CHAPTER 22
Adda swallowed at the lump sitting in her throat, remnants of her dream slipping through her mind, pushing fear along with it. It was his duty...the dream echoed.
He stepped inside, the flap closing behind him. It couldn't truly shut out the outside world, yet with Scet focused on her, she felt everything else fade into the background. She had told him what she was, but it was different to hear the words than to see the evidence, the corruption, to taste the bitter wrongness in the air. She supposed she should have expected something of the sort, but she was not prepared for the look of disgust that crossed his features.
A hot wetness built behind her eyelids. She cursed inwardly and looked away from him, anywhere but him. She hadn't wept since she was a pup, not even in the cavern, and here she was about to bawl like a baby. What did it matter if this man found her horrifying anyhow? It wasn't like she could oppose that claim.
Then, strong arms encircled her, bands of iron, strong and unyielding, and she was gathered to his chest. Careful not to brush her fresh wounds, he cradled her there, like something he feared losing, something *precious*.
“I should never have left you, not after the last time you slept. Can you forgive me?”
Adda choked a little.
“You want me to forgive you?” She pulled her head back so that she could look at his face. He didn't have much of a sense of humor, but this could be nothing but a joke.
“If you can. I put learning more about this pack, what they know of my form, ahead of your immediate safety. That damned man had me tangled up for too long.” Hazel eyes met hers and they were full of disgust, but she understood now, not directed at her, disgust at himself.
“But you came back.” She wasn't sure she understood this man. She was a losing battle, as evidenced by her new markings, he should have ran back to his little hut in the forest, and left her to her fate.
He blinked, an eyebrow raising slightly. “Leaving was never part of the equation, Adda.”
As if to prove himself, he sank to the mat, taking her with him, still cradled against his chest like a small child. He leaned forward, pressing into her, and grabbed the cloth she still held absently, dipping it into the nearest bowl.
Gently he began cleaning her wounds. It was, somehow, a very intimate gesture, and she felt like she had been flung wide open, vulnerable to the world, to him.
A soft puff of breath stirred the hair along her neck. The moment was so tender, so intimate, it nearly overwhelmed her. She didn't deserve it. She couldn't stand it.
“You said you learned about this pack, anything enlightening?” she asked, breaking the moment. She didn't mention that she had learned much, as well, certain he would frown upon her evening's travels.
Scet huffed out a heavy breath of air and she could feel him shake his head.
“They follow the old ways and traditions.”
A corner of her lips lifted in a wry smile. “You don't say.”
He grunted. “It seemed odd to me that they would do so when obvious advances in...everything would give them more of an advantage. But it seems they have appointed themselves as lore keepers and continue the lifestyle of our Shifter ancestry as tribute to the position.”
“So they are insane.” Adda had suspected as much.
“A little fanatical, perhaps,” he hesitated.
“What is it?”
“My bear form...they seem to think I am the reincarnation of Alikeye-Baroth.”
“Yes,” she nodded, “I gathered that, too.”
Scet's cleaning had slowed, her wounds were clear of excess blood, but still open and raw looking. The cloth wandered slowly, up and down her skin. A caress. She sensed that he became aware of it, as well, something unnamed in the air between them.
He leaned forward again, grabbing the dry end of the leather cloth. Gripping the edges he tore at it, until a long strip came off. Then he began wrapping her wounds.
She winced at a particularly sore spot; Six, they stung like the moment she tore them open. Scet gentled his touch, but continued his ministrations, tucking in the ends of the leather when he was done.
He was quiet, and she suspected that something more was bothering him. A clutch of nerves urged her not to speak. What if he was regretting his decision, even now? Did she want to know?
“What bothers you?” she ventured.
Scet paused. He had finished dressing the wound on her arm; after a breath, he began on the long gashes she had torn in her wrist.
“Reincarnation. It implies that I am not myself, that none of my choices have been, or are, my own.”
A little surprised, she turned so she could face him better. His large body was a comforting barrier, making her feel surrounded and protected, but it also made looking into his face difficult.
He obliged by leaning back slightly, his hazel eyes finding hers. His face had been recently cleaned of stubble, and she could read the concern there readily.
“You believe that?”
“I have found myself doing things, drawn to things...inexplicably.”
“Ah.” Her vulnerability snapped shut, and her defenses rose once more, as she understood what he was saying. The implication was that she was one of the things he was drawn to inexplicably. And now he was wondering if it was caused by some previous life, something beyond his desire or control. Gods but that hurt her fluttering ego. She found herself frowning. Of *course* he didn't *want* to be drawn to her, despite all of his pretty words.
She didn't quite believe this crap about reincarnation, though.
“First off, if it were true, reincarnation suggests you have always been Alikeye-Baroth. The word means reborn after all, you don't become someone else half way through your life. No one gets a free pass like that. Perhaps what you are finding is simply a bear's instincts, I expect they are different from a wolf's, so it might seem *inexplicable*. Nothing can *unmake* who you already are.”
Well, nothing short of a demon pushing out your soul, anyway. Scet frowned at her, a little bewildered at her snarling maybe. She pushed away from him and he let her go. She scrambled toward the second pile of leather, determined to wrap it around herself.
She tried, and failed to tamp down her anger. What a pretty excuse for going back on his word. Not that he had yet, but he would, she was certain. He wouldn't deny an attraction she would wager, but no amount of attraction was going to anchor him to her, it would not save her from his eventual betrayal.
What would happen when someone better caught his attention? Someone not broken and scarred?
She sucked in a breath of air. She wasn't sure she could survive such a thing from him. Bakkus' betrayal had stung, because she thought she loved him. She could see now, though, she never had: her feelings had only been a deep infatuation.
But *this* man, he was strength and honor and ridiculously sexy, with an edge of danger to him that flung something deep inside of her into chaos. *This* man could truly hurt her, in a way that would make Bakkus' actions nothing but a surface scratch.
Maybe it would be best, for both of them, if she put distance between them.
Adda lifted the leather, and found it was not another drying cloth, as she had assumed, but a dress. She unfolded the garment, admiring the softness of the leather. It was the pale tan color one would expect from such material, but it was decorated with a band of dyed beads sewn in intricate swirls and vaguely familiar designs across the chest. Tassels hung beneath the band, so that when she placed it on they would fall over the swells her breasts produced. Sadly, her breasts wouldn't fill the material to the degree that they once would have. It had been two days since she had eaten anything at all, and she had been hungry before that. There were tassels at the hem, too, which looked as though it would reach mid-calf, and at the termination of the short sleeves. In all, it was a beautiful piece. Primitive, but breathtaking in the attention to detail.
She slipped it over her head, intensely aware that Scet had not moved, and seemed to have no shame in watching her dress. When the garment covered her most intimate parts, she turned back around, and nearly stumbled at what she saw. His hungry expression was unmistakable, passion written in the crease on his high brow and the tense readiness of his posture. He seemed to struggle for a moment, his jaw clenched.
Passion he didn't want to feel, she tried to remind herself.
Adda picked up the robe she had borrowed. The purity of it had been compromised. Dust and tears littered the hems and blood caked the right sleeve. She debated washing the thing. Having been without clothes for too long on this venture, it would be nice to have a spare set, dilapidated as it was.
She was stopped short by the blood. Nothing like a reminder of her possession to pull reality down around her. She had bigger things to worry about than this man and his wayward passions. Her life was in the balance.
“We are close to your orb,” Scet offered. “The Alpha spoke nothing of it, he only insisted I learn my purpose, but there was mention of a weapon and I believe it is the orb.” He shifted and looked toward her seriously. “He believes he is righteous in his actions, that it is his duty to set me on the path of fate, and it makes him all the more dangerous. I am certain he has more information, just as I am certain it would be best for us to leave. Quickly.”
She frowned. She had been counting on the paintings to give a little clearer direction to the orb, itself, but if Scet had seen them all and still didn't know its whereabouts...what if there was nothing more? No farther direction, just a vague nod to the orb's existence?
No, it couldn't be. He must have missed something. She had to get back to that cave. The answers were there, she was sure of it.
Scet was right, they had to leave. This Alpha would be of no willing help. Maybe she could convince Scet to sneak back and show her the cave in person.
“And what did he say was your purpose?” Adda asked.
“I was reincarnated to save the world,” he glanced toward her, and she thought, for the first time, she caught a hint of worry behind his normally even and watchful gaze. “And I have to die to do so.”