MILLIE

"What happened to the rogue?" I ask and lick my suddenly dry lips.

I straighten my clothes and adjust my gaze, searching for strength in the grass. It's hard, given the man who stands before me. So scarred, fucked up. And as I'm beginning to realize...misunderstood.

"I killed him," Leander replies, wiping his cheek and streaking the blood across his face. "I suspected this would happen eventually. We're deep in rogue territory."

"You don't look too worried."

"We're close to our destination."

I shake my head. "You have told me plenty, and I appreciate it, but I still don't know your plan."

"We will rest for two weeks in the cabins that I prepared for this day. Then we'll pay a visit to the Emberwolf pack."

Leander told me that an Alpha owed him a favor, but I never imagined it would be the Alpha of the Emberwolf pack. I still remember his chuckle when he warned Leander that the stone's cracking might sever our link. His laugh was mocking, as if he knew something we didn't. But then the stone cracked, and nothing happened.

I have a nagging feeling that he played Leander. Having the two men in a room will be interesting because Leander has technically lost his Alpha status.

We are as rogue as the lone wolves roaming these lands. We haven't lost our minds like the other rogues, but I suspect that I'm on my way there. One more glance at Leander's chiseled abdomen, and I'll have to be tied to a goddamn tree.

"Okay," I reply. I don't have much of a choice in his plans. I decided to follow him, and now I must patiently wait as this mess untangles.

"You should eat as well," I tell him.

"After you. Sadly, I can't cook a meal like the ones at home."

"What?"

He shakes his head and sets his hands on his hips as he looks around the camp for something to do. "Never mind."

"Were you cooking for me while I lived in your house?"

He sighs. "I lost five years, Millie. Lost hundreds of opportunities to treat you and take care of you. I had to start somewhere, even if it happened in the dark."

His mystical grey eyes narrow on me. They're so potent and dense that they make my wolf bristle.

"I—" I have no words. Only a blush. This has become typical of me. I've never blushed until I met this man.

I feel a bit ashamed of being so hard on him when I knew no better. But I also feel touched that cared about me when I was trying so hard to drive him away.

I had been tearing up my meals, convinced that a renowned chef was sneaking around the kitchen. I never imagined Leander could cook. I figured he only gripped knives for torture.

"When did you learn how to cook?"

He scans the distance, searching for danger.

My heart has long identified him as the source of danger because he's often making it race.

"When you left. I needed a dozen hobbies to distract myself from my loss. It was hell. A lost limb I couldn't forget because the bleeding and pain never stopped."

"Oh."

"Eat," he says before calling over one of his men to discuss a grave for the dead rogue.

As he turns around, he finally reveals a long, bleeding gash running down his back. It's an inch thick and embedded deep into his flesh. He walks away casually, making me wonder when he became so good at masking his pain.

***

We ride at dawn, traveling for hours and approaching three cabins right as we run out of gas. It's as if everything was planned to the dot. Every mile, every turn was calculated to the second by Leander long ago.

We settle into one of three cabins. There's basic furniture like beds, tables, and a stove. There are no frills. No curtains, rugs, or couches. It's a far cry from the mansion Leander used to call home. Two of the cabins have been broken into, but nothing was taken. Rogues must have been sniffing around.

I settle in the one with a bunk bed, settling on the top bunk.

That night, as I lay in bed, I feel a warmth on my back. It's like Leander has X-ray vision and is staring at me through the mattress and clothes. It's oddly intimate knowing that I'm lying on top of him. His body is lying flat a few feet below mine. Sometimes, I lie on my belly, allowing my wolf the fleeting fantasy that I'm lying on his chest.

She dares to wonder if Leander is having the same daydreams.

Every night over the next week, the men sit around a fire and chuckle to themselves as their Alpha leers from a distance, relentlessly patrolling. Leander is always on high alert. He is especially tense one night when a storm rocks the cabins. I watch him pace through a window. He is drenched in water, dutifully holding onto a lantern.

It is still thundering hours later when he enters the cabin. He climbs the ladder on the bunk bed—something he has never done before, at least not while I was conscious.

Sensing his stare, I close my eyes and pretend to be asleep. The thunder and heavy winds outside make it impossible for him to hear my breathing or heart rate.

Then he retreats silently, leaving me to wonder how often he climbs that ladder and blankets me with his shadow.

He's gone by morning, as usual. We silently respect this cycle because we know that once I awake, my hormones will rage until I take care of my frustration. We can't afford another instance of him hearing me grind cloth to relieve my tension.

I'm sure he's beating the demons out of his cock whenever he goes out to patrol. We're like functioning alcoholics. Addicted to the momentary peace we find within an orgasm before falling off the high and returning to the clutches of sexual frustration.

I could easily give in to the desire, but the time doesn't feel right. We are fugitives. I feel confused and insecure. Furthermore, I'm afraid that embracing Leander will mean embracing the bloody war that he seems so thirsty for. If he marks me, I would forever be surrendering my ability to run from him. And I've been running for so long that it feels like a part of my nature.

I wish I had more distractions, but this camp has only one book. I'm quickly devouring the pages and fear what will happen when I finish reading it. What will become of me when I have nothing to distract me from Leander?

He undresses me with his eyes whenever our gazes meet, and given our limited wardrobe, he's shirtless all the time, so I'm just as guilty of staring at his shorts. I've memorized every seam, wrinkle, and loose thread. I could draw every detail and his bulge on paper.

I flip another page of my book. My index and thumb carefully cradle the cream page. The book isn't something I would typically read. I was initially reluctant, but I gave it a chance and quickly became enthralled by the fairytale.

"Alpha!" comes a frightened male voice.

I shut the book and leave the cabin in search of the commotion. The men surround the area where they chop wood, blocking my view.

My heart is at my throat because I can smell Leander, but I can't see him.

I push past their bodies until I find Leander sprawled on the floor, groaning with a bleeding temple. A massive ax lies beside him, the head dislodged from the handle.

I kneel beside him. "Leander?" I whisper, touching his stubbled cheek. I quickly remove it when I notice that my fingers are trembling.

He groans, unable to open his eyes.

"The ax dislodged and struck him. Don't worry, Luna, he will heal." Someone kneels on the other side of Leander and moves to lift him.

It takes four men to carry the enormous Alpha into the cabin. I chase them with my heart in my throat, feeling a sickening fear. I don't remember ever being so afraid, even when Leander appeared like a horseman of the apocalypse and captured me.

In the cabin, I quickly warm water and dab his forehead bump and a nasty gash, but nothing life threatening.

Logically, I know that with his advanced healing, he should regain consciousness in an hour or less. But my wolf doesn't understand science now, only emotions, and the link to Leander is horrifyingly weak.

"Millie," he moans.

"I'm here," I say softly, wiping the blood from his hair.

"Millie? Millie..." he groans my name like he didn't hear me. Then he opens his eyes. They're glazed over like he's worlds away. "Why are you silent?"

I'm not sure what to reply.

"My Luna always has something to say." He smiles, scanning my face with his hazy eyes.

"Always driving me crazy with your words. Always running that mouth." His eyes drop to my lips. He licks his own lips, and my body stiffens because I know something is coming. He is about to rock me like a tidal wave.

"You know..." he begins.

I hold my breath as I listen. It's immoral, but I'm curious about his deepest thoughts now that he's in such a vulnerable state. He doesn't have the brain function to lie right now. The great Alpha has fallen and is keen on sharing his deepest secrets.

I should turn away. I should give him privacy in this moment of weakness. But damn it, after being entangled in secrets for so long, I hunger for what's in his mind.

I listen to him closely, enthralled by every word.

And then comes the tidal wave.

"I daydreamt of filling your mouth with cum and fucking you so it sloshed around in your insolent cheeks."

His words come slow and slurred, but I understand everything. My eyes widen and I take in a shaky breath, my lungs burning from lack of oxygen.

Oh, sweet Goddess. This is what he was thinking as I cursed him?

"Uh, I—" I become dizzy as if I'm the one that just took an ax to the damn head.

"I... I will get a tattoo of you," he continues his mindless rant.

I'm struck by the direction of his words. Promising a tattoo is actually... romantic of him.

"I'll record you orgasming and tattoo the sound waves on my dick. You like that?"

Never mind.

"Enough," I rasp. "Rest. Please."

I beg him to silence. I should have let him keep these dirty thoughts because they have done nothing but burn a hole into my brain. His words are awakening my arousal. It feels wrong because he's clearly concussed and has no filter. His deep, dark secrets are pouring out. I have no right to pry.

I stroke his hand with my thumb, hoping the electricity in our skin will soothe him to sleep. Based on the erection in his pants, he's not sleeping any time soon.