Rachelle Mills

“Keegan, it’s time. Kalla needs you.” The female looks between us, and Keegan nods his head. Face grim and tight. He does not move at first. “She is calling out for you.” The female’s voice is urgent with concern.  “Keegan, your mate needs you. Now.” I am now regarded with her eyes. She draws her vision over Keegan again, then me. Her brows pull together.  “Your mate said if you need your brother for support, you can ask him to come.” 

There is a brutality in the way Keegan picks up Kalla. His powerful hands find her, fingers dig into her fleshy sides. His teeth slide into the soft part of her neck, where males mark females. He sinks himself to a depth that will leave a part of himself inside her. I should not be a witness to this. She first whimpers until a long, slow moan exits her open mouth. Kalla’s breath is ragged, and I confess so is mine. It is unsettling to witness this marking.

Wolves that fall from the cliff can never un-fall. “I will not fall,” I tell him.  “Fall from what? There’s nothing here to fall from.” “In the caves, there is a cliff, and here, there is you.”