Un.Wavering (Claimed Series Book 3) (29 page)

Hayden bathed in total defeat, allowing herself to nod off. It was a restless sleep, as tremors and cold sweat tormented her body. Her mind cruelly replayed her last moments alone with Cole, the last words and touches, forever discouraging her from closing her eyes.

The ache would never subside.

Never.

Even if they hadn’t completed their bond, they’d still established a strong link.

Distant hollers and shouts drew Hayden slowly out of her inner turmoil. Gunfire sounded, hardly causing her to blink. She stared unseeingly, not caring. Her black depression only grew and blanketed her with unrelenting whispers of defeat.

The door opened and a dark angel strode purposefully inside the room.

With lazy eyes, wary eyes, she compared him to an angel simply because of his deity-like features and his baby blue eyes. The only thing that distorted the heavenly comparison was the man’s fear-provoking aura and the bloodstained sword at his side.

The term
angel of death
was never quite so literal.

He saved her again, yet this time, she wanted nothing to do with him or his help.

It took Nicolas a moment to spot her in the corner of the room. When his eyes landed on her, he advanced quickly, unaware of her inner rebellion.

“Don’t,” Hayden warned without any true bite.

He halted abruptly at her words, but swiftly disregarded her pitiful pleas a moment later. “Don’t be ridiculous.” With fluid grace, he kneeled down in front of her. “I cannot sense your wolf. What did Celeste do?”

His hand reached out and gently, yet firmly lifted her chin.  He appeared exhausted, yet his figure was still impossibly proud and strong. The wound on his face had yet to heal. It continued to bleed, a side-affect to the untreated silver poisoning.

He must have been suffering. Even a small wound would render a werewolf useless. The laceration Nicolas sustained was large and extremely critical. If he were a normal werewolf, he’d be unconscious by now.

Unusual blood splatters dotted his face and his clothes. Even the hand that gripped Hayden’s jaw was soaked with dried blood. Something told her it was not his own. It was mere proof that Nicolas was no ordinary werewolf. He somehow had the ability to push past his vulnerabilities and conquer past his body’s weaknesses.

His thumb caressed her bottom lip, tracing over the blood leftover from Celeste’s attack. Pale eyes then landed on the small, almost nonexistent pinprick on her neck.

He swore quietly and sat back on his heels.

“There is still time to reverse the effects. Whatever they may be.” He made a move to grab her, but she reared away, pressing herself against the wall.

“Not anymore. No more.”

Her voice was unrecognizable even to her own ears.  Ever since she’d become a werewolf, her wolf poured confidence in her speech and laced her words with a subtle Alpha influence.

Now, she simply sounded like a sad, human girl.

Nicolas stared. The faint, worried expression he’d worn originally cooled into something dark and forbidding. “You were not
mated
to him,” he stated with utmost cruelty. “You cannot allow yourself to be affected this much.”

Disregarding her objections, Nicolas grabbed her and lifted her from the floor. He cradled her against his chest as if she weighed nothing more than a small child. Hardly missing a stride, Nicolas swept from the room.

She tried to keep her chin up, to survey her surroundings, but it became increasingly difficult by the second. Something triggered inside of her as soon as Nicolas gathered her from the ground. His arms came down around her like blankets of protection.

Nothing, it felt like, could touch her when she was under his watch.

He strode down the corridors with an air of confidence and belonging. Hayden had just passed these halls not too long ago with her enemies, and yet, no one came jumping out to stop Nicolas.

Instead, there were many more roaming werewolves. These strangers were not Celeste’s normal band of rigid followers, but of unkempt and wild variety.

Through lowered lashes, Hayden forced herself to survey the new faces. Nothing about them seemed familiar, yet she couldn’t help but to think of the term
rogue
when she looked at them. The majority of their eyes were amber and their clothes and appearances seemed to scream
wildings
.

Where there were downed puppets, several rogues surrounded it, extracting brutal methods to kill the indestructible monster. Others were running wild, hooting and hollering as they chased after more of Celeste’s followers. Laughs of glee echoed down the halls and the sound of glass shattering followed soon after.

When Nicolas passed these wild werewolves, they hunched down low, avoided eye contact, and bent their bodies in obvious submission. There were many males who were taller, broader than Nicolas, and yet, they felt no qualms about simpering low to the ground in complete reverence.

Hayden closed her eyes against the images.

These werewolves were the real deal. These were real
rogues.
Celeste could call herself and her followers ‘rogue’ all she wanted, but the truth of the matter was that she was too controlling. Either her followers were mindless puppets, or they exhibited sharp control over their canine halves.

These werewolves, on the other hand, did not have control, nor did they have any misgivings about losing themselves to their canines. The only thing they seemed to recognize was that Nicolas was their leader.

Hayden exhaled shakily and struggled to stay awake.

As if recognizing her struggles, Nicolas pressed two fingers between her eyes, paralyzing her. “
Sleep
,” he commanded.

She fought against his Alpha influence, but with so much grief and trauma weighing her down, she was of no opposition to the male carrying her.

* * * *

There was pain and then there were flashes of consciousness. The smell of blood and herbs were strong; her blood, Nicolas’ blood… both of theirs entwined. Even with her wolf unconscious, she sensed the things around her.

She heard Nicolas in conversation with someone else she couldn’t identify.

They repeated the terms
life mate
and
bond
often. She couldn’t hear the words spoken in between to properly put together a sentence, but she knew they were arguing about her and Cole, how his death could possibly affect her so much.

With each mention of Cole, Hayden buried herself further into sleep, never wanting to wake to reality. Even when her wolf regained strength, Hayden forced herself to stay submerged in blissful oblivion.

But even her blissful oblivion didn’t block
him
out.

She could sense him. Feel him whenever he was near.

His presence was both dark and reassuring. Nothing about Nicolas was friendly, yet he exuded a sort of exclusive safeguard. Those under his protection could easily become intoxicated by the immunity they absorbed from Nicolas’ sheer supremacy.

Under Nicolas, one felt virtually untouchable.

With the exception of Cole.

“It’s time, Hayden.” Nicolas’ charismatic voice reached into the darkest depths of her mind and demanded her attention. “I once told you that you were unbreakable, far too strong to be tied to a life mate. Don’t prove me wrong.”

Hayden floundered in the darkness, not wanting to leave its mind-numbing embrace, but acknowledging the authority figure demanding her return.

“At Celeste’s lab, you were rather intrigued with the rogues I brought in for assistance. Even in your fragile state, I sensed your curiosity.”

He kept talking in his haughty and precise tone. Each syllable jarred Hayden, slowly pulling her from the depths of her rest and towards stark reality. She didn’t want to leave the comfort of nothingness.

She didn’t want to
feel.

Yet, he kept speaking, demanding her attention and unwilling to let her go.

“First, you must understand the differences between traditional werewolves and rogue werewolves.” He sounded pleased with himself, as if he somehow knew she slowly emerged from the blackness.

“Traditional wolves are sophisticated, complex, and often referred to as the superior race. Our way of thinking is intricate and three-dimensional. Our human side is very much as part of us as our canine half, therefore, we have the advantage of being a hybrid, of sorts. The best of both worlds.

“Rogues, on the other hand, are in tune with their canine halves. They have no control over their wolf, and in turn, their wolf takes over even when they are in human form. They are more two-dimensional, often animal-like and simple minded.”

She stirred, her fingers twitching with great effort. After burying herself in comatose for so long, it was a struggle to rouse herself.

“However,” Nicolas continued easily, “despite the destruction they cause, don’t underestimate the usefulness of the rogues. Or their loyalty. They will not conjure up schemes to dethrone a current Alpha. They will not betray. When they feel as if a new Alpha should take the mantle, they will physically challenge their superior. They will not play games in hopes of outsmarting their enemy.”

Hayden pushed away the sleep, the heaviness, and focused on Nicolas’ words. The man lectured her, giving her an angle on werewolves she hadn’t truly considered before.

“I often believe that if we could all live like rogues, a little more canine and a little less human, we wouldn’t have problems like Celeste or Logan and Xavier. Nature should not be tampered with, nor manipulated.”

A pause.

“The human race is a destructive race, don’t you agree, Hayden?”

There were no more words after the inquiry. She could feel the heaviness between them as he waited for her response. Her breathing quickened and she swallowed the dryness in her throat.

“Yes,” she whispered hoarsely.

“The human side of Celeste believes rogues should be glorified, made stronger, but ruled with an iron fist. Whereas the human side of Xavier and Logan believed rogues are a virus that needed to be terminated completely. Which method do you agree with?”

“Neither,” she replied.

Opening her eyes, Hayden peered at the ceiling. Just as she expected, she was an unknown room with unknown surroundings. It was dark, yet that did not take away from the sheer starkness in the sterile, empty room.

“If we found your father… would he be able to seduce you to his beliefs?”

Her eyes jumped towards the figure near the end of the room. Nicolas sat on a chair near the wall, his posture poised predatorily and his pale eyes unblinking as they regarded her.

“That’s insulting.”

Hayden congratulated herself by finally saying more than one word.

His face was completely unreadable. “I don’t know your relationship with Logan. I assume you were close before he walked out on you and your mother.”

Nicolas’ insinuating was enough to remind Hayden of her last, meaningful conversation with Cole. “Cole said—” Unexpectedly, thick sorrow closed her throat and she couldn’t finish her sentence.

“Cole said what?” he was unrelenting, challenging her to continue.

She glared at him, dimly aware of his gleaming eyes. Her gaze fell to the silvery scar across his cheekbone. The wound was healed, and yet, the silver scar would always be a reminder of that night. Cole’s last night.

“Hayden?”

“He said something along the lines of not being responsible for what our fathers have done. Not carrying the guilt.” Hayden closed her eyes and sat back against the pillow. Recalling Cole… it was painful. “I am not my father. I don’t agree with what he’s done. But I’m not going to execute him.”

“I am… relieved to hear Cole came to his senses regarding our father.”

Silence spread between them, carrying with it quiet torment. Hayden kept her eyes closed while her insides tremored violently in preparation of an outburst. She couldn’t cry, not with Nicolas in the room.

But as she reached for Cole through their link, mostly out of habit, she was met with forsaken emptiness. Her throat grew tight and it became difficult to breathe. She placed a hand against her face and let the hot tears slide down her cheeks.

“I am bringing you back to your pack,” Nicolas stated neutrally.

A delirious laugh sounded from her lips. “I can’t go back,” she argued, her tone pinched. “It will remind me too much of him. What will the others think?”

“They will want you close during a time like this.”

“I’m not going back.”

“You will. What do you intend to do otherwise?”

Her palm continued to veil her tears, yet her voice was telling. “I’ll run. I’ll stay neutral and become a Lone wolf.” She expected him to laugh darkly, to find her answer amusing. She never expected him to counter her boast with icy authority.

“I will never allow that to happen.” Nicolas rose from his chair. “Werewolves are pack creatures. Living in isolation is a condemnation to hell I’d never subject you to. You believe you will feel the loss of Cole too strongly with others, but alone, it will eat you alive.”