22-BITTER MEMORIES ACT II

Mate.

The word flooded her, warm and certain. She shifted back without thinking, clothes torn, skin prickling.

Xavier caught her in his arms before she could fall.

“It’s you,” he whispered against her hair. “All this time. It’s always been you.”

His hand came up to cup her face, as their lips found each other, hungry and wanting.

She brushed her hands over his chest and felt only hard muscle there.

His eyes shone down on her with pure adoration. He pulled her towards him and nuzzled her neck.

“I want you, Rose, all of you,” he had whispered.

“I have always been yours,” she cried.

Pulled beyond forces that were out of their control, clothing was removed one by one as they explored each other's bodies.

Xavier’s hands moved with reverent hunger, mapping every inch of Rose as though he had waited lifetimes to touch her.

Every corded muscle in his chest and arms spoke of the alpha he had become, powerful, protective, and only hers.

He lifted her without effort, claiming her mouth with his. The scrape of his stubble pulled a sharp breath from her.

He laid her down gently, rose petals softly brushing her bare skin.

“Mine,” he breathed, his voice rough. “I will never let anything hurt you again.”

Their first joining was slow, sacred. He entered her with aching tenderness, eyes locked on hers so she could see every emotion, love, awe.

Rose arched into him, gasping as the wolf bond flared warm and golden, knitting their hearts tighter with every thrust.

Pleasure built in  waves, cresting higher until it shattered them both. She cried out his name, trembling; he buried his face in her neck, body shuddering as ecstasy tore through them.

In that perfect, soul-shattering moment, they felt the mate bond sing, eternal, unbreakable, yet they held back the primal urge to mark.

His teeth grazed her skin with exquisite care before he pulled away, kissing the spot instead.

Rose clung to him, tears of joy slipping down her cheeks, knowing she had never been more loved, safer, more completely home.

“You’re special, Rose. I have never seen a wolf like yours. I still cannot scent your wolf, only roses. I can’t wait to make you my luna.”

“I knew we would always be best friends,” she had said to him.

“Best friends, but more. You’re my soulmate, Rose.”

“We tell Brittany first,” she said. “She is my cousin, but I am sure she will understand us once she knows we are fated mates.”

Fated mates didn’t happen for all wolves, but when they did, they were revered.

“And Christopher, we can't leave out our third musketeer. He might be jealous,” he laughed, nipping her ear.

“We tell Brittany first.”

He had agreed.

Her wolf had come early, though not like a pack wolf; no one except Xavier had noticed it was there.

They had gone to Brittany together, and she had taken it with eerie calm.

“Give me a few days,” she’d said, eyes downcast. “Just so I don’t look like a fool to the whole pack. The mate bond is sacred. I understand that.”

Then she’d smiled sadly, small and brave, and offered to take Rose dress shopping for her birthday, which was coming up.

Rose should have smelled the lie. But Xavier’s hand was warm on her back, and for the first time in a year, the world felt right.

The dress they found was green, simple enough that Rose didn’t feel stupid wearing it.

Brittany had wandered off while Rose was in the fitting room.

When Rose stepped out, she caught her cousin at the edge of the market, talking to a rough man in a torn coat, with an unkempt beard. He looked like he hadn’t slept indoors in weeks. Brittany pressed something into his palm. Money, maybe?

Rose asked about it on the way home.

“Just a homeless man,” Brittany said lightly. “Felt sorry for him. Blackridge Pack should be kind, right?”

Rose let it go.

She was too busy stealing minutes with Xavier, behind the workshop, down by the old bridge, anywhere the pack wouldn’t see.

His kisses tasted like promises, making love to him felt like they would be together forever.

They couldn’t wait to stand in front of everyone and tell them the truth.

Brittany, though, kept slipping.

At the pack dinner, she touched Xavier’s arm as if he still belonged to her. Laughed too brightly when someone asked about their “time away together.”

Xavier’s jaw clenched, but he held his tongue for the time she’d asked of them.

“I can’t pretend anymore, Rose,” he had said, exasperated. “It kills me denying the truth of what we are.”

“She is my cousin,” she had said. “I just don’t want any fallout. People will get hurt.”

“She gets one more day of this charade, then I’m done,” he had said.

The night before they planned to tell the pack, a folded note slid under Rose’s bedroom door.

Xavier’s handwriting.

Waterfall. Midnight. Need to see you alone before we do this.

Her heart lifted. She dressed quickly, slipped out the back door, and ran through the dark trees.

The waterfall roared louder than usual, but a rancid smell overpowered the usual scent of roses.

Rogues were waiting for her, not Xavier. One of them was the unkempt man from the market.

Rose readied herself, then she felt him.

Xavier, running flat out, drawn by the bond. He burst into the clearing, eyes blazing.

“Rose, run!”

“No, we fight together.”

Then the wild roses moved like a living thing.

They had always grown thick here, but tonight they came alive.

Vines wrapped her ankles, thorns gentle against her skin, petals brushing her face.

She struggled, panicked, tried to use her energy, but the more she fought, the tighter they held.  She was held tight in a beautiful prison.

The rogues’ eyes swept the clearing. Their noses twitched; they smelled nothing. She was drowning in roses, sight and scent and sound muffled, as if the waterfall itself had swallowed her whole.

Xavier fought like the alpha he would have been. He took two down easily, and for a moment, it looked like he had them beat.

He looked towards the roses, as if he knew she was there.

The rogue from the market took his opportunity, swinging a blade up.

It was silver.

The sound it made when it sank between Xavier's ribs would live in Rose’s bones forever.

Her eyes had met his in horror.

“Rose,” he had screamed out in horror.

Pack warriors crashed into the clearing seconds later, drawn by the noise.

The remaining rogue ran, and the roses released her as suddenly as they had claimed her. She stumbled out, gasping, dress torn.

Xavier’s blood was already cooling on the stones.

He was gone.