Cursed Mate: A Reverse Harem Shifter Romance (Feral Shifters Book 3) Read online

  And I can feel that something is “off” inside him, even now.

  The release he had with me wasn’t enough to erase the way he feels inside, and for some reason, I know that. I know it as surely as I know myself. No matter what I do, he’s going to harbor that anger and the gnawing feeling that he could have done better.

  I don’t have an explanation for why I can sense his emotions so vividly, because as far as I know, we’re no longer bonded.

  But if that’s the case, why can I feel this strong sense of despair from him? Why can I sense his emotions so clearly?

  Pushing away those questions for the moment, I hold tight to him for a long while, ignoring the way the bark digs into my shoulders. The warmth of his body against mine is enough to make up for it. He’s worth the discomfort at my back, because for the first time in as long as I’ve known him, he’s fully here with me. All of him, all the good parts and the bad, nothing hidden or held back.

  We probably aren’t entirely on the same page mentally or emotionally, but for the first time since our night in that hotel room in Montana, it feels like we’re close.

  The heat between us finally begins to dissipate, and I become aware of the cool breeze again as it dries the sweat on my skin. After another few heartbeats, Kian pulls out of me, leaving me almost painfully empty. My body protests the loss of his thick cock as he gently guides me back to the ground on shaky knees.

  He leans back and brushes my hair away from my face, studying me with an expression that, while still haunted, is a little less broken than it was before. His gaze roams intently over my face, as if he’s trying to memorize me or read something in my features.

  I let him, because I’m looking at him too.

  His emotions are squarely visible on his handsome face. The scar over his eye bunches from the tightness in his brow, and I recognize a pain in his gaze that mirrors my own. It reminds me that we’ve both lost people and lost parts of ourselves in the burdens we’ve carried. The quests that led us to each other.

  He’s never let me in like this. He’s never let his walls down long enough for me to see the humanity in him. Maybe, as one of Quinton’s special pets, he never felt comfortable enough to do so. Quinton made them all feel subhuman. More monster than man.

  But that’s not true.

  I’ll convince them their old alpha was wrong, no matter what it takes.

  Kian’s roughened fingertips graze over my cheek. His hand trails down my face, my neck, over my collarbone. When his fingers come to rest over my heart, our gazes meet again.

  Mine.

  It’s a small echo of a feeling. The same feeling we had that night we met in Montana, when I gave myself to him in a cheap hotel room and thought he would be my future. A possessiveness like the mating bond that he so callously denied back then.

  The ache in my chest is so familiar. The connection is still there like a phantom limb, lost but not really forgotten.

  How is it possible for me to feel this way? For it to feel so much like a mate bond?

  I don’t want to admit out loud that I still feel some kind of connection between us, especially when I don’t understand what it is or how it’s possible. So I place my hands on his chest and avoid his gaze, picking my words carefully as I ask, “The potion you all slipped me when we reached the Tree of Life—what was it meant to do?”

  Kian’s palms slide up my arms, although his gaze remains firmly on my face. “It was meant to break the mate bond. No more, no less.”

  “Oh.”

  His hands drift to my neck, and his thumbs press gently into my jaw bone, angling my face up, forcing me to meet his eyes. His gaze grows more intense, heavy with unspoken meaning. He leans in close, his lips brushing against mine as he speaks again.

  “But maybe,” he murmurs. “Maybe there are some things you just can’t fight. Some things that won’t break.”

  I shiver in his arms, an electric feeling trickling down my spine. The truth in his words seems to resonate in my very bones.

  Is he right? Are some things unbreakable?

  There’s no way I should still feel so connected to him or Malix or Frost. And yet, I do.

  I don’t know how to feel about the possibility that we’re still mated somehow. If the three of them are fated to bring the shadow realm to Earth, and as a result, ultimately destroy it… And I’m destined to die if I continue along this path of being bonded to them…

  Fuck. How are any of us supposed to come out of this alive?

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to say all of that out loud, but I don’t. Why speak such a thing into existence if I don’t have to?

  I don’t want to shatter this moment of tenuous peace that’s been forged between us, but it’s too late. Reality comes rushing back in like it always does, pricking me with the reminders of where we are and everything that led us here.

  Kian releases me, and cold air rushes in as he steps away.

  “We should head back,” he says gruffly. “I’d like to be near when Frost wakes up. Just in case.”

  I watch as his walls move back into place brick by brick. One by one, he builds them up, shutting me out, and even though I don’t mean to, I can feel myself doing the same.

  It’s habit by now, for each of us. Something so deeply woven into the fabric of who we are that if we pulled out those threads, I’m not sure there would be anything left.

  “Yeah.” I nod, pressing away from the tree and ignoring the warm feeling of Kian’s cum sliding down my inner thigh. “Let’s go back.”

  Side by side, but with enough distance between us that our arms don’t brush, we make our way through the trees toward the farmhouse.

  Amora

  Back at the house, I slip into the bathroom to clean up a little bit, splashing water on my face and wiping up the mess between my legs with a wad of toilet paper.

  When Kian and I step into the kitchen, Malix is elbow deep in the pantry. Sunlight pours through the three picture windows at the back of the house, illuminating every dark corner of the room. A skillet already sits on the stove with something sizzling inside, and a coffee pot percolates on the counter.

  Malix glances over at us, and his nostrils flare. Despite my half-assed attempt at cleaning up, I know he can smell the sex on us, but he doesn’t mention it. He doesn’t really seem jealous or bothered at all, but normally, I’m sure he wouldn’t miss a chance to bust Kian’s balls. I can’t help but think that his muted reaction has a lot to do with his worry for Frost.

  None of us are at our best right now.

  Malix sets an unopened can of salsa on the counter, then closes the pantry door.

  “Whoever these people were, they left a lot of shit behind. There are clothes for you over there.” He points at the old, scratched wooden table where a pile waits for us. He’s already wearing a pair of loose gray sweatpants and a ratty old white t-shirt. “I wish I could tell you it’s fresh eggs for breakfast, but it’s not. It’s black beans with salsa and stale Pop-Tarts.”

  I snort and reach for the clothes to sort them out. “What a feast.”

  Kian grunts his agreement and bypasses the clothes to head for the coffee maker. “At least there’s coffee.”

  “Yeah. It expired five months ago, but…” Malix shrugs, dumping half the jar of salsa into the skillet.

  Kian makes a face and reaches for one of the clean mugs Malix has left waiting on the counter. “But beggars can’t be choosers or some shit.”

  Slipping my arms into a soft t-shirt, I drag it over my head and free my dark hair from the collar before I ask, “How’s Frost?”

  “Still out cold,” Malix tells me, dipping a spatula in the skillet. “He’s doing all right though. His color is good and his breathing is normal. It’s just a waiting game right now.”

  The t-shirt and cotton shorts Malix found for me clearly belonged to a teenager. The shorts fit fine, but the t-shirt only comes to my midriff, revealing a strip of skin above the drawstring waist. Not to mention my butt now proudly declares CHEER. One of those human practices I’ve never understood and couldn’t give two shits about.

  Kian and I switch places—him carrying his black coffee to the table to dress while I help myself to the coffee.

  “Did you get Frost dressed?” I ask Malix, dumping a spoon of sugar into the steaming liquid in my mug.

  “No.” He jerks his chin toward the table. “There are clothes for him over there too.”

  Clutching the mug in both hands, I lean my hip against the counter and raise an eyebrow at him. “Did you cover him up, at least? It’s like sixty degrees down there.”

  Malix returns my arched eyebrow as he switches off the burner on the stove. “Of course I did. What do you take me for, kitty? I’m not going to torture a man when he’s down. Especially not my own damn brother.”

  I hold up my hands, careful not to spill a drop of coffee as I keep a firm grip on the handle. It may be expired, but it’s still precious, as far as I’m concerned. “Okay, okay. Just checking.”

  He points at me with his wooden spoon and tosses a look over his shoulder at Kian. “Listen to this woman. Acting like we haven’t taken care of each other for decades without her to boss us around.”

  Rolling my eyes, I press away from the counter and carry my mug to the table. “Fine. Point taken.”

  I opt for a Pop-Tart for breakfast, because salsa just doesn’t sound good for my stomach at the moment. They’re strawberry flavored, which I know means there’s not a single damn strawberry in them, but they’re tasty nonetheless. It occurs to me briefly that maybe I should be concerned that old, expired Pop-Tarts don’t taste any different than fresh ones, but at the moment, I’m too fucking hungry to care.

  My stomach growls at the exact moment I bite into th
e first pastry, reminding me how long it’s been since I’ve eaten. While Kian and Malix fill up heaping bowls of beans and dollar brand salsa, I polish off the entire Pop-Tart and start on the second one from the foil packet before they join me at the table.

  Silence falls over the kitchen for a while, broken only by the clink of silverware and the intermittent thud of a coffee mug being picked up and then set down.

  Usually, silences between me and any of these men are loaded. First because I was planning to kill them all, then because they were planning to destroy our bond. Always the subterfuge and ulterior motives between us.

  But for the first time, it feels almost companionable, despite the fact that things are still pretty dire.

  I break the silence by clearing my throat, then I ask, “When Frost wakes up, should we be prepared for him to not be… well, not be himself? I mean, the way he acted after he was resuscitated…”

  Kian and Malix look up at the same time, the sad expression on their faces nearly identical. But then Kian looks away, turning his attention back down to his mostly empty plate and leaving Malix to respond.

  “It’s a possibility,” Malix agrees carefully, digging his fork into his bowl rather than looking at me. He’s got a small cut on his cheekbone, and I can tell there’s a bruise forming beneath it, a remnant from our fight with Quinton and his minions.

  “How big of a possibility?” I press. Part of me doesn’t want to know, but I feel like I need to brace myself for whatever might be coming. The more I can understand what Frost is going through right now, the better equipped I’ll be to try to help him.

  “He’s probably overwhelmed by shadows,” Malix tells me. “On a normal day, they’re a constant presence we’re all aware of. Now, though? He’s got more of them inside him than normal.” He sits back in his chair and tosses his fork down in the bowl, then rubs both his hands over his angular face. “He’s probably more shadow than shifter now, after what Quinton did to him.”

  “That doesn’t seem like a good thing.”

  “It’s not,” Malix says dully. “The shadows? They’re like parasites. Powerful, untamed. An immutable part of us, but also something entirely separate. He may not be able to fight off their influence.”

  “But you were all capable of fighting off the shadows that Felicity sent after us,” I point out. “You can fight off shadows when they attack you. When they’re outside you. So maybe it is possible for him to fight off the ones inside.”

  Kian laughs bitterly. “Yeah, not going to happen. The ones that are in us? They’re a part of us. That’s like expecting you to fight off being stubborn.”

  I glare at him, but don’t get a chance to come up with a witty retort. Malix picks up his fork again as he says, “Kian’s right. It’s like the shadows are knitted into our souls. It’s not like you can just separate the two things cleanly. And at the same time, they sort of have a will of their own. They don’t obey us just because they exist inside us.”

  “Well, they must feel some sense of loyalty to you,” I point out. “Both times I’ve tried to kill one of you—”

  Malix barks a laugh, shaking his head ruefully. “Fucking hell. We really have had a fucked up relationship, haven’t we?”

  “That doesn’t matter now,” I say, waving a hand in the air between us. He’s not wrong, but that whole can of worms isn’t the focus of our conversation right now. “What I’m getting at is, both of those times, your shadows woke you up before I could do anything to hurt you. Surely that means something, right?”

  Kian shrugs, his expression hard. “It means they have a sense of self-preservation. Like a virus in a host.”

  “They don’t do anything out of a sense of loyalty,” Malix adds, a muscle in his cheek jumping as he clenches his jaw. “They just hurt us. Constantly. In so many ways.”

  He doesn’t elaborate on that, but I don’t need him to. He’s probably thinking about the sister he lost, or his mother, who’s dead now just like Kian’s and Frost’s.

  These men have had so much good taken from them and so much pain forced upon them by their old alpha. He created them to fulfill a purpose none of them asked for; one they probably never would have actually wanted to begin with. And because they were born part shadow, part wolf, they’ve lived their lives in extended torment.

  The thought of Frost down in the basement, so full of shadows? Fuck, I hate it. I know it’s probably torture for him. Or at least it will be when he wakes again.

  I pick off a corner of my fourth Pop-Tart as I ask, “Do you think it was the pain that made him act like… like that? Or the shadows? He was so vicious. Like a wild animal.”

  “Like a monster,” Malix says grimly.

  “None of you are monsters,” I shoot back, my voice taking on a heated edge. “You’ve been dealt a shitty as fuck hand by a man who wanted to use you, and now we have to figure out where we go from here.”

  Malix looks like he doesn’t believe me, but instead of arguing, he just scrubs a hand over his sculpted jaw. “The pain is probably the big reason Frost freaked out, yeah,” he confirms after a moment. “It’s more than just pain though. That much shadow inside him? It’s probably chaos. Like I said, the shadows have no loyalty, and they operate by their own rules. Right now, his shadow side outweighs every other part of him. So that’s the side that dominates.”

  My stomach clenches, and I set the Pop-Tart down. “Could we find some way to pull the excess shadows from him?”

  Kian shakes his head, his gaze flicking up to me for a second before returning to his food. “If there was a way, we’d have found it by now.”

  Of course. It only makes sense that they’ve tried to find a way to expel the shadows from themselves—without tearing themselves into pieces. After years of searching for a way to breach the divide between the shadow realm and earth, something that would finally bring them peace, I’m not surprised they attempted to find other means of easing their torment.

  We fall silent for another couple of minutes as I process everything that’s just been said and search for a loophole that I know doesn’t exist.

  I finish off my last Pop-Tart while Kian refills his coffee, and Malix stares at the last few bites of his beans and salsa like he wants to toss it all in the trash. Somewhere outside, birds chirp in the trees, and the muffled sounds filter in through the windows. The peaceful, happy sound is a strange contrast to the situation we’ve found ourselves in.

  It makes me wish this were real life—not the beans and stale Pop-Tarts, but the cute farmhouse, the sunshine, a home and family and no shadows trying to destroy us from all angles.

  When Kian returns from the coffee pot, he sits heavily on the chair and mutters, “What Quinton did to Frost… he said it was an experiment. And as far as he’s concerned, it worked. He could do that to the whole pack.”

  Malix’s violet gaze flashes in the sunlight. He shoves his half-finished bowl away and straightens, resting one elbow on the edge of the table. “Yeah. I’ve thought of that too.”

  Picking up my mug and cradling it against my chest, I slouch back in my seat. The heat from the coffee warms me even as my skin prickles with a sudden chill. “What do you mean?”

  Malix huffs out a breath. “Quinton never had the ability to ‘force’ shadows into someone before. He created us, using magic to make it so that we were born with shadows already inside of us. Already a part of us, even before birth. But it seems like he’s leveled up. He figured out some way to force shadows into a fully grown shifter. He could turn anyone in the pack now.”

  Kian growls, his hands curling into fists. “He could create a whole fucking army.”

  But I shake my head, picking out a flaw in their theory. “No way. He can’t create an army that way. It would never work. What Quinton did almost killed Frost. I mean, it did kill Frost. His heart stopped beating. He’s only alive right now because you fucking resuscitated him. There’s no way a weaker shifter could survive that.”

  “Maybe,” Malix agrees. “Or maybe not. We really don’t know anything at this point. Except that Quinton would definitely be willing to risk killing some of his pack members if it meant he could have an entire army of feral shifters at his fingertips. And that makes him more dangerous than ever.”