Chapter 6 - Poppy #2
My heart is nowhere near eased when I open my eyes again, and I wonder how I’m supposed to sleep through the night knowing my son is out there, probably wondering where I am. He must have woken up this morning looking for me, and I can only hope that Connor and Ingrid came up with something.
I take a deep breath, trying to close my eyes again, but this time, it’s the faint pulse in my neck that beckons my awareness. Grunting under my breath, I touch the raw mark on my neck, absentmindedly tracing it with my fingertip.
I’m Damian Walker’s mate…
Except, I think I’ve become too numb over the years to feel even a flicker of thrill about it. Lying in the dark, it’s hard to keep the demons of my mind out, and they’re louder than my inner wolf, who scratches at my subconscious.
And they’re replaying all the hardships I’ve faced, like how humiliated I used to be in Valley Walker, berated for being an omega wolf and undeserving of the alpha’s attention.
That’s when it hits me.
What about Roxanne?
Did Damian ever pursue the relationship between them that every other member of the Valley Walker Pack expected?
Did things not work out between them?
Am I just the second choice?
Whatever! Damian is nothing like the man I once thought I loved, and there’s a monster in his place—a monster capable of doing the most demented things, like kidnapping me and forcing me into this mate bond.
A shiver runs through my entire body, and my wolf’s tiny voice tries to reach out to me while the pulsing of the mark continues to grow in intensity.
What the hell is going on with me?
Shaking off this unsettling feeling, I wipe a hand across my face, but it doesn’t help. Everything feels wrong, like I want to climb out of my skin when it feels too uncomfortable.
The next wave of discomfort comes like a hot flush, and I reach out to the nightstand that isn’t there.
Right.
I’m not in my cabin in Fort Smit.
Groaning, I decide to get something to drink from the kitchen downstairs, making a mental note to also grab something to eat when my tummy growls in protest at my hunger strike.
It will do neither Daniel nor me any good if I go hungry, anyway. I need to keep myself healthy, energized, and my mind working optimally so I can figure out how to get my son and myself away from Damian tomorrow. I’m counting on Diane convincing Damian to go to Fort Smit.
If he doesn’t give in, I’ll have to run away from here, use every ounce of my wolf’s strength to get me to Fort Smit before he catches up, take my son, and get the hell out of his clutches.
I throw my legs off the bed, then proceed to the door barefoot, tiptoeing so I don’t alert anyone that I’m still awake. Once I pull the door open carefully, I stick my head out, check that the coast is clear, and then bolt down the hallway.
My soul nearly leaves my body when a pair of strong, large hands grip my upper arms and swiftly pin me against the wall.
“Hey! What—”
The scent of musk and citrus arrests my airways long before I look up to find Damian staring down at me. I immediately shrug myself out of his grip, but he doesn’t move, and that’s when I catch the way his flesh gleams with sweat.
I gulp hard, gaze pausing on his neck, the way his veins stick out prominently, filled with adrenaline after his run. Even the top of his shirt is drenched with sweat, beads of it clinging to the skin visible where the button is undone.
My mind races with the sinful fantasy of reaching out and touching just one bead, then tracing his collarbones and measuring the muscle he’s grown in the last decade.
My body betrays the logical part of my mind that demands I remain angry at him.
How can I hold on to that anger when I have to squeeze my thighs shut in an attempt to hold on to my sanity instead?
“You’re still awake,” he comments, his voice hoarse but alluring to my ears.
“I—I am,” I reply, gathering the last bit of my sanity and straightening up against the wall. It becomes the only thing holding me upright at this point, and I press my palms flat against it on either side of me while pressing my thighs together.
The pool of awareness between them is unwarranted, and I wish to Goddess I didn’t find him out here, like this. Sweaty, muscles throbbing with heat, breath ragged, and natural prowess permeating the air surrounding him.
And when he lifts his arm and braces a palm beside my head, my knees threaten to buckle under my weight.
“Why are you still awake, Poppy…?” he drawls, his voice layered with implication, eyes twinkling with it.
There’s a part of me that wants to fight him, wants to hurt him the way he hurt me in the past, but he’s staring at me with dark, hungry eyes that make it nearly impossible for me to think straight.
“Were you waiting for me to return?” he asks, and a shiver courses down my spine.
“Don’t get any ideas, Damian,” I finally manage to say. “Our mate bond isn’t real, so don’t expect any favors from me.”
“It looks real to me,” he says as he lifts his other hand to my neck, touching the raw mark with a fingertip.
Every cell of logic tells me to pull away from his touch, but I don’t move, as if instinct is calling the shots.
I hate how much I’m enjoying being swaddled in his scent, hate that his touch ignites me in places that have been long forgotten.
All the memories resurface—the romantic moments we shared, the laughter, the joys, and all the highs tangled in sheets.
And even though it was that passion that crashed and burned us in the past, I can’t help but be swept in its heat again.
It’s addictive, and I hate that I’m tempted. Hate that my body can’t adequately respond to the dangers my heart has faced over a decade without him.
I tell myself that it’s only because he’s the only man I’ve ever been with.
But it’s a lie.
I never wanted another man.
It’s always been Damian Walker.
Even now, after everything, Damian Walker is still the only man with enough power to break me.