Half Truths: Then: Fate's Bite, #3

1

XADIEL

Jasmines.

Sweet motherfucking jasmines.

The scent is soft in the wind, like a mystical calling, and I stop to take it in. The beast and I are entranced, need to find this blooming scent with a small note of white musk that’s awakened my cock while out on a moonlit run.

My claws dig into the forest floor, muzzle high in the air as a hungry rumble builds in my chest.

I’m alone. The animal in me is in control, and yet I’m conscious of his every move.

We’re two beings who share a body and soul. He is me, and I am him.

Ears back, I listen for movement. There’s a lake close to where I am, but before I give in to the hunt, another scent mingles with my night bloom. I let out a low warning growl, a deep and angry rumble that lets the guards on duty know I’m here. They know better than to come near me on a run like this one. My wolf is different than others and prefers his solitude while hunting; he’s been hungry for the fresh taste of wild game, but now another desire controls us.

My apologies, Alpha.

One of the guard’s thoughts comes through the mind link before I sense them scurrying away, but I don’t respond. Not when I take another step toward the sweet scent. When with each move forward my bones reshape. They crack and shift, forcing my black fur back as bones realign and my tanned skin prickles with goose bumps.

I vibrate with a deep sense of yearning; one I’ve never encountered before in my ninety years walking this earth. It slams into me while the cooling mist left from an earlier rain shower caresses my naked flesh. Chest expanding, I take in deep breaths while my muscles contract—my fangs drop—and a new kind of desire settles on the tip of my thick cock.

Another step, and I feel a few beads of pre-come slip from the engorged head and onto the forest floor, leaving behind a trail from my moment of weakness.

I’m throbbing. My limbs tremble.

At seven feet, I’m a beast in my human form too.

We’re on the west side of my land and away from the pack that lives near the castle, and yet, I’m finding myself jealous of anyone scenting the owner of this seducing perfume. This heady note is making me forget both my duty and the one purpose in my life I’m yet to fulfill.

I have a warlock to find. A protected queen to kill.

Their combined blood dripping from my muzzle to savor.

And yet, I’m more concerned at the moment with keeping this precious scent to myself.

Mine. All motherfucking mine.

Without conscious thought, I grip my length and stroke, never pausing in my search. It leads me about half a mile deeper into the woods and toward the edge of a clearing. The beast is present in my eyes; I feel his sharp awareness mingling with my own and if my prey were to turn around, she’d find golden eyes watching her every move. My heightened senses give me the honor of taking in the most minute details, from her skin to her hair and then the small beauty mark at the center of her back.

And motherfuck, Little Red is ethereal. Her lithe form is facing away from me while walking slowly into the edge of a small lake surrounded by tall grass and wildflowers. Naked, and with the moon shining over her soft skin and highlighting the fiery shade of her tresses, she wades in deeper while emitting a soft sigh when the water comes up to the very tip of her round arse.

This woman is bloody perfection.

She’s also made for me. There’s no doubt about that.

My mate.

I’ve never searched for her but instead waited patiently. I’ve never touched another, never gave in to temptation because doing so would be a stain on us. On the bond we’d forge and nurture.

Instead, I trained and fought and protected my lands. A king is never in short supply of those willing to spread their legs, both women and men, trying to win favors for their house and name, but my people know better than to try with me. I’ll always be faithful no matter the circumstance.

Moreover, I watch her with my fangs piercing my bottom lip and hips pumping against my hand without shame. Tightening my fist, I twist on the upstroke and then swipe my thumb across the slit, using the wetness there to fuck my hand.

I take in how she cups the water in her tiny hands and then brings them up, just high enough to flow down her neck and chest. Each rivulet glides over her bare flesh before disappearing beneath the calm waters, and I’m jealous of each drop. This happens a few more times, those fingers wiping across her chest and stomach before she arches back and stretches her arms high.

The breeze sweeps across us a little harder just as her head tips back, and that mouthwatering scent smacks into my senses with the force of a battering ram. My balls swell and I grind my teeth hard, fighting back the urge to come. Not until I’m inside of her. With that vow, I give myself another three punishing strokes and release my hold, hissing when the hard-as-steel flesh gives a violent jerk in the night air.

My little moon, I groan out, stepping out from under the tree I’d taken a pause under, but then she dips underneath the water. For sixty agonizing seconds, she submerges herself, but before I can rush in after her, she breaks through the surface, eyes closed and facing me.

Once again, the lake laps against her arse, gently swaying against her skin.

Every cell in my werewolf DNA expands and demands I accept her.

My beast vows to protect and cherish her.

I take in this beautiful woman from my position at the shore, memorizing every dip and sinuous curve, from the wide set of her hips and flat stomach to the perky set of bigger-than-a-handful tits and their rosy tips. Her cunt is hidden beneath the water, just barely, but I catch the very top of her mound and lack of hair. Does she trim? Looking higher, I catalog the arch of her brows, her cute nose, and then lower to where the cupid’s bow of her plump cherry lips tempts me to bite them. Her.

Slowly, my feet cross into the warm water as this gorgeous creature spreads out her arms and hands, palms facing down, and begins tapping the surface to a synchronized song only she hears. Ripples become slow rolls until a turbulent swirl surrounds her lower half while words form in her mouth. Silently she sways a bit, and a sweet smile graces her lips while the water lights up from within. The rays change from stark white to a soft purple before turning a rich blue and carry through each sequence with gentle ease.

No. My feet move me back a step and then another, dodging the tendrils of her power that unconsciously reach out for me. It’s a caress, this entity with surging emotions that recognizes me for what I am: hers. Her aura calls out for me to come closer—to touch it—but I do the opposite and sidestep its path while walking backward toward the tree that hid my presence. Goddess, no. Anything but a sorceress.

As if it heard my thoughts, the current moves back as if stricken, and guilt settles deep within my gut. This goes against everything that I am—what wolves are taught since we’re old enough to understand tradition, pack, and our history.

And while our souls host two entities that make up the whole, the man and wolf, we’re not complete without our soul mate. I could never accept her or her kind.

My wolf snarls inside my head at that, angry at my refusal to grab our mate, but her nature is something I’ll never accept. I’d take a fae, mermaid...fuck, a bloody vampire would’ve been hard, but I’d agree without a second of hesitation.

Her kind can never be trusted, no matter how utterly perfect I find her.

I could never accept that my mate comes from the same cloth as those who killed my mum.

Once again, the beast snarls, thrashing inside me and my claws burst forth, hair sprouting across my limbs while the crack of bones breaks the silence. He’s fighting me for control, something he’s never done before—the animal and man are always in sync—but now he’s furious.

Slamming a hand against the trunk of the tree, I sink my nails in deep and breathe through the forced mid-shift. Something only the men in my lineage have been able to accomplish; wolf shifters don’t walk on two legs, much less forced like this. We let go of our control peacefully to accommodate the other’s needs, but never out of ire.

Stand down, I snarl in my mind while my spine curves, forcing me forward. I brace myself as the pain in my chest increases—tearing into the piece of earth with my black-tipped claws and my feet set wide apart.

I’m hurting us both. I know this.

Yet there’s no other solution.

I will never love a—

Son of a bitch. I’m forced to my knees by her essence. Those mystical vines that form who she is—and I’ve evaded—now have me at their mercy. It sweeps across my still hard cock and strokes, sending electrical pulses from the tip to my heavy balls, and I can’t do anything but grit my teeth.

Pleasure ripples through my every nerve ending; I’m at its mercy.

Another tight stroke and purrs start building inside my chest, the sound low and deep. I’m right on the cusp, my muscles tight and jaw clenched when I hear a gasp.

My eyes snap in her direction, and those clear baby blue eyes are my undoing; I come for her. Rope after rope of thick come spurts from the tip and onto the grass below, and all the while I count each rapid rise of her chest and the low moan she emits at the sight of her mate finding pleasure just a few feet away.

I’m not embarrassed by this.

Not one bloody bit.

Because had her kind never killed my mum, I would’ve worshipped this naughty behavior. Rewarded her after a spanking, turning that perfect arse a nice shade of red. At once my hands clench with the need to touch her, mark her body.

Her queen killed my mother.

That sobering reminder hurts my wolf and relinquishes his attempt to break free. It also helps me retake my human skin and stand, my eyes on hers the entire time. Not that she tries to stop me.

There’s a sadness in her eyes along with acceptance. As if she knows and will not fight me.

Something I appreciate and hate in the same breath. Anger brews within my veins. Her hurt is mine—I feel it deep within my essence—but it’s impossible to cover the sun with one finger. I want to tear apart the universe and curse the goddess for the injustice, but nothing will change, and she’ll pay for the crimes of the Wiccan royal court.

I’m sorry, Little Moon.

Slipping further into the shadows, I turn toward the tress but then stop. Her voice carries over the breeze, and hearing that sweet little tone is a gift.

I, Isabella Moore, accept your position.

2

XADIEL

A YEAR AGO...

F uck, that last shot hurt, I hiss out a second before the sound of metal clashing fills the air. The brute force vibrates up my arms, shaking my chest, but I keep my stance and push forward with my shoulder. My father grunts as I do, meeting my resistance just as hard, but then a sharp scream rends the air.

Sweat and raindrops roll down my face, the quickly forming bruises from the blunt end of the handle meeting my side during our sparring throb, but I’m quick to turn and listen.

For a few beats there’s silence. No one calls for help, and no guard reports a problem.

Not so much as the rustle of leaves, but the moment I retake my fighting position with my chosen weapon, a large sword in my tight grip, another cry rips through the rainy afternoon air, forcing every muscle in my body to tense.

Everyone does.

The sound is full of horror—laced heavily with fear—and the steel drops with a sharp thud against the wet ground. There are a few seconds between the second and next yell, louder and more harrowing, but the person it belongs to is now unmistakable.

Mum, where are you? I ask through the mind link but get nothing. There’s a dull static between our communication. It’s as if something’s preventing her from responding, and for the first time in my life, my heart clenches in fear. Are you safe?

Again, I get no response. Nothing.

The one thing shifters in a pack have is the ability to talk through a mental connection, this invisible cord that ties us together and no amount of distance can interrupt. It helps when it comes to protecting the pack or giving out orders, but right now, it’s failing me.

It’s malfunctioning for my father as well. His worry is palpable and his wolf rises to the surface, eyes becoming black while mine are sure to mimic with their golden tone.

At once, we take off across the training grounds, not wasting another second while every guard on the field begins to shift, the loud cracking of bones following us. Our footfalls sound like thunder snapping against the forest, the horde right behind their leaders while my father’s body morphs mid-sprint, his large black wolf snarling as we draw closer to his mate and my mother.

She’s strong and fights better than you, old man. Hearing me, my father’s wolf nods to tell me he agrees, but I sense his emotions. His fears. Our lands are safe. Have faith.

Those words are as much for him as they are for me.

Mum needs us. I can feel it.

And while the bond is different between mother and son, his fury is near choking.

Mates are sacred in our world, and I understand his unease. I’d react the same way if it were mine, and had I found her already, we wouldn’t be apart. Ever. That possessiveness and all-consuming need is magnified by the beast within me tenfold.

I grew up watching the love between my parents and the elders all around me. So much of our history and origins start and end with the twining of two souls, the basis of who we are because your other half is both a strength and weakness. Your moral compass and destruction.

One does not function without the other.

We split. Come from both sides. Dad’s command comes just as we cross the edge of the field, stepping now into the small patch of untouched forest that separates the royal manor and the training area. This is my kill. Just get her to safety.

No mercy, I say out loud, gaining another nod seconds before he breaks away from the group, taking half our guards with him. Anyone close to the queen’s garden, rush over. Something is wrong.

I’m patrolling and heard the screams. Heading over, my best friend, Cain, responds quickly. When did he come back from picking up his mate, a she-wolf he met and courted two weeks before completing the bond and moving her to the royal pack from a smaller, northern one? I have no clue, but right now I’m grateful.

He’s a top warrior. Trustworthy. Almost as ruthless as I am and will someday take the position of my beta.

My ears twitch after closing the connection, straining to hear any more screams. Instead, I’m met with the heavy steps of wolves running behind me. Their snouts are low to the ground while trying to find a disturbance; a disruption that comes from the direction of my mother’s flower garden near the west side of the castle a minute later.

A female figure turns the corner before we do. She’s drenched in blood and crying hysterically while looking over her shoulder every few seconds. Help!

What the hell is going on? I demand, reaching her in a few strides. My hands grip her arms, pulling Aunt Theresa into a hug, trying to calm her enough to talk, but the scent of roses overwhelms me. The blood on her is my mother’s. So much of it. Where is she?

Warriors surrounds us then, each looking for the enemy, hair bristling while low snarls escape angry jowls. They’re feeding off my anger. This live bolt of ire blinds me for a second, and I forget the woman I’m holding is family. My mum’s sister.

I feel my claws extend, the breaking of flesh as the talons grow and my fangs descend. Blood drips from my mouth, the sharp teeth breaking through my bottom lip while my grip on her tightens. It’s not a full shift, but close enough and the animal in me is