Page 87 of The Wolf's Mate
There’s no reply, only soft crying coming from inside. If I had a heart, it would break at the helplessness and pain that encompasses this house. It’s haunted by the living, though an existence like this one would lead anyone to an early grave.
The man spews more hate and curses, promising the occupant of the house that she’ll never find anyone who will take care of her like he does. He fumbles and kicks at the garage like it insulted him. It’s painful to watch him attempt to open it, and when he finally does, he slips and lands on all fours.
Another vile insult, and then he’s searching for the keys to his truck. This man is in no condition to drive, and perhaps if there were people on the road, I would stop him. But it’s midnight in the middle of a horrendous thunderstorm. The roads in our small town are deserted. The only life this monster is putting in danger is his own.
The world won’t mourn the loss of a corrupt soul.
In his desperation to get into his truck, he never notices me standing in his front yard, shrouded in shadows.
The tires squeal as he pulls out of the garage. He turns his truck too soon out of the driveway, narrowly missing their mailbox but hitting the garbage can instead. Trash goes flying, picked up by the wind. The heavy items float down the water pooling on the side streets.
And then he’s gone. Almost as if he had never been there. Except, like me, he left despair in his wake.
I was called upon by Erin, the newest woman who approached me for a deal. Many came before her, but only Erin stood out. There is something…special about her. So, I gave her the contract.
That was nearly a week ago, and I haven’t heard from her since. Both Rose and Hettie answered me within three days. Her lack of response was unusual and, admittedly, disappointing, but I can’t force mates to take their places with their kings. Their consent must be freely given.
However, a feeling so troubling came over me, one I couldn’t ignore. I walked through the rain and in the dark, and it led me here.
I cross the lawn, making my way to the porch. The front door is wide open, slamming against the side of the house. I step over the threshold and am instantly hit with the vile scent of cigarettes and the pungent smell of alcohol. The walls are stained with smoke, once white, now a worn, yellow color.
The rest of the house isn’t much better. Furniture is overturned. Glass broken. Holes in the walls. The room, which I presume to be the main room, is cluttered with broken picture frames and empty beer cans. The TV plays the news on low in the background, warning citizens of Grym Hollow to stay safe in their homes.
At first I didn’t see her tucked behind the overturned couch. Only the silent sobs racking her body catch my attention.
“Erin?” I don’t want to startle the poor woman, but my voice has her jerking back anyway. She tries to make herself appear smaller, putting her arms over her head, shielding herself the only way she knows how.
I approach her like I would a frightened animal: with caution. I can’t change my large, nonhuman appearance, but I can at least show her I’m not a threat. Not to her, anyway.
“Erin,” I speak again, only gentler this time. “It’s The Guardian.” I try not to wince at the title I once held dear but made a mockery of. But it’s how people know me, and I’m not keen on changing their perception. Call it cowardly, but I don’t want to divulge my story to anyone yet.
Erin lifts her head up cautiously. Her bloodshot eyes take me in. I don’t get a good look at her until she sits up straighter, and what I see turns my blood to ice.
What I thought was merely a shadow around her right eye is a dark purplish-blue bruise. Her bottom lip is bleeding, and her neck…dear gods, her neck.
Much like her eye, angry purple and blue bruises have formed, showing off handprints. He didn’t just strangle her—he tortured her over a prolonged period, continuously wrapping his hands around her neck to cut off her breathing.
Erin has lived through hell and survived it, but healing will take time. No one goes through what she has just experienced unscathed.
“He’s gone now, Erin, and he won’t be coming back.” I don’t know if that’s true. If, by some miracle, he doesn’t kill himself by driving drunk in a storm, he will come back. He might apologize and promise it will never happen again, or he might say she deserved it and continue where he left off.
However, if she agrees, I can take her out of here and deliver her to her true mate. The Kraken King. He’s expecting her but knows her arrival depends on her willingness and consent to be taken to Mescos.
“I can take you out of here. All you need to do is sign the contract,” I say.
Erin just stares at me, lifeless eyes boring into mine. Allarick will not have an easy time with her, but she deserves someone’s love and patience.
Just as I think she will not respond, Erin extends a shaky arm and points toward the kitchen. I maneuver my way through the mess on the floor and into the kitchen.
This room is mostly unscathed by the man’s terror, but a few broken glasses litter the floor. On the table is a familiar stack of papers. I wander over, my eyes scanning the documents. I flip to the last page, the most important page in the document.
My eyes dart down to where the signatures should be. Mine and hers. I let out a sigh of relief when I see her handwriting, neatly rounded letters, spelling out her name.
The permission I need to get her out of here.
I fold up the contract, tucking it away in my jacket pocket, before heading back over to her. “Can you walk?”
Erin opens her mouth to speak, but then winces. Judging by the bruises around her neck, her vocal cords must be compromised. Instead, she simply shakes her head.