Betrayed: Book Two - The Road to Redemption Read online

  “Yeah. It was fine.” He tossed the comment over his shoulder while leaning forward and snagging his pants. Rising to his feet, he pulled them on, never once looking her way.

  Sam sat up, uncaring that she was naked, exposed to his glance should he care to look. “Damned by faint praise, am I?” She replied lightly, giving no hint of the hurt that was growing inside her. This wasn’t how the script was supposed to go.

  “Sorry.” He cleared his throat but kept his back to her. When he spoke his voice sounded tight, strained. “I’ve got a few things I have to do. I’ll talk to you later.” Without looking back, he exited the cellar, sliding the door quietly shut behind him, leaving Sam frowning at the wooden panel.

  She blinked and raised her chin, unwilling to acknowledge the tears that stung her eyes. Just as she’d suspected, all those stupid romances were wrong. In her heart she’d known it, but hadn’t expected them to be quite this far from the truth.

  Slowly, she stood up and gathered her discarded clothes. She could see her reflection in the mirrors that lined the one side of the room. Hair tousled, the beginnings of a pink rash on her skin from his whiskers, faint smears of blood on her inner thighs.

  Grabbing her discarded water bottle, she dampened the towel she’d used earlier and wiped away the evidence of her folly before getting dressed. Staring at the stained material she let a bitter laugh escape her. In the olden days, it would have been displayed proudly as proof that the Alpha had mated. But not in present day Chicago. Here, the sign of her ‘sacrifice’—or was that stupidity—was going to be bundled up and thrown in the garbage. Thankfully, the cellar had a secret passageway that would take her to her room. She’d hate to have to explain to her pack mates why she was carrying a blood stained towel through the house.

  Chapter 22

  Self-loathing tore at his gut.

  He was a bastard.

  A fucking bastard who’d just betrayed the only woman who’d ever loved him. Beth had accepted him, believed in him, loved him no matter what. And what had he done with her faith? He’d tossed it aside, let lust take over and cloud his judgement.

  Could he possibly sink any lower than to have sex with Sam Harper?

  Damien paused outside the cellar, pinching the bridge of his nose and fighting to keep from throwing up. Damn, what had he done?

  He took a deep breath and willed the contents of his stomach back down. He had to get out of here. Should he take his Harley…? No, he was in no condition to drive. Forcing his legs to move, he headed inside, seeking the sanctuary of his room.

  “Damien? Have you seen Sam?” Florence’s voice drifted to him from somewhere near the front of the house. He didn’t respond. He couldn’t talk to anyone right now, especially not about Sam.

  He quickened his pace. It wouldn’t surprise him if Sam came looking for him any minute and, when she found him, she’d probably rip him a new one. While he might deserve it, he couldn’t handle it right now.

  A dark, sardonic laugh escaped him as he imagined the fire spitting from her eyes. What were the chances that any of her previous lovers had ever walked away from her? But then again, her previous lovers most likely weren’t dying inside from guilt.

  “Ours?” His wolf pronounced the word half questioning, half as a claim, puzzled over how to deal with what had happened. They’d had a mate before and had now claimed this female...

  Damien jerked his head in denial. No. They hadn’t claimed her. Sam was just… He scrubbed his hand over his face, not knowing the answer.

  Hell, what a mess.

  He stepped into his room and shut the door, relieved he hadn’t encountered anyone. The relief was short lived. His gaze immediately went to the night stand where his wallet lay, and the heavy weight of guilt crashed down upon him once again, removing the strength from his legs.

  Slumping back against the door, he buried his head in his hands and cursed himself. He always had Beth’s picture with him, but for some reason this morning he hadn’t taken his wallet along. And now he’d betrayed her.

  For three years his libido had been dead. It had died, along with his heart and his will to live, in the fiery blaze that had claimed his Beth. He’d lost everything that day and now... Now he’d lost something else. He’d vowed to always be faithful to her, to never forget her...

  Shit! Couldn’t he even do this one thing right? He turned and buried his fist into the wall, welcoming the physical pain of bruised knuckles and aching wrist. Plaster dust floated in the air and he stared disinterestedly at the cracks that appeared around the hole he’d created.

  The corner of his lip curled in a sneer at the sight. A hole, with cracked and jagged edges. How poetic; it was just like his heart. An empty, broken place in his chest.

  Pressing his forehead against the damaged surface, he closed his eyes and slowly rocked his head from side to side while whispering his confession.

  “I’m sorry, Beth. I didn’t mean to. Sam was there. We were joking around. She was teasing me and I…I wasn’t thinking, I just reacted...” He twisted his lips. “You remember how I’d do that, don’t you? You were always telling me to stop and think first.”

  He didn’t even try to hold back the tears that stung his eyes. “I miss you so much, Beth. I miss having you by my side, having someone to hold at night, someone I can connect with. Sometimes, I…I’m so damned lonely.” His voice broke as emotion overwhelmed him. The years stretched ahead, years spent without companionship, bleak and barren. His inner wolf threw back its head and howled in despair.

  A black pit was opening before him. Three years ago, he’d wallowed in it, but lately it had seemed to grow smaller, less noticeable. Now it loomed in front of him again, beckoning, urging him to step forward and lose himself in the darkness once more.

  Pushing off from the wall, he headed for the bedside table and yanked open the drawer. A bottle of whiskey sat inside; the strong stuff, not the watered down crap humans drank. He hadn’t had a drop since his first night at the pack house, having felt the need to keep his wits about him when Sam was around. Now, he only wanted to escape.

  Throwing himself down on the bed, he propped himself up on the headboard and twisted off the cap. The scent of alcohol hit him and he hesitated for a moment before raising the bottle to his lips. What did it matter if he got roaring drunk or not?

  As the liquid burnt its way to his stomach, he closed his eyes and tried to bring Beth’s image to mind. She was there, just beyond his reach, looking at him with her dove grey eyes. Her fingers would brush his hair from his forehead and then she’d kiss his lips softly.

  ‘Never forget…love… Never forget to love…’

  Sam slammed her glass down on the bar at Club Mystique and signalled for another. She sat alone at the polished wooden surface; a popular song was now playing and almost everyone was on the dance floor enjoying the throbbing music. It was just as well that they kept their distance; given the mood she was in, it wouldn’t take much for someone to set her off.

  Gwyneth, the tall, redheaded owner, poured Sam another drink and served it with a look of disapproval. “Don’t be thinking of getting drunk here, werewolf. I run a respectable establishment.”

  “Stuff the holier-than-thou act, witch.”

  “Better a witch than a bitch.”

  Sam started to snarl but stopped when she caught the look on Gwyneth’s face. The damned woman might just put some sort of hex on her and that was all she needed right now.

  Taking a gulp of her drink, Sam nodded. “I’m not here to cause trouble. Just waiting for Tina.”

  “I figured as much. Her shift starts in five; behave until then.”

  Sam watched the woman as she walked away. The owner was a no nonsense person who was equally acerbic to Lycans, Fae and Witches alike. Gwyneth had established the club years ago as a place where shifters and others could meet individuals of their own kind while in the city. The only requirement was that everyone kept their unique abilities safely tucked away. If a D
C officer had to be called in, you were banned for life. The human patrons couldn’t have any idea that they were rubbing elbows with the magical realm.

  Well, she had no plans to cause problems at the club. Her day was crappy enough as it was. Drawing idle patterns in the condensation on the bar, Sam mulled over how Damien had walked away from her after having sex. What had gone wrong? She wasn’t the kind to mope and cry, she was more the beating-somebody’s-ass kind, but before she did that, she needed a voice of reason.

  Ha! Tina, a voice of reason? Now there was an oxymoron, but she really didn’t have anyone else to turn to. Telling any of the pack members about having sex with Damien would only stir up speculation and trouble. And, of course, it would get back to her grandfather, and there was no way she wanted to deal with the crap he’d give her.

  “Hey, Sam! What’s up? Gwyneth says you’re in a funk and drinking yourself into a stupor.”

  Sam looked up to see her friend adorned in skin-tight silver lame topped with shocking pink hair. Tina’s appearance caused a momentary smile. “I’m in a funk, but not even close to a stupor; not on this watered down crap she serves.”

  “Yeah, well at least half the people here are human, so watered down crap is all they can handle.”

  Sam made a non-committal sound, the smile fading from her lips. She took another sip from her glass.

  “So, what can I do for you?” Tina settled down beside her. “I’ve got a few minutes before my shift starts.”

  “I need advice…on men.” Sam winced, unable to believe she’d actually managed to get the words out.

  Tina began to grin. “Advice on men? Is it that rogue you hired? I caught a glimpse of him when you guys left the other night. He’s a hottie.”

  “Yeah. That’s the guy. I had sex with him.”

  “You had—” Tina looked at her, speechless.

  Sam flicked a glance at Tina, taking in her shocked expression. “Shut your mouth, you look stupid.” She scowled down at her drink, feeling inexplicably embarrassed by the whole conversation. In a rush, she delivered all the important details. “We had sex. He was my first, but I doubt he knows it. Afterwards, he got up and left without a word.” She twisted her lips. “No, wait. That’s not quite true. He said it was ‘fine’, that he had things to do and would talk to me later.”

  “Bastard!” Tina spit out the word. “Want me to hex him or—”

  “I thought you said you’d sworn off all that hexing stuff.” Sam looked up from her drink.

  “I did…temporarily. But I’d be willing to dig out my old books for you.”

  “Thanks. Unfortunately, I still need him, for a while at least.”

  “So…what are you going to do?”

  Sam shrugged. “I don’t know and that’s what’s driving me crazy. I’m the Alpha. I’m supposed to know these things.” She turned in her seat to face her friend. “That’s why I came to see you. What would you do?”

  “If I didn’t hex him?” Tina tapped her neon pink fingernail against her lips. “I suppose I’d put the whole thing behind me, try to avoid him if possible.”

  “I can’t do that. I have to work with him.”

  “Bummer. Act like nothing happened?” She gave a one shouldered shrug. “Sorry, this is beyond my experience.”

  Sam sighed. “It figures that my first lover would be a dud. I’m so not good with the whole ‘girly-girl’ thing.”

  “A guy that hot was a dud? You mean he didn’t even get you off?”

  “No. He got me off. And from what I’ve read it ranked in the superb range.”

  “Well, at least that’s something.” Tina gave her a friendly shoulder nudge. “My first was that football jock I had a crush on back in high school. Remember? He had no technique, finished before I started and then dumped me a week later.”

  “You wanted me to beat him up.” Sam smiled at the memory.

  “And you wouldn’t. You said it wouldn’t be fair and that it might break your Keeping rule.”

  “I did sabotage his car for you, though.”

  “I know.”

  They exchanged looks and laughed as they recalled the boy’s reaction to finding he had four flat tires and no gas left in the tank.

  Gwyneth walked by, tossing a towel at Tina as she passed. “Your shift started two minutes ago.”

  “I’ll be right there.” Tina slid off the stool. “So, what are you going to do?”

  “Nothing, I guess.” Sam swirled the liquid in her glass. “Act like nothing happened. Business as usual.”

  “Sorry I wasn’t more help.”

  Sam gave her a smile. “That’s okay. I really just needed to talk to someone.”

  “Any time.”

  Tina left, and Sam nursed her drink a bit longer. If she was honest, she was…hurt. Something about Damien had grabbed her attention from the very beginning. Not only was he good looking, he was strong and physically fit. Plus he was smart, had a sense of humour, and seemed to care about the members of her pack. Sure he could be sullen and closed mouthed, but she understood that since he obviously carried a hurt deep inside.

  Damien made her heart flutter. She found herself looking for ways to make him smile, waiting for him to tease her. When she was with him, it was like she was with her other half. Hell, he even rode a Harley! He was the male image of herself. In all respects they seemed a perfect match. Naturally, when the opportunity presented itself, she’d gambled hoping he felt a similar attraction to her. The odds had seemed in her favour, and her instincts were usually pretty good.

  She shook her head and downed the remainder of her drink. Life and love; they were both a crap shoot.

  There was a break in the dance music and the patrons were starting to gather at the bar, thirsty from their exertions. Sam was preparing to vacate her seat when a tingling at the back of her neck had her pausing. She looked into the mirror that backed the bar and scanned the crowd gathering behind her. One person stood out. Older than most of the group, he had greying hair and a lined face. Something about him seemed familiar. She didn’t let her gaze linger despite the fact she was sure he was staring at her.

  Where did she know him from? As she pondered the point, someone bumped into her, spilling part of their drink on her arm. Ignoring the half drunken apologies of the man—had the fool really thought that was a good pick-up line—she looked in the mirror again. Damn. He was gone.

  She spun around, searching the crowds, hoping for a glimpse of him even though she knew it would be futile. Who was he and why had he been watching her? Probably some dirty old man looking for some sweet young thing. Well she might be young, but tonight she certainly wasn’t feeling sweet!

  Grumbling under her breath, she finished drying her arm on her shirt. Men. Nothing but a pain in the ass.

  Chapter 23

  Sam pounded on Damien’s bedroom door. The scent of alcohol oozed from beneath the wooden panel and added fuel to the rage already smouldering inside her. He hadn’t shown up for dinner last night, patrol duty or breakfast this morning. Coward. She’d expected better of him.

  Thud, thud, thud.

  She knocked again and then jiggled the door handle. It wasn’t locked. Taking that fact as an invitation to enter, she stepped inside wrinkling her nose at the smell of sweat and booze. The room was dark, the blinds drawn. As she flicked on the lights, she noticed a hole in the plaster and snarled. He’d damned well better fix that before he left!

  Stalking across the room, she opened the drapes and pushed up the window panes to let the stench out.

  A low groan came from the bed as a beam of light fell across it.

  Damien was sprawled there, bare chested and still dressed in the same grey track pants from yesterday. One arm was slung over his eyes, the other hung limply off the bed. A whiskey bottle lay open and empty on the floor where it had fallen from his hand.

  Walking over to the bed, Sam stared down at the unconscious Lycan. His chest rose and fell with each deep breath. He was sound asl
eep.

  For a moment, she admired the pure beauty of his form. Broad chest, narrow hips, the hint of a treasure trail disappearing into his pants. His jaw was heavily shadowed with stubble, his lips barely parted. Thick, dark hair showed above where his arm shielded the rest of his face. God, he was gorgeous. Too bad he was also a douche.

  Her toe nudged the bottle on the floor and she bent to pick it up. The faintest trace of golden liquid still remained. Giving a shrug, she downed it, enjoying the burn. It was the good stuff.

  Sam wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Time to wake, sleeping beauty.”

  She went to the bathroom, filled the bottle with cold water and returned to his bed side. Holding the container over his lower abdomen, she tipped it and let the icy liquid serve as an alarm clock.

  “What the hell!” Damien shot up, a look of bewildered outrage on his face.

  “Time to get up.” She dropped the bottle on him. It landed exactly where she’d planned and she watched with grim satisfaction as he gave a yelp of pain and automatically grabbed the offended area.

  “Watch what you’re doing.” Growling in displeasure, he swung his legs off the bed.

  “I was.” Sam gave an evil smile and stepped back.

  “Damn, woman. Have some compassion.” He ran his hands through his hair, wincing as if the very roots were protesting in pain.

  “I told you no drinking except on your own time.”

  “It was my own time.”

  “The drinking might have been, but the hangover is on my time, so suck it up.”

  Damien got to his feet, swaying slightly and peered at her with bleary eyes. “Okay, I’m up. What’d you need?”

  Sam looked him up and down, shaking her head and curling her lip. “Was the sex between us so bad, you had to get drunk?” She clamped her mouth shut, not having intended to ask the question.

  He blinked at her, and slowly straightened. Her comment seemed to have sobered him better than the cold water she’d dumped on his crotch. “Uh, no. Not at all.”