Kalen

My eyebrows rise so high I feel them in my hairline. "You were exiled?"

That explains a lot. Why she was distraught. How she got so far from her territory.

But does it explain the attack?

She bites her lip, her expression pained. "Yes. For challenging the authority of my Alpha." She shakes her head, her voice bitter. "His father promised me as his mate, as if I were a prize to be won."

"And you didn't want that?"

She sighs, her shoulders slumping. "I tried. I love Ethan, and I thought maybe I could love him as his mate. But I don't feel the bond with him. And I—I don’t agree with the ways of the pack. They’re archaic, our women are suppressed, and our children are literally sold to the Slavers. I’ve spoken up before, but this time, I did it in front of the elders. Maybe Ethan felt he had no choice . . . But he banished me."

A shudder runs through her, and she lowers her eyes, her fingers coming up to trace the wound on her neck.

There’s something she’s not saying. I follow the movements of her fingers, and my jaw tightens.

“Would he do this to you? Would Ethan attack you for speaking up? To make sure you don’t come back?”

She shakes her head, but there’s a pause first, and too much hesitation, too much pain in her eyes. “No. He would never hurt me.”

She doesn’t believe it. 

And my feud with the Blackwood pack just got personal. 

I take her hand, pulling it away from her neck. A scent wafts off her, and my nostrils flare, my wolf sniffing the air, her tantalizing smell. 

Down, boy, I tell it.

I expect her to pull back, but she doesn’t. She lets me hold her hand.

We sit in silence for a moment, our hands intertwined, the weight of our shared burdens hanging between us. Then she pulls away. "Show me how to make those salves," she says, gesturing to the table.

"Of course.”

We spend the next hour gathering additional herbs and grinding them into a paste, mixing them with beeswax and oil to create a smooth, soothing salve. Lyla is a quick study, her fingers deft and sure as she works.

I find myself watching her, captivated by the way her brow furrows in concentration, the way her lips purse as she tastes the mixture, the way her hair falls in loose waves around her face. 

She's exquisitely beautiful.

And her scent is intoxicating.

I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. This is dangerous. I can't afford to let myself get attached. Not with the curse hanging over my head, not with my pack just outside the cabin, not with her scent lingering in the air.

But it's too late. I'm already falling for her.

"What's this?" she asks, holding up a small vial of liquid.

"Willow bark tincture," I say, taking it from her and uncorking the bottle. "It's good for pain relief. Here, let me show you."

I dip a cloth into the liquid and press it against a particularly nasty gash on her leg. She hisses, her fingers curling around the edge of the table, but she doesn't pull away.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I know it hurts. But it will help with the pain." My eyes dart to the wound on her neck. “You should be dead. These medicines help, but they don’t work miracles. Your wolf is strong, to heal you like it did.”

She doesn’t answer. But I sense there’s more to the story than she lets on.

I finish tending to her leg, then I turn her around and lift her shirt until I find the one on her back. She tenses as I rub the salve across the wound but keeps still. My fingers linger on her skin, tasting the softness of her flesh, my heart racing in my chest. When I finish, I step back, my hands trembling.

"There," I say, and I clear my throat when my voice cracks. "That should help."

She nods and exhales as she pulls her shirt down. “I can do the rest. The sooner I heal, the sooner I can leave.”

I nod, swallowing hard. 

I can’t argue with her. She shouldn’t be here.

But I want her here, and there’s no logical reason for it.

"Let's get you something to eat. You need your strength. I don’t have a kitchen, but this stockpot is pretty multi-purpose." I flash a smile as I lead her back to the hearth, and she rewards me with her own smile.

Even if she’s just humoring me.

I show her how to cook the venison stew I've been preparing. She watches me closely, her eyes following my every move, and a warmth spreads through my chest at her attention.

We work together, chopping vegetables and adding spices to the pot, and I can't help but steal glances at her. Her skin is flushed from the heat of the fire, her hair falling in loose waves around her face, and I have to resist the urge to reach out and touch her. We're so close, our bodies just inches apart, and I can feel the heat radiating off her skin. 

What would it be like to kiss her? To hold her close? She’s a Blackwood. She can’t be my mate. So no harm would come from copulating with her.

Would it? Can I stake her life on that assumption?

I can't. It's too dangerous. For both of us.

So instead, I turn back to the food, my hands trembling, and I focus on the task at hand. We finish the meal in silence, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and the bubbling of the stew.

After we finish, we sit by the fire, the warmth of the flames licking at our skin, and I find myself relaxing for the first time in days. Lyla leans her head against my shoulder, and I wrap my arm around her, pulling her close.

“You care a lot about your pack," she says softly, her breath warm against my neck. 

I nod, swallowing hard. "It's my duty," I say, my voice rough. "To protect my pack. To keep them safe."

“Like you kept me safe?”

I pause, hearing the question she didn’t voice. She’s not my duty, or my responsibility.

I should have killed her when I found her. But I didn’t. And now we’re here. “Yes. You fall under that umbrella. I promise to protect you.”

Her fingers trail down my arm and then close around mine. "And who protects you?"

The question catches me off guard, and I blink, my throat tight. "No one. No one can."

She leans up, her hand tugging on mine as her lips brush my cheek, and I shiver at the contact. "I can," she says, her voice soft. "I want to."

I close my eyes, my heart pounding in my chest. I’m alone with a beautiful woman in my cabin, and my blood is hot with desire, my body stirring.

I can’t let this happen.

But it's too late. I'm already falling for her.

She pushes her nose against my jaw, a low mew in her throat, and I know she feels it too.

That’s all the permission I need.

I turn my head, my lips brushing hers, and a jolt of electricity shoots through my body. She utters a soft gasp against my mouth, her fingers tightening around mine, and I can't help but deepen the kiss, my hands sliding around her waist, pulling her closer, gentle in my touch as I’m mindful of her wounds.

She responds eagerly, her tongue tangling with mine, and I lose myself in her, in the feel of her chest pressed against mine, in the way she tastes, in the way she smells. 

But then she jerks back, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps, and she looks up at me with wide eyes. "Kalen," she says.

It’s the only word she gets out, but I understand.

She just realized she was making out with the enemy.

I shake my head and stand, unthreading my hand from hers. "I’m sorry. I took advantage of you in your vulnerable state.”

She stares up at me, dark eyes unreadable. “No.”

“Then I was about to.” Suddenly angry, I stride for the cabin door, grabbing my jacket before I get there. “That’s what I do.”

I push the door open and leave her there, letting the cool air take the heat out of my blood and my head.

But it doesn’t touch my heart.