The Mate That Wasn't Mine novel Chapter 78

Chapter 78

MAXIM POV

The way my wolf leapt up in agreement ended my resistance. Hope shone across her face like I’d never seen before. To say no would only lead to te doing something reckless.

So no matter how much it stung, I had to agree.

I need her back. Whole and happy.

I’ll try anything. It’s as simple as that.

If a flowery meadow in the view of those cursed

ountain sides gives her world meaning, or even makes her memory return, then I’m all for it

Unfortunately, I’ll need to insist she keep her bow and that glorious, lush meadow there is nothing but ble

tense. Ready for the untrustworthy, violent fuckers out to harm or rob her. And how behind square, metal holding pens.

It doesn’t look so pranceable in the rain or snow. Apparently it is just endless nothing. No way to live, apart from walk away from the pack that once claimed you as family.

The holding pens lead to cells, where exiles are written up, judged and have silver blades slashed all the way down their spine. Leaving them severed from their wolves. Cursed to roam with a spirit so frustrated they have no outlet other than firing spite through their poor human vessel.

Getting me out there is going to be a challenge, but I’ll figure e something out.

Returning to the eerie red light of the whorehouse was a peculiar feeling. I arrived there desolate. Now I’m returning with my mate. My beautiful, clever, searing Tess. Her chocolate–laced stare makes me try harder, at everything. I will make this work.

“You have no money?” the middle–aged madam scowled, recognising my face. I can’t imagine business is brisk, maybe I’m her only customer.

“Will do by tomorrow.”

“But you want me to give a room to that girl and feed her…for free?” nodding outside towards Tess.

“I do.”

Her eyes crinkle, hands resting upon the heavy stone slab that acted as a kitchen worktop between us.

“Because you were not cruel to young Daff, I’ll allow this,” her face puckering like the rear end of a dog. Daff, or Daphne as I guess she is meant to be known peered around the corner, her eyes not quite as fearful as last time.

Her burnt caramel scent remains unappealing, her brown hair newly cut into a sharp bob, to make her look more confident than her lost little face

allows.

I kiss Tess as fiercely as I can without crumbling. Without gripping her, hauling her over my shoulder and telling her she’s borderline insane. I force not look back. So, with her orange scent fresh in my head sprint towards duty, and away from love.

To force my thinking into the present, I force a violent /REMY!/ down the mindlink. My temples twinge at the effort. I run until the train station columns approach. The familiar blood–red drapery lends long shadows across the granite floor. There is no train idling, but enough armour and supplies to feed an army waits to be loaded.

There is no time to work out any of the Alpha’s plans. I’ve got enough of my own chaos to dish out. It is well after midnight, a slice of moon high in the sky, beaming down upon whilst I try to avoid crunching on the gravel.

/REMY! Wake up!/

/Maxim, what the hell? Where are you!/

1/4

Chapter 78

We need to talk. In private./

I’m in bed you clown! Just tell me over mind link?/

I stifle a vicious conga line of curse words. I’ve not left Tess on her own for this nonsense. But here fam, the idiot trying to stop this pack from alive

Too much to say. It has to be just you. No Wardens, or the Alpha./

Why not my father?/ Remy challenges, his voice sharper and I roll my eyes, almost tripping up.

You know why./

I pick up the pace, bolting past the familiar sights and smells. Accommodation blocks come into sight, the rising, spiralling towers of the packhouse are looming over me and I wonder if Warden Marshall already knows I’m back via his telescope and miserable all–knowing prowess.

/How about thirty dead rebels to start with?/

I’m barking down our connection with force just as the gloomy shape of the packhouse looms into view. The gray and red stone building no longer inspires any awe in me. It was my pinnacle once. Before Tess.

Just as my regret at leaving her threatens to overwhelm me into turning around, Remy snaps. /Fine! But you need to come to Hazel’s room./

And he called me the clown.

Pausing for breath outside the closed, wooden double doors of the packhouse I reply. /Are you setting me up to be beheaded? I’m going nowhere near her damn room!/

/Well it’s where I am. And I’m not leaving her. There’s things you need to hear abou

It isn’t hard to recognise the worry and stress in his voice. Instead of trying to win

invisible battle of words, I concede.

/On my way./

Of course, I don’t want to be caught by any guards in front of the royal tower. in the limited moonlight I find those familiar grips in the brickwork.

So

revert back

to

something I became a bit of an expert at last year. Even

They allow me to climb up the Warden’s tower, to then creep around the angled roof, ensuring no tiles are dislodged, before climbing a little higher. The notebooks hang from a makeshift bag over one shoulder, threatening to spill out across the landscape.

The royal tower is no spindly fairytale construction. It is robust and tall. Its thick, wide and curved walls topped by a pointed cone of a roof, the bloody red streaks of stone cutting through about halfway up. With no candles lit or signs of life in any other windows, I take my chances and head on up to

Hazel’s room.

The window, as always, is just off the latch. In I go.

But unlike every other time I clambered into her room like this, I’ll be remaining fully dressed. And nobody is pleased to see me.

Grumpily announcing myself, “Evening everyone,” whilst I haul my ass through the window casing. Three familiar faces greet me.

“Hmm” remarks Remy, thoroughly unimpressed at my entrance, eyes narrowed and clean–shaven face tightly wound.

The prince is sitting at the edge of his sister’s bed, dressed in white casual shirt and shorts, a robe untied at his waist. His huge size makes the bed resemble a childs as his bulky frame bends awkwardly to avoid messing up the white netting suspended above her four–poster frame.

I won’t mention that I once ripped it. Not the time.

Because Princess Hazel looks appalling. Her eyes are red–rimmed, but most shockingly, her shimmering blonde hair has been slashed short. With zero attempt at a style, patches of scalp and hair visible.

Sat up in bed with her arms around her knees, her collar bones sticking out painfully.

The other face is of course, Pawesome. I thought the green eyed devil might have helped cheer her up but it looks like the fleabag has only made things worse. Hazel stares at me, hugging herself tighter.

“Why is he here Remy? I don’t want him to see me like this!” Hazel hisses at her brother. My hands quickly raise in surrender, I don’t want to be hara

either.

“Because I’m not leaving you. Not after what happened,” Remy urges. Hazel starts crying, until Remy takes her into his arms.

There was another Cliff gathering today. He threw Elder Bea and about ten of this years cut Healers. He got fixated on that stock mix–up that was reported in the first month-/

/I already checked that out!/

He’s unravelling. It’s getting worse, more unpredictable. More violent./

/And Hazel?/

/She protested. Grabbed his arm to try and save Elder Bea. He made her kneel on the edge and hacked her hair off. Making her throw the lumps off the edge herself. Told her the next time she does such a thing he’ll throw her, family or not./

Fucking hell. No wonder he’s not leaving her side.

Moving Pawesome out of the way with a familiar hiss I kneel before Hazel. “You don’t deserve any of that. Not when you’re trying to do the right thing”

She lifts her head up from Remy. There are red scratches across her scalp where her own father cut to close. Her blue eyes have lost their warmth, mirroring her fathers detachment.

It forces a little shudder through me, she was a warm, vivacious girl six months ago. Now she could be carved from ice. “I pissed myself with fear, Maxim. The whole fucking pack saw. How can I ever show my face again? I’ll throw myself off like your Tessa-”

“No you won’t,” both Remy and I insist in unison. Aware of Remy’s stare I take Hazels hand. It’s cold, damp with tears.

“You need to stop crying. Because I need both of you to help me. Hazel, don’t give up now. This when you’re needed the most.”

“Tell us what you found then,” Remy commands, taking Hazel’s other hand. Wallowing in sadness hasn’t helped her. Maybe finding a purpose will.

At least the never–ceasing expression of shock my story produced stopped her tears.