Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Five
Khalil was certain that he was going to go mad. Either that, or he was going to go feral. It had been a week since he had seen Isabelle, and he warred with himself inside him. He wanted his wife; he wanted to hold her, he wanted to kiss her, he wanted to apologize to her for all the time he had wasted with her, he wanted to tell her that he would love her forever. He wanted her to place her mark on him, asking himself why and how they hadn’t done that up until now.  

He groaned and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He grimaced at the zombie that was staring back at him. His eyes were bloodshot red, his beard had grown and become unruly, and his hair was overgrown and fell across his forehead. He was a mess.  

He wanted his wife.  

He swore loudly and sat on the floor of his bathroom, trying to think of all the places that she could be, who would have taken her, and why they would want to take her. He had assumed at first that it was a hostage situation, that someone, somewhere, somehow had thought it wise enough to kidnap his wife for money. Every day, he woke up, stared down at his phone, and hoped to receive a call demanding money. He would move heaven, earth, and hell for his wife to return to him.  

Khalil hated himself. He hated how long it had taken him to realize that he loved his wife, how long it had taken him to realize that even though his mate was dead, and that she would hold a special place in his heart forever, he needed to move on. He hated that it took him losing his woman a second time to realize that he needed to cherish the ones in his life at every moment in time.  

Khalil swore loudly. Wherever he went, he had been hearing her voice, seeing her shadow. His new favorite place had become the library, not because he liked to read but because it had been Isabelle’s favorite place in the whole house. He had refused to let anyone in there, insisting on cleaning and maintaining it with his own hands.  

He didn’t want anyone else to share in his pain. He sighed heavily and rushed through his shower, willing his body to move by telling himself that Isabelle wouldn’t want to hug him and kiss him if his breath stunk, or if he looked like a caveman.  

After his shower, he put on a pair of jeans and walked into his home office, only to meet Cassandra seated in his chair, her legs propped up on the table, reading the morning paper. He stopped short, staring at the scene before him, wondering when she had come in and why he hadn’t even noticed that someone had entered his home. He swore under his breath as he realized that he was losing his touch.  

“You’re in my office,” Khalil said as he ventured in and closed the door behind him.  

Cassandra smiled and lowered the newspaper until it was just below her eyes. “Yes, I am aware,” she said and dropped the paper on his table. “You’re losing your touch, sir. You didn’t even know when I entered your house. Are you growing old on me, mister?” She teased.  

Khalil swore under his breath and propped down on the sofa in his office, stretching his legs out and leaning back against the headrest. He didn’t say anything. She might have said it as a joke, but he knew it was dangerous for him to be so unaware. He was an alpha. He had a pack to protect. He had sworn to protect people. If he could not tell when someone entered his house, how would he know when an unwanted visitor had crossed his borders?  

“Fuck…” 

Meanwhile, Cassandra was thinking of something completely different. She was momentarily distracted by the man on the sofa. He had lost a bit of weight, but by the gods, was he perfect! She allowed her eyes to run the length and breadth of the raw man that he was, her eyes lingering on the V that deliciously disappeared into his jeans that were hanging low.  

Her eyes followed the trail of hair from the top of his jeans up to his rock-hard abs that she so badly wanted to trace with her tongue, and up to his nipples. She lowered her legs to the ground and clenched her thighs together to ease the sudden and very raw hunger that poured through her.  

As she continued to stare at him, she remembered all the times they had fucked. They had never made love. Their couplings had always been raw, primal, earth-shattering. She had missed that. She wanted that. Needed it, even. She wanted him to lift her and fuck her against the wall, to remind her that she was his and his only, to claim her mind, body, and soul.  
She smiled at the way he drawled her name. It was yet another thing she loved about him. Especially in bed, how he would moan her name as he came in her mouth or buried himself to the hilt inside her. Her juices flowed freely, soiling her underwear as her thoughts continued to run wild.  

“I came here for you,” she whispered, rising from his chair with deliberate slowness, her hips swaying as though each step was a promise. “You’ve been hiding yourself away for a week, Khalil. Brooding. Mourning. Torturing yourself.” 

She reached the edge of the sofa and leaned down, bracing one hand on the backrest near his head. The smell of her perfume flooded his senses, sharp, floral, intoxicating. It was meant to remind him of better nights, wild nights, nights when there had been no hesitation, only skin and sweat and release. It was meant to remind him of the raw passion and chemistry that they had always shared with each other.  

She had chosen that particular scent because it was one that Khalil had always loved. It didn’t matter that it had reminded him of his late mate, and that was the primary reason he always wanted her to wear it. All that mattered was her, that she was the one in his bed, the one in his life, the one by his side. So what if he always wanted her to wear his scent from his late mate? So what 
Something that she was sure he didn’t experience with Isabelle. 

“You don’t have to do this to yourself,” she said softly, her lips dangerously close to his ear. “I can take it all away. Let me comfort you. Let me give you what you need.” 

Khalil’s jaw tightened. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, refusing to look at her, refusing to give her even that sliver of encouragement. His body betrayed him, muscles coiling tight, memories of what they had shared flashing through his mind. He remembered the heat, the rawness, the savage satisfaction of using each other to drown out the emptiness. 

But then another memory rose, sharper, more searing — Isabelle’s shy smile the first time she dared to tease him. Isabelle’s laughter in the library when she caught him pretending to read a book upside down. Isabelle’s scent, clean and fresh, was nothing like the heavy perfume currently cloying his senses. He missed her; he missed everything about her. The more time he spent apart from her only reinforced the fact that he needed her in his life, in every way a man needed his mate.  

He knew that things had changed drastically. He didn’t want comfort from just anyone. He needed her. He thought back to his late mate, and a small smile played at his lips. He remembered the things that had been said when she had died, and how he had sought solace in the bosom of his childhood friend. At the time, it hadn’t mattered to him. He had just wanted to cope with the loss of someone so close to him, someone so dear that he had crossed a line that should have never been crossed.  

“I don’t need comfort from you,” he muttered. 

Cassandra’s smile faltered for only a second before she recovered, brushing her fingers down the line of his chest. He caught her wrist before she could go further, his hand holding on to hers with an unnecessarily tight grip. She looked up in his eyes, searching for something, anything to tell her that there was still something inside him that favored her. Something that told her that deep down, he still wanted her, that he still needed her.  

She found nothing.  

Her eyes widened, but the hunger in them only deepened. “Don’t lie to me, Khalil. I know you. I know your body. I know how much you crave to forget. You think about her all day, every day, and it’s tearing you apart. Let me help you forget, even for one night. You’ve done it before. You can do it again.” 

He opened his eyes then, and she froze at the look in them. No desire. No warmth. Just steel. 

“Do you know what the difference is, Cassandra?” he asked in a low voice. “Before, I didn’t care. Before, I had nothing left to lose. I let you into my bed because it didn’t matter who was there. But now…” He shoved her hand away and stood, towering over her. “Now it matters. She matters. Isabelle is my wife. And I will never betray her again.” 

The words hit Cassandra like a slap. She stumbled back a step, her lips parting as though she’d been struck, like a wrecking ball had barreled into her. It took all the strength she had in her body to remain on her feet, to stand firm against the onslaught of pain and anger the man she loved was sending her way.  

“You can’t mean that,” she said breathlessly. “She’s not even here. She left you. You don’t even know if she’s alive!” 

Khalil’s nostrils flared. Fury surged in him, sharp and cold. “Don’t you dare speak of her that way.” 

Cassandra’s eyes glittered with tears, but there was no softness in them — only rage and desperation. She knew that she should have waited, she knew that she should have bud her time and rekindled their relationship slowly, but she had lost all self-control when he had walked into his office looking the way he did. She bit down on her lip and cursed in her heart. She should have waited.  

“And what about me, Khalil? What about everything we’ve been through? The nights, the battles, the blood we’ve spilled side by side? You think she can understand you better than I can? You think she can take my place?” 

“She already has,” he said simply. 

For a moment, silence filled the office, heavy and suffocating. Cassandra’s face twisted, torn between disbelief and fury. She lunged forward suddenly, pressing her body against his bare chest, her hands wrapping around his neck as she pressed her ample bosom into his flesh.  

“Then make me understand!” she cried. “Show me why she’s better than me! Prove it to me! Take me like you used to!” 

Khalil seized her wrists and tore them off his chest, his strength unyielding. “Enough.” His voice was a growl, final and absolute. 

Cassandra trembled, not from fear, but from the realization that she had lost. Truly lost. The man who had once come to her, who had once sought her warmth, was gone. And in his place was someone she could no longer reach. 

He released her hands and stepped back, his breathing ragged, his self-control hanging by a thread. For a heartbeat, he almost felt pity for her. Almost. He realized that he had over-indulged her, so much so that she was now unable to tell the difference between the real world and the one she had built in her head. He felt guilt; he should have known better.  

And then Isabelle’s face flashed in his mind again, and he knew what he had to do, but even with the situation, he wasn’t sure he would be able to. She had been the one constant in his life, the one who had stayed by his side against all odds, the one who had been there with him through thick and thin, the one who had been there to help him build the pack from the ground up, even before he had met his first mate.  

He grimaced as he realized why his late mate never liked her. She had always insisted that she wanted to fuck him and that she was the type to do whatever to get what she wanted. Perhaps he should have listened. 

Without another word, Khalil turned and walked to the door. 

“Khalil!” Cassandra’s voice cracked behind him, raw and pleading. “Don’t walk away from me. Don’t you dare!” 

He paused at the threshold, his hand on the handle. He didn’t turn around. 

“You had me once,” he said quietly. “But never again.” 

And then he opened the door and left, the sound of it closing behind him echoing like a final judgment. 

Cassandra stood frozen in the middle of the office, her chest heaving, her fists clenched at her sides. Tears slid down her cheeks, but her eyes burned with something darker than sorrow. She had always hated Isabelle, but in that moment, she hated her even more. It wasn’t enough for her anymore that she found her before Khalil did; she would make her suffer, she would make sure she felt the pain and anger she felt. Her mouth salivated at the mere thought of the agony she would inflict on Isabelle.  

“If she comes back,” she whispered to the empty room, her voice shaking with venom, “I’ll make sure she regrets ever taking you from me.”