Rebecca Royce: Summer’s Wolf

There had to be a way to reason himself out of his current situation with Summer. “Then don’t become a wolf. You can stay here and attempt to piece your life together by yourself.”

A silent sob shook Summer’s body. She moaned and grabbed her forehead with her right hand. She squeezed her left hand into a fist and tucked it under her chest.

His heart sank. “I seem to be saying all the wrong things to you right now.”

Cullen stared down at Summer’s picturesque face. This was the only conversation they had ever had together so of course he would screw it up. Her blonde hair was somehow more glorious than her mother’s was at the same age. This strange fact had to be because of the way it seemed to glow. When he had first seen her, in the daytime, it had looked like the sunlight itself had painted her blonde hair with its very hand until she radiated the rays. Given he had been about to sacrifice his life in Tristan’s Alpha challenge, it was amazing he’d managed coherent thought at all. Now in the faint light of evening, Summer’s hair held an aura of silver. It sparkled like the finest cut diamond.

All of this enhanced her blue eyes, aquamarine in truth, a shade of which he had never seen before. Her nose, small and perfectly upturned, sat between two high cheekbones, with a splash of freckles danced over its skin.

Summer sniffed. “Isn’t there something you’d like to say to me, Cullen?”

Oh no, what was it he was supposed to say?

Say sorry .

There went his wolf again, but maybe the canine had the right idea.

“I’m sorry I’ve upset you or in some way said something inadvertent to make you upset on this day, of all days, when you’ve just lost your parents.” The words of sympathy and apology clogged his throat and came out as if rusty with disuse.

Cullen usually spoke as little as possible. He found silence to be prudent given he tended to be offensive and rough. Keeping quiet made fewer people upset. He had hoped that with Summer, he might have some sort of connection which prevented him from being so provocative. Obviously, that wasn’t the case.

Would he have to spend the rest of his life being quiet? If it would keep Summer from being upset, he would do that. The thought shocked him as much as his stilted apology.

“Thank you, Cullen, but that’s not what I was talking about.” Summer groaned. “I want to sit up, help me.”

Cullen did as she asked, being particularly careful with her head. She kept her eyes closed during the ordeal. Once she was upright, he leaned her head back against the seat. He immediately missed the warmth of her body against his.

Recognizing the irony, the man of silence couldn’t stand that very event between them. He finally spoke. “Then what would you like me to tell you?” Cullen refused to play feminine mind games with her. Being mated with a woman didn’t necessarily mean that mate came with unlimited patience.

“I want you to tell me how you’re going to kill the people who did this to my family.”

“What?” Shock slammed into his chest like a ninja kick.

“You are an assassin right? In addition to being a wolf, you kill people for Tristan and my sister?”

“I have killed people, yes, for more people than just the Alpha, but…”

“That’s your job. Tristan or Ashlee tells you to kill people, and you do it for them?”

His gut burned with the admission. “If my Alpha ordered me to kill someone, I would do it.”

“Would you do it for me?” Summer’s eyes bored into his, a sharp, blue pinprick. He wished he could see beyond the cool detached stare. “If Tristan doesn’t order you to kill Claudius, will you do it if I ask you to?”

Cullen swallowed, and for the first time in his life, he feared a woman. “Summer, there is nothing I would not do for you.”

“Because I’m your mate?”

Cullen nodded his response as his mind reeled.

“Good, because I want him dead.” Summer closed her eyes. Moments later, her breathing became deep, indicating she had fallen asleep.

Cullen leaned his head back against his seat but he couldn’t get comfortable. He felt the low, gentle power of the plane’s engines and knew they’d be underway soon. He hated to fly, but that wasn’t what bothered him.

How was it in the two seconds she had seen him three years ago, Summer looked past everything else and into his very soul? Was that part of being a mated pair?

He was a killer, had always been one. Kendrick had known that. Tristan availed himself of his skills. He had one purpose in life and far be it for him to deny his services to his mate. That thought seemed to twist the knife in his gut. Why would it be any different if she asked it?

Inside of him, his wolf paced restlessly.

She’s upset. She didn’t mean that. She doesn’t know us yet .

But Cullen knew better. He’d been a killer for others, now he’d be Summer’s, and the fact gnawed at him.

Summer became aware of a loud buzzing noise. Then the vibrations under her chair jangled her head. Her next solid realization—that she was on an airplane and couldn’t remember taking off, or where she was going—made her stomach turn. Then all the events rushed back, nearly knocking her back into black oblivion.

Her beloved parents were dead. She would never see them again. Never be able to tell them she was sorry or convince them they were wrong about her. Surprisingly, the tears did not start. All the grief-ridden information revolved around a sense of nothingness, a void.

She opened one eye to test her level of nausea. When she didn’t vomit, she risked the other eye. She blinked twice and held her breath for a moment. This didn’t look like any plane she’d ever been on. She couldn’t help but think that Air Force One must look similar. Leather couches, two recliners, and a swivel chair were arranged in a horseshoe around a low oak coffee table.

Cullen sat across from her, his feet on the couch, face turned to the window. His body lounged across three seats. Despite his relaxed position, tension radiated from him. His back was ramrod straight, prepared, as if he would attack at the slightest provocation.

His eyebrows pressed downwards, his jaw clenched, and she wondered what it was that had him so transfixed he hadn’t noticed she’d awoken. Summer suspected whatever he contemplated made him unhappy. Even if her potential concussion didn’t knock her off her feet, Cullen Murphy certainly could and she was glad for the moment to regain her equilibrium.

Next to Cullen, other men seemed small. Inconsequential. He took up space. His shoulders were broad and firm, his back steady and strong as if he could carry the weight of the world on his frame and not stagger from it. She stifled a sigh of appreciation.

His brown hair was military shaved. It had been longer the last time she’d seen him, with a slight curl. She couldn’t decide if she was disappointed with the new look. Dark, thick stubble coated his jaw where it met up with long, but trimmed sideburns.

But it was his blue eyes that were the most stunning part of Cullen’s face. She could see them reflected back at her in the glass in the window he gazed outwards from. Sunken low into his face, Cullen’s eyes pierced her very soul with their intensity. The sunlight captured them to their full advantage, and she felt like she could drown in their blue depths, live there, if it weren’t so dangerous to do so.

The first time she’d heard of Cullen had been in a discussion between Ashlee and their interim-Alpha, Michael. He had casually informed her older sister that Cullen was busy slaughtering the evil witch they needed to eliminate to save Ashlee’s mate Tristan. Nobody seemed the slightest bit surprised that it was Cullen who had killed the witch.