My Lycan Mate of Suicide Forest

Graeme balled his hands into fists and looked past his sister out the window. "You should expect him to show up here today. You know how he is—especially concerning you." Graeme nodded.

He tried to avoid Lucas' questions last night after he brought August to the house unconscious. It was unheard of. People rarely saw Graeme around these parts as it was, but then he had brought an outsider—an outsider from Eliade no less who they would undoubtedly be looking desperately for—and risked exposing generations of secrecy. Their secrecy was sacred. The only way the elusive wanderer Graeme would do that is if…

"He just thinks you're being stupid and reckless. Nothing more. He doesn't think much of you," Greta smirked.

Graeme sighed in relief, "Thankfully Lucas is an idiot."

"But Marius isn't," Greta interrupted. "Look, I know you're surprised…" Greta moved closer to her brother and lowered her voice even more. "I know you never wanted this… But now you're going to have to make some hard decisions. And you're going to have to make them fast."

Just like last night when he saw August running blindly through the darkness in fear—a fear that he instantly felt rise in his chest as if it were his own. He had caught her scent and followed her out of curiosity. She smelled like… there weren't any words to describe it. She didn't smell like an ordinary human, that was for sure. 'She smells like home.' He didn't even know what the word meant anymore, but the label fit her perfectly nonetheless. He could still sense her down the hall. And Marius is coming. He cursed under his breath, "Dammit, Lucas."

"He's just concerned about the pack," Greta replied.

"And he hates me," Graeme scoffed. "I conveniently appeared with my own dagger in hand. I'm sure he wasted no time." Greta was silent for a moment.

"I have to run some tests on her before Marius gets here. Will you go check on her? Hopefully she's strong enough to face the new shit storm that's coming for her today."

Graeme nodded.

"Good." She disappeared downstairs without another word.

August already looked better. The bowl of soup and fruit were gone, and she was sipping water when Graeme came back in. Some color had returned to her face.

"I was worried about spilling on the quilt. Would you mind helping me move the tray?" she asked shyly. Graeme came forward to take the tray away, bending down over her. August almost touched his hand but curled her fingers into a loose fist at the last moment. She looked up at him. "Thank you," she said, and he paused to meet her gaze. "For helping me," she added. "I don't remember you finding me—I don't know what even happened really," she grimaced. "But thank you."

There was no doubt about it—she had gold flecks in her eyes. Maybe that wasn't strange in and of itself, as they only served to make her pale blue eyes appear more green, but they seemed to glisten with emotion just now. He swallowed hard, watching her eyes that continued to burn deeper as if thrumming with a life of their own.

"Can I ask you something?" Graeme asked slowly, sitting down on the bed in front of her and moving the tray to the floor. She noticed how the large muscles in his forearms moved with this small task. He was a big guy. Broad through the shoulders and chest. Kind of scruffy. He had dark bristly hairs on his face and matching unruly hair that looked as if he had been running his hands through it repeatedly. And there was an unmistakable dominance that radiated with every movement, regardless of how small.

August realized how intimidating this man in front of her should be, but instead she wanted to reach out and scratch him under the chin and smooth the coarse beard against his face. The image of a giant wild bear came to mind—an animal that could make your heart race with fear and yet also want to cuddle it. And his eyes… Graeme looked at her quietly, waiting for a reply. His eyes were a rich brown. Dark and warm and deep.

She suddenly remembering his question. "Yes, of course," she said quietly.

"Why did you come to Eliade University?"

"Um—well… This is a weird year, isn't it?" She dropped her eyes. "What with the pandemic and everything. My, uh, stepdad somehow found this place and amazingly forked over the money to send me here. I think he was just trying to get rid of me, honestly," she breathed a small laugh. But she was serious, he could tell.

"You two don't get along?" Graeme asked carefully.

"You could say that," she replied, suddenly turning nervous and fidgeting with her hands. "We've had some issues for sure. Um—he's…" She paused, debating something inwardly. "He's abusive toward my mom," she said, looking down, and tears started forming in her eyes. 'Dammit, why do I always cry? Why am I even telling him this? Why am I crying about this after all that has happened?' She shrugged at her own absurdity.

"I came home one night when they weren't expecting me. I saw him standing over her. She was—she was bl-bleeding," August choked out. This wasn't something she told people. "Ever since then it's been… impossible being around him. For obvious reasons. He's just not a good guy." She shook her head, tears stinging her eyes as she thought about the guilt she felt in leaving her mom with him—how August had squeezed her mom's small frame so tight the night she left for school, not wanting to let go. But her mom was an adult, and she insisted on staying with him. What could she do? The bastard had his hooks in her.

"I'm sorry," Graeme said quietly as he watched her.

"No need to be. That's life, right?" She shrugged and smiled at him through her tears. Graeme smiled back at her knowingly—a smile that softened all of his features, making him appear younger, and she suddenly imagined him as a boy growing up facing his own struggles. His own pain. She found herself wondering what wounds this savior of hers might harbor of his own. Imagining him vulnerable like that made her heart squeeze. 'What the fuck is wrong with me?'

"Um, where's the… the restroom?" She asked, changing the subject quickly.

"Oh, of course. It's just down the hall on the right." He stood so she could pull the quilt back and get up. As she did this, removing the sheet that covered her as well, it occurred to her that she was in new clothes. Her cheeks flamed red as she looked down at her bare feet sticking out of a long white linen chemise.

Graeme cleared his throat, "Oh, um—my sister. After the ice bath, once your fever came down, she dressed you," he said, apparently reading her thoughts. It was still embarrassing, but Greta seemed like the type of person who could be trusted with that kind of vulnerability. Strange, since August had only known her a matter of hours.

"Of course," August breathed and slid off the bed. While the pain was gone, her body was still incredibly sore. Graeme saw her hesitate to stand, and he approached to help. "Thanks," she said shyly, taking his hand. Just as she did this, she seemed to lose her balance, stumbling forward until Graeme braced her in his arms to keep her from falling.

"August?" Graeme's voice was hoarse—foreign to his own ears as he said her name aloud for the first time. Her eyes had become unfocused and her eyebrows were pinched together as if she were deep in thought. Graeme realized she was trembling, and he instinctively drew her in closer to himself. 'Goddess, not again. Please let her be okay.' "August? What is it?" He asked, but she didn't respond.

Greta rushed in. "He's here. And I haven't even gotten a chance to start any bloodwork yet," she said, flustered.

Graeme leaned forward to look out the window at the black sedan slowly rolling to a stop below before looking back down at the girl in his arms.. 'Fuck.'

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