Suzette

Dying was a familiar feeling to Suzette. It was empty and cold; it didn't blink, even when the moon was full and the door clicked closed behind him. Dying was pretty and bloodless and made no sound.

But, hell, did living hurt. And damn this wolf for caring. Like frostbite close to the fire, terror masked by outrage that Thomas kept gentle in hands over her back—it hurt. Pulled all the poison of the years to the surface and spilled it down her neck.

"Check her mark, Thomas," said a voice behind him.

Shame made her woozy. He picked her up—massive brawler build bigger than a cathedral around her frame. Her shoulder tucked against his chest, the silk of his waistcoat stuck to her damp cheek.

She maybe passed out, because when she blinked she was sitting on the cot in the corner, those gentle hands pulling at the buttons at her throat with an apology in his eyes. She pitied his panic. She'd panicked, too, the first time.

There was no hiding it, so she bared her throat and let him undo her collar. The third button popped off and rolled to the floor. It was a glossy black.

Hell, that was a lot of blood.

"Easy," Thomas was saying, wiping her brow with his sleeve. His shirt was starched but had no cufflinks. This close, she could smell that aggravating lemon and vanilla on him again–a shadow of his other life. It made her jealous of his freedom, bitter towards the foreign softness in his fingers.

With a sticky sound, the cotton peeled from her throat. Thomas rocked back on his heels.

His reaction made her want to laugh. "Miss the mountains?" she heard herself say, her voice a tetherless and cruel thing.

Besides the luna's, Suzette had seen one mark on a White Pine human. It had been on a breeding officer, and the four puncture scars were either side of her left collarbone. Ridiculous–marking stone with soot when a chisel was needed. In the mountains, they'd maintained the old tradition of marking, with the wolf's bottom canines to the left of the jugular. Hers had been perfect.

Now, they bled. The scars on her throat had been cut out with a messy, imprecise hand. And from the two cuts came blood poisoned black. Even she could smell its reek: sorrow and pain and tears.

"Hell's breath." Though they could all smell it, the breeding medic slipped past the beta to gape. "A rejection. She's survived a rejection."

The word hit her like an ember on ice. She shuddered as the horrible truth of it melted down her spine with fever's spindled nails.

The beta grabbed the medic by her collar and shoved her back with a snap of teeth for disobedience. But the damage was done; the room sealed in the quiet of tombs.

Suzette covered the wound with her collar. The dress was sopping wet; the black like ink down her fingers. It usually didn't bleed this much. Shouldn't bleed this much.

"No one survives a rejection," Thomas said, but he couldn't hold her eye anymore.

"Who rejected whom?" The breeding office head wanted to know.

Thomas snapped his teeth. "Does it matter?" he snarled, the full force of his rank razing the room as he pulled at the stains on his waistcoat.

Ah. Suzette supported herself with her arms on the rim of the cot. The joke had clicked. The exile and the reject, reunited with only their crimes to bind them. And he'd thought he'd escaped to this world of smog and concrete.

Thomas stood and tore off his waistcoat, his buttons scattering alongside hers. Suzette winced at the sound, at the disgust on his face. Hell. With no hair to hide behind, she covered the wetness in her eyes with a hand to her brow and tried to breathe.

His judgement could burn in hell for all it helped her. She had no time to bleed. No time to grieve. She needed a mate. Now, dammit.

A handkerchief swam in her blurred vision. Suzette's eyes followed white cotton to the short nails and long satin sleeve up to the dark eyes of the she-wolf beta. They were wary and calculating, the rest of her face slack to reveal nothing. She shook the handkerchief before Suzette with impatience.

Suzette took it. It had a burgundy ribbon to match the tie around the beta's throat.

"Thank you," Suzette said, though the words were slurred.

Thomas growled at the sound of her voice. In fact, that was a shoulder seam she heard pop. Suzette pressed the kerchief to her throat, but already the mark was closing. His revulsion perhaps was a good thing, cauterising the open wound to keep rejection's blood safe inside.

The beta turned to the breeding office. "Marius, I believe our potential mate wants assurance this will not affect her breeding status."

"What? Of course not! Of course not!" The breeding officer's words tripped over themselves. "In fact, we've been wanting to study the phenomenon–most say it can't be done–and a pup! What breed did you say it was?"

Suzette stiffened, suspicion dovetailing relief. Surely there were more questions than that. Either she'd rejected a wolf or been rejected; rejections killed too many to be taken lightly.

The door to the holding cell creaked open again. Another wolf entered the small space: female like the beta, in a blue cotton dress and with twin braids down her front. She smiled at the breeding office; didn't even look at Suzette.

The beta clasped her hands behind her back. "With that, Marius, consider yourself dismissed. We have enough information to consider her case one of Pack security, which puts her out of your jurisdiction. We will ask you to consult, but her case is now mine. My peg will see you out."

The suspicion resettled into dread at the clinically clipped edges of her tone. Suzette remembered why the breeding office was the safer choice.

Marius and his office blustered, but the new she-wolf ushered them out. In their wake came a fresh team of medics and soldiers, their faces a mask of neutrality.

Thomas paced in front of her, baring his teeth at the newcomers. There was the protective instinct Ridged Fang coveted.

His beta bent to pick up his discarded waistcoat. "Suzette, this is not a promise of White Pine aide. However, as there is a pup and you are in pain, allow us to extend our hospitality on a temporary basis."

Suzette fisted her hand in her skirts. "I need a mate bond. Soon."

"Perhaps." Beta Kate folded the waistcoat and turned to her medics. "She is pregnant and surviving a rejection. See to it she has everything she needs."

Suzette swallowed as pressure built at her mark again–a rejection could not be dismissed so easily. But the image of their luna, baring her beast's mark to a stranger in a holding cell, introduced colours to the palette of White Pine Suzette couldn't name; definitely couldn't trust.

"Beta," Suzette's voice was hoarse. She lifted the kerchief from her throat as if that would help. The bleeding was staunched to a trickle.

The beta waited for her to speak.

"I did not reject him lightly." The words hurt; but with terms like jurisdiction and case between them, pity was her one ally.

"If you had, you'd be dead," the she-wolf answered, and turned to the two soldiers. "These wolves are your guards. Fredrick and Ben."

Both bowed.

Suzette dipped her head, hating that the gore was everywhere, the dress torn and stained and ruined. Some crushed crown gem they were asked to guard.

Thomas' shadow crossed to cover her from their line of sight. "Guards?" he asked.

The soldiers straightened their shoulders at his tone, but didn't flinch.

The beta looked up at the brawler. She had to arch her neck, but that did little to soften her edge. "She rejected a mate in one pack and managed to escape with his child. She arrives here smelling of a second pack with your name on the letter. If she is not the plant, she is the bait. With you most likely as the prize. So, yes. She will be under guard."

Thomas turned to Suzette, like he expected her to deny it.

Fool. Protective, self-righteous fool. Even if the oath allowed her the words, she'd given him warning enough.

Games you cannot play, Thomas. People you should not save.

Thomas swayed on his feet and his eyes scattered across the room, as if the odds of the game were written on the walls.

She waited.

His eyes honed in on hers. While perhaps unwise, pity was a card she refused to play with him. He moved in that brawler blur and crouched before her.

The guards stepped forward–brave souls–but the Beta held up a staying hand.

"What is it you've sworn?" Thomas asked. He didn't touch her, but his dominance fell on her shoulders like two hands.

So he hadn't forgotten how to play after all; find the jugular, take the pulse, don't let them convince you they're dead.

Suzette licked her lips and dropped her gaze like a good little wolf. She folded the kerchief in fourths. "To reveal nothing that jeopardises the standing and well-being of Ridged Fang."

Another seam in Thomas' shoulder ripped; he pushed to his feet. "And you telling me they've turned to blood rites reveals nothing?"

Suzette tossed the kerchief on the cot and tried to stand. The room melted and one of those guards helped her back to her seat.

Hell, but her head hurt. And her mark. And her very soul. She was tired and angry and done. "Think, Thomas," she said, pressing her palms into the canvas over the cot's metal bars. "If I can tell you, whose future does it benefit?"

A thousand other words rushed to her mind, almost a scream. But silence sat on her tongue, thick and heavy like sand. So all she could do was hold his eye and pray, oh God, please, let him see the game.

He was smart. He wanted the mountains as little as she did. Treasure your freedom, fool. Leave her alone.

A chill borne of apprehension trailed her fever slick skin. She ducked before everyone else, and his roar filled the room.

He turned to the concrete table and brought down a fist.

Suzette blinked, startled as the concrete gave away and the metal frame bent. He hit it again, and the metal groaned to the floor. Thomas picked up what was left and threw it across the room.

There was a scramble of activity. "Someone get the wolfsbane," a medic said.

Beta snapped her teeth. "Don't touch him."

He was close to shifting. He was strong enough to bend metal in two hits, so Suzette couldn't imagine how big his wolf was. If he tore into his other form now, they'd be crushed. The wolves might make it, but her thin human bones wouldn't recover. Her pup neither.

Beta advanced a step with the sharp click of her boots. "You are wanted upstairs, Thomas."

Thomas whirled on her.

"Upstairs, soldier!"

There was a reason submission was drilled into habit. So when reality slipped behind a wolf's instincts, the throat still stretched bare for authority's better judgement. Thomas could kill every person in that room in under a minute–Suzette felt the danger in her bones–but he ducked his head to hide the aggression.

With a last snarl, Thomas kicked the remains of the table out of the way and stalked to the door. It slammed behind him and the wall wept more concrete.

Suzette realised she'd not been breathing, her hand fisted in the skirts at her abdomen. As her lungs wheezed for air and her mark pulsed again with black on her throat, the game played out before her eyes anew; this time with different rules, maybe even different outcomes. Hell, but he was strong.

The beta stood before her again and the click of her watch make Suzette blink. "May my medics help you now?" she asked shortly.

Suzette unfisted the hand at her belly, hating that it shook again. "Yes, please," she said, her voice rough.

The medics came with their gauze and syringes; their practised, impassive concern. One leaned close enough to hear the pup's heart. She was relieved when he nodded, and the relief righted the game.

There would be no different outcomes. Her play was still the best.

The babe was too small for her human senses to pick up any movement, any heartbeat, any hope. But she owed the pup her life. No matter how much living this out hurt, she'd return the favour yet.