth thrust. He filled me so completely I couldn’t breathe. He whispered filthy things against my neck while he fucked me and told me I was beautiful and tight and perfect.
My thumb presses harder against my clit as my fingers pump faster. The pleasure builds and builds and coils tighter with every stroke. I’m panting now. My breath fogs against the shower tile, and my whole body trembles on the edge of release.
I remember the weight of him on top of me.
The way he pinned my wrists above my head and thrust into me so deep I felt him everywhere.
The growl that rumbled through his chest when I clenched around him.
He told me to come for him, and I did. I shattered into a million pieces while he watched with those burning blue eyes.
“Connor,” I breathe, and the sound of his name on my lips tips me over.
The orgasm crashes through me in waves. I cry out, and my voice echoes off the bathroom tiles. My inner walls clench around my fingers as release pulses through my body. I ride it out and work myself through every last tremor until I’m left gasping and weak-kneed under the cooling spray.
Then reality crashes back.
I just touched myself to thoughts of the man who took my body last night and then abandoned me in the forest like I was nothing.
“Damn it.” I yank my hand away, shove it under the water, and scrub like I can wash away the shame along with the evidence. “Damn it, damn it, damn it.”
What the hell is wrong with me? How can I still want him after everything he’s done?
The bond. It must be the bond messing with my head and making me feel things I wouldn’t normally feel. That’s the only explanation that makes sense.
I shut off the water, grab a towel, and dry myself with more force than necessary.
My reflection in the foggy mirror looks pale and drawn.
Dark circles sit under my eyes, and a bruise is forming on my hip where Connor held on too tight.
Evidence of passion that felt earth-shattering in the moment, but now just feels like another way he claimed me without permission.
I get dressed for work on autopilot. Professional slacks. A soft sweater. Sensible shoes. I pin my hair up and apply minimal makeup to cover the evidence of my night. By the time I’m finished, I almost look like a functioning human being.
Almost.
***
Two days pass without any sign of Connor.
Part of me is relieved. Part of me is furious. A small, traitorous part of me misses him with an ache I refuse to examine too closely.
I throw myself into work, seeing patients back-to-back and filling every spare moment with case notes and treatment plans. Skylar keeps shooting me concerned looks across the break room, but she doesn’t ask questions, and I don’t volunteer answers.
But I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
It started yesterday. A prickling sensation at the back of my neck whenever I walk through town. I turn around, expecting to find someone there, but the street is always just full of people going about their business. None of them pays any particular attention to me.
Maybe I’m being paranoid. God knows I have reason to be. Robbie’s threats are still lurking in my phone, and he tracked me across three states. But this feeling is different. Less threatening. More protective.
I shake off the thought and settle into my consultation room for my next appointment. The file on my desk belongs to a young woman named Ivy. She’s eighteen years old and was referred by the medical center for “adjustment issues.”
She arrives exactly on time, but the girl who walks through my door looks nothing like I expected. She’s rail-thin with lank brown hair, and her eyes dart around the room like she’s checking every possible exit. She lowers herself into the patient chair, and her knee begins bouncing immediately.
“Ivy?” I ask. “I’m Dr. Ramos. How are you feeling today?”
“Fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”
“You seem a little on edge.”
“Wouldn’t you be?” she asks with a chuckle. “Living in a town full of people who murdered your family?”
I set down my pen. “Tell me more about that.”
The story pours out of her. Her parents were Cheslem wolves who were part of the pack that attacked Silvercreek a few years back. They died in the conflict, and Silvercreek took Ivy in out of some misguided sense of obligation. She’s been an outcast ever since.
“They gave me a roof,” she admits. “Food and clothes and all the basics. But they look at me like I’m going to snap one day and finish what my parents started.”
“That must be incredibly isolating.”
Her knee bounces faster. “You have no idea. I can’t take it anymore. The whispers and the looks and the way everyone goes quiet when I walk into a room. I’m not my parents. I didn’t choose to be born into that pack.”
I listen and ask questions, and make notes. By the end of the session, I’m convinced Ivy needs more support than weekly therapy can provide. She needs someone in a position of authority to advocate for her.
Someone like the Alpha.
After Ivy leaves, I grab my jacket and head for pack headquarters. I don’t make it halfway across the square before a familiar figure steps into my path.
Connor looks like hell. Dark circles shadow his eyes, and stubble covers his jaw. His clothes are rumpled and smell faintly of pine needles and earth.
“We need to talk,” he prompts.
“Like hell we do.” I try to step around him, but he mirrors my movement. “Move.”
“Not until you hear me out.”
“There’s nothing between us.” I glare at him. “You got what you wanted, and now we’re done. Leave.”
He stands his ground. His scent fills my lungs, and my body responds immediately despite my fury. The bond pulses between us and urges me toward him, and I hate how much I want to give in. His closeness makes me insane.
I turn to leave, but he grabs my arm, spins me around, and kisses me before I can react.
It’s desperate and demanding, and God help me, I kiss him back with equal ferocity. My hands fist in his shirt, and I pull him closer, even while my brain screams at me to push him away. The bond sings with approval, and for one perfect moment, nothing else matters but the taste of him.
Then sanity returns.
I shove him back and break the kiss. “You absolute prick. You can’t just kiss me whenever you want to win an argument.”
“Seemed like you enjoyed it.”
“You’re unbelievable.” I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “Leave. Now.”
“I’m not going anywhere until we talk.”
I want to scream. I want to hit him. I want to drag him back to my cottage and finish what that kiss started.
I turn on my heel and stalk toward home. “You want to talk? Follow me.”
Ten minutes later, we’re sitting in my living room with matching cups of coffee. I sit in the armchair while he sits on the couch, and I make sure there’s plenty of space between us.
“You came to talk, so talk.”
Connor stares into his mug. “I know you’re angry. You have every right to be. But the mating bond was the fastest way to bring you under pack protection. Your ex has resources and tracked you across three states. Without the bond, you’re vulnerable.”
“That doesn’t excuse what you did.” I set my coffee down harder than necessary. “Dragging me through town. Forcing me into a ceremony. You’re no better than an animal.”
“What happened in the woods wasn’t force. I gave you every chance to walk away. If you had turned around and left, I would have let you go.”
“Like hell you would.”
“I would have.” His eyes meet mine. “You kissed me back, Fern. You wrapped yourself around me and begged me not to stop. That was your choice.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “You were determined for us to consummate this stupid mating bond.”
Something flashes across his face. “There’s nothing stupid about being connected to your fated mate. Your one true love. The soul you’ve been tied to since the beginning of time. Wolves spend their whole lives hoping the bond will find them.”
His words crack something in my chest. He truly believes this. He sees our forced union as something beautiful and destined.
But I’m not from his world.
“None of that makes up for treating me like a medieval bride and then disappearing.” I force the words out past the tightness in my throat.
Connor stands and crosses the space between us. He crouches in front of my chair and brings us to eye level. His scent surrounds me, and my heart pounds.
“I would never willingly hurt you,” he insists. “Everything I’ve done has been to keep you safe.”
My heart skips. Part of me wants to reach out and touch him. Part of me wants to kiss him again and lose myself in the heat of his body.
I close my eyes instead.
“It’s too late, Connor. You already have.”
Silence.
When I open my eyes, he’s gone. The front door stands open and lets in the cool evening breeze. The space where he crouched is empty.
He left without a word.
Again.