Page 8 of Mated By Twilight
But now, with Liza in his life, everything had changed. There was no way he could go through with the marriage. But if he didn’t… he knew there would be consequences.
Rylan’s mind raced, torn between duty and the undeniable bond he shared with Liza. He could lie, could tell Micah what he wanted to hear. The thought of doing so left a bitter taste in his mouth. He couldn’t betray Liza like that—not when she was his fated mate.
“There’s been a change of plans,” Rylan finally said, his voice firm, though the words felt like they were cutting him open. “I can’t marry your daughter, Micah.”
Micah’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as the implications of Rylan’s words sank in. The silence between them stretched taut, heavy with the weight of unspoken consequences. Rylan could see the anger simmering just beneath the surface, the disappointment that was about to boil over.
Before Micah could respond, the door to the other room burst open, and Liza stormed out, her face flushed with anger. Clearly, she had heard everything.
“You were going to marry someone else?”
Rylan’s heart lurched at the sight of her, the pain in her eyes cutting through him like a knife. “Liza, I?—”
She didn’t let him finish. She launched herself at him, her fists colliding with his chest in a flurry of blows that were more about venting her anger than causing him any real harm. Still, each punch his fated mate dealt him was a blow.
8
Liza couldn’t believeshe’d fallen for it again—the sweet words, the promises, the look in his eyes that had made her think she was special. And all the while, he was engaged to another woman. She wasn’t his fated mate. She was just a fool, duped by another smooth-talking shifter.
The anger surged up in her, hot and wild. Before she could think better of it, she launched herself at him. Liza swung her fists with the force of her rage.
Rylan was ready for her. He deflected her punches with ease. His hands caught her wrists and redirected her blows away from his body.
“Liza—” he started, but she cut him off with another wild swing.
“You liar,” she spat. “You told me I was your fated mate.”
Rylan didn’t let go of her wrists. Instead, he stepped back to put some distance between them. “You are.”
“Clearly, you tell that to all the girls.” Her breath came in ragged gasps as she pulled her hands free and aimed another punch at his chest.
He dodged it easily, his movements fluid and controlled. Instead of retaliating, he simply glanced over her shoulder, where the other man still stood in the doorway. “Micah, we’ll talk in the morning.”
Micah gave a slow nod, his gaze flicking between them. The man did not look pleased. Well, he'd need to get in line behind Liza, and likely whoever Rylan's other mate was.
“Make sure you do,” Micah said, his voice carrying a weight that made Liza’s stomach twist with unease. Then with one final glance at Liza, he turned and left, the door closing softly behind him.
Liza barely registered it, too consumed by the fire of her anger to care. She swung at Rylan again. Again, he stepped to the side, letting her fist fly past him. She whirled around, frustration boiling over as she threw another punch, but he caught her hand, his grip firm but not painful.
“Liza,” he said, his voice low and calm, as if he were trying to soothe a wild animal. “Stop before you hurt yourself.”
She couldn’t stop. She didn’t want to stop. The rage was too much, too overwhelming, and she needed to let it out, needed to make him feel a fraction of the hurt that was tearing her apart inside.
That kiss—it had been the best of her life. It had made her believe. It had made her want to be what he said she was. But it had all been lies.
“Why should I listen to you?” she snapped, trying to wrench her hand free, but his grip didn’t falter. “You’ve been lying to me this whole time!”
Rylan's expression softened, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—something that made her heart stutter, even in the midst of her anger. “I haven’t lied to you, not even once.”
She threw another punch, but he deflected it, his movements almost lazy in their precision. She was starting to tire, her muscles burning with the effort, but she wasn’t ready to give up yet. She needed to fight, needed to feel like she had some control over this situation.
“Your stance is off,” Rylan said, his tone almost conversational, as he caught another one of her punches and guided it away from him. “You’re putting too much weight on your front foot. That’s why I can see where you’re going before you can connect.”
“What?” she snapped, glaring at him as she pulled back, her fists still clenched.
“Here,” he said, his voice steady and calm, like they were discussing something as simple as the weather. He adjusted his stance, showing her how to position her feet. “If you keep your weight more balanced, you’ll be quicker, more unpredictable.”
Liza stared at him, her anger flaring even hotter. He was giving her pointers? Now?