“No,” he bit out, the denial emerging like a bitter piece of gravel stuck in his throat as he shook his head. And then again. “No.”
“Finally take what’s yours, or I’m finished,” she warned him, tired of the maddening double standard that existed between them. Of the way he could sleep with endless numbers of women, and yet, she wasn’t allowed to have a simple conversation with another male without him interfering. “I have friends,” she snapped. “Good ones. Male ones. Lycans who won’t reject me. Who won’t be so opposed to the idea of enjoying my body if I offer it to them.”
His head jerked back as if she’d suddenly struck him with her fist. Then his gaze sharpened and a muscle began to pulse rhythmically in the hard line of his jaw, while his breaths became rougher, eerily stark in the heavy stillness of the forest. The woods were unusually quiet, as if every living creature were tuned in to their argument, waiting with bated breath to see how it would end. This was a storm that had been brewing between them for months, its fury finally unleashed in a torrent of anger and hurt and maddening frustration.
“Are you seriously threatening to take a lover, Sayre?” he demanded, his deep voice causing chills to race across the surface of her skin. “To let another man touch you?”
Lifting her chin, she kept her own narrowed gaze locked in tight on his burning one. “I’m not threatening. I’m stating a fact. You either stop this archaic bullshit you’ve been pulling for months now, protecting my virginity like it’s something you expect me to keep for freaking ever, or I’ll end it for you.”
He drew in a deep breath, then slowly exhaled, his shoulders seeming even broader as he came another step closer, his nearness causing her own breath to quicken. “You really think I’ll allow that to happen?” he rasped in a low, almost silent slide of words.
Sadness stabbed her right through the chest as she stared up at him, seeing his resolve in that piercing metallic gray, the phrase He’ll never want you...need you...accept you looping over and over within the darkness of her mind. She had asked him to meet her tonight so that she could make a final bid for her sanity. Had offered him her body, with no strings attached, desperate for a measure of relief from the incessant hunger rushing through her veins, her need for him growing stronger each day, until she was ill with it. But he’d turned her down, refusing to give her what he so casually gave to so many others, and all because fate had decided to screw with them for a laugh. The connection between them was nothing more than a sick, costly joke, and she and the Irishman were the ones who would pay.
But she was the one paying the most. Because while he eased his hunger with countless others, he refused to allow her to do the same. And though she didn’t want another male—how could she when she so desperately wanted him?—she was tired of playing the pathetic pawn in his twisted game. Tired of being alone. Of sleeping in an empty bed when his was always full.
“Just try to stop me,” she finally whispered, unable to shout when everything inside her was aching and raw. Incapable of enduring another moment in his presence, she turned and walked away from him. Though she was dying a little more with each step that she took, she kept her chin high, refusing to look back, even when he growled her name with that rough, delicious accent. She could feel the burning, savage intensity of his stare pressing against her skin until she was finally shielded from his view by the lush flora of the forest, the leaves and branches feeling as if they were reaching out to embrace her. She normally took comfort in the verdant plant life, loving the way its rich scent filled her head and soothed her nerves. But tonight she was too cold. Too shattered.
She would give him the rest of the night to brood and rage...and hopefully think over what she’d said. But that was all.
Pressing a trembling hand to her stomach, her next breath stuttered out on a broken sob, and yet, she refused to give in. She’d already cried enough over the stubborn male. All she could do now was pray that he would make the right choice and alter his path, embracing what they had, even if it were just for one night, instead of doing everything in his power to spurn it. But she was terrified that this was it. That it was over. Whatever it was.
Oh, God. Had she honestly thought that she could hold the tears inside? The hot, salty wetness on her cheeks was proof that she’d been wrong. But as awful, empty and alone as Sayre felt at that moment, it was nothing compared to what was coming. To the pain that waited for her, lurking like a killer in the darkness, ready to cut and rend...and completely destroy her.
Because when the sun rose over Maryland the following morning, the Irishman was already gone.
Five years later
Morning sunlight glinted through the treetops as Cian Hennessey pulled onto the paved mountain road that led into Bloodrunner Alley. He tried to stay focused on what he was about to face, but his last night in the picturesque glade he’d called home for so many years kept playing through his mind. After his disastrous meeting with Sayre in the woods, he’d known he was done there—that he couldn’t stay. He’d waited until everyone had gone to bed, and then he’d packed his Land Rover with as many of his belongings as he could. His plan had been to take off before anyone noticed, but Eli Drake, a badass Lycan mercenary who had recently returned to the Silvercrest werewolf pack after years of banishment, had found him before he could get away.
“You can’t run from fate, man,” Eli had lectured him. “Take that from someone who knows. Even when you try to convince yourself that leaving is the right thing to do, it’s nothing but a goddamn lie. And it all comes back to bite you hard in the ass when it finally catches up to you.”
That had been five years ago. If he’d known just how true Eli’s words would prove to be, he might have paid more attention to them. But he’d been so sure he knew what needed to be done. That the path he’d been set on taking was not only the right choice, but also his only choice.
In the end, Cian had finally realized that he hadn’t known a damn thing. All he’d managed to do was postpone the inevitable. But he’d been around long enough to understand that there wasn’t any point in wishing for a do-over. What was done was done, and nothing he could do would ever change that. He just had to chalk it up as another entry on the long list of regrets that he lived with, and focus on how to make the best of the situation at present.
So here he was, returning to the only place he’d ever truly thought of as home. At least since he’d left his childhood behind. The scenery might not be as dramatic as the craggy seaside cliffs near Killian’s Mount in Ireland, where he’d been raised as a boy, but the mountains held an undeniable beauty. And the half-human/half-Lycan hunters who lived there were not only his friends, but also his family in the truest sense of the word.
Hell, the Runners were more like family to him than anyone who still walked this earth and shared his blood. And yet, he’d turned his back on them because of her. Because of a little slip of a witch named Sayre Murphy. Until today, he hadn’t seen or spoken to them since he’d left that fateful night. Not even an email or a text. So there was no telling what kind of reception he was about to receive from the men and women who protected the Silvercrest pack from its enemies.
He only knew it wasn’t likely to be a warm one.
Parking the black Audi he’d arranged to have waiting for him at Dulles in the grass at the side of the road, he turned off the engine and climbed out, his narrowed eyes taking in his surroundings while he shut the car door