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“I don’t understand.”
“I can’t have her!” I yell. “What don’t you understand? I can’t have her like this!”
I’m on my feet, blood boiling in my veins. I feel like tearing the room apart all over again.
Beckett’s eyebrows are nearly at his hairline, but he doesn’t cower. That’s one thing I’ve always loved about Beckett. He’s never been afraid of me.
“Well, no,” he concedes, running a hand through his hair. “You’d need to get a handle on . . . all of that.” He gestures broadly at my naked form, not the destroyed room, which I almost find hilarious.
I shake my head, too exhausted to fight, and I remember I haven’t eaten.
“You should have seen her,” I say in a hoarse whisper. “The way she looked at me . . .”
“Well, yeah . . .” Beckett shrugs. “It was probably a bit of a shock.”
I try to swallow, but my throat is sticky. I desperately need a drink of water. “It was more than that,” I manage finally, flicking my eyes up to meet his.
Beckett’s gaze is steady but unsympathetic. I can tell he’s sick of my bullshit. Hell, so am I.
“She was . . . terrified.” I shake my head. “There’s no way I’m ever going to fix this.”
“Do you want to fix it?” Beckett asks, leveling me with that stern look of his. For a second, I see the sniper he once was — the man who could snuff out a life from eight hundred yards away and not bat an eye. “Because sometimes it seems like you’d rather just go on being a fucking miserable bastard on a crash course to self-destruction.”
I suck in a breath, unable to speak around the hard lump in my throat. In this moment, I don’t feel like Beckett’s alpha. I feel like a scared pup.
“She’s my mate,” I rasp. “My fucking fated mate.”
Beckett’s eyebrows shoot up, and all the blood drains from his face. For several heartbeats, he just stands there — breathing. Then he goes to sit on the edge of the bed, setting the plate of ribs beside him.
His forehead creases as he processes that information, and I can tell he’s just as shocked as I was. “I always thought that was a myth.”
“I know.”
“Well, shit.”
“I know.” I shake my head. I don’t have to tell Beckett what that bond means — or what it means to try to live without it. “I blew it, man. She was so scared she ran from me, and I . . .” I finally release the knot of shame that’s been twisting my guts ever since. “I didn’t go after her.”
“Well, you’re in luck,” says Beckett after a pause, the corner of his mouth twitching in a smirk.
My heart gives a treacherous leap, and I want to punch it back into place. I want to punch Beckett, too, for the glimmer of amusement dancing in his eyes.
“Jules hasn’t gone anywhere.”
“What?” I ask, the word barely a whisper. He has to be fucking with me. It’s too good to be true. But my pack brother wouldn’t do that. “What do you mean?”
“She’s waiting for you downstairs.”
Chapter Fourteen
Jules
My chest spasms at the sound of footsteps coming down the staircase. Suddenly, I’m second-guessing my entire plan to confront Dimitri, and I mentally calculate the odds that I’ll be able to reach the door before he appears at the foot of the stairs.
Deep breaths, Jules, I tell myself, trying to practice the special breathing technique I once learned in a yoga class. In for six, out for eight.
Except that I don’t make it to six. Adrenaline is spilling into my bloodstream, making my heart and lungs behave erratically. The room suddenly feels much too small, and my underarms are damp with sweat.
I glance down at my collection of items, realizing what a fool I am for thinking I’m equipped to handle . . . him.
