Grey wool clouds hang heavy in front of the midday sun.

A crisp breeze ruffles the hem of my skirt to bite its breath along my ankle line when I throw another bucket of dirty water on the pile of rubbish outside the front door.

When turning around my neck still holds an ache to it. The Wild refused to retract its canines until my heart settled itself down in my chest. As soon as I took that calming breath out, he released me from his grip with a lick to my neck.

Touching the spot, it feels tender, but also highly pleasurable to the point I have to remind myself all morning to stop touching myself there.

I asked the Wild if he, "loved her too?" He shook his head with a flash of fang only to mark me again. I want to believe him, but I have my doubts.

We fell asleep together, his teeth in my neck, my doubt clinging to me.

The Savage watches as every inch inside the shell of our new home is scrubbed clean. A bucket was found with his tools, her hands never were on it. The soap that I'm using was made by his mother, I like the smell, it's clean and fresh.

He keeps looking into the empty cupboards that I haven't cleaned yet. His face is worried, I can tell by the look of him. Reopening, opening them back up as if trying to see if he really understands nothing but empty space.

Hunger this morning has started to gnaw into the middle of my stomach, it's gotten worse as the day moved slowly on. Drinking water doesn't make it go away, it just makes me pee more.

"There is nothing there, stop opening the cupboards up." When he goes to open them up for the fifth time.

"I don't think you understand what you've done, Bessa. All the food is gone." Panic weaves in the structure of his voice, I feel it deep inside the tone of him.

"I don't think you understand what you've done," saying the words back, I try to stop the break in sound, it doesn't work.

His face shifts to mirror the misery that rests inside me.

A big hand closes the cupboards before the beat of his heart is pulled away from my space, he sits on the floor that's been scrubbed a few hours ago. The walls were tricky, I've never cleaned logs before, the windows needed a good cleaning.

"Didn't she clean the house for you while you two played pretend?" His jaw flexes.

"She wasn't here to clean the house." I'm already up stomping my warpath to him before he finishes his sentence.

"You're right, she was never here to clean the house, that's my job, isn't it? You have a mate to clean for you and whore to feed, lucky you." The bucket of dirty water finds his body, drenching him with the stink of his own home.

He's up, fast.

I don't stop walking backward until the curve of my spine hits the log wall. Our space between us grows smaller until I feel the firmness of his body press into mine.

Liquid warmth, soft and smooth travels within the cavity of my chest when his hand grips the back of my neck, pulling my face to his.

"That's the last time you throw water on me, Bessa." It's said calmly, steady and with meaning that I should be wary of doing that again to an Alpha born.

My turn for silence, the intensity amplifies from his touch when the tip of his fingers touch the edges of the mark through silk on my neck his Wild gave me. I don't make a sound, but I shake.

"Tell me you understand." The temperament of his voice is barely restrained. The strong, patient beat of his heart is felt against my chest.

Blood rushes everywhere, my inner thighs quake.

A breath of motion from my head. His eyes soften, while mine try to harden. I can feel his other finger tracing along the silk fabric, his palm resting on the curve of my hip. He pulls me against him.

Bodies flush against the other.

His cheeks hold the cinder of color, while I feel mine experience a voracious surge of heat.

I can hear him breathe in deeply, lungs expanding fully only to shudder out an escape of air.

Again he pulls the beat of his heart away to go towards where the water has been spilled.

The Savage takes off his shirt and wipes the dirty water from the floor. His tattoos shift with every movement, making it seem if the nails of the bear paw are clawing deeper into the muscles of his back.

Not able to pull my vision from scanning every aspect of him. Architecturally he's perfect with a solidly built structure. Letting the sight of him create a stir within the space of my legs. The heat feels wet, squeezing my thighs shut.

He stiffens holding onto the floor, nails are out and when he turns my way his pupils have gorged themselves on the green that reminds me of tree snakes.

He inhales...

His cheeks hold a flash to them, creating a burning slap in his face, extending down his neck to disappear into the ink of him.

The middle of his chest vibrates the current of air with his sound. It's a long, masculine growl that intones want, need, desire.

Sinew, cartridge and bone shift trying to break through the cocoon of his skin. He's having a hard time fighting his Nature.

Picking up the pail, blatantly avoiding his flesh again. Filling it with water the rest of the day is spent cleaning everything in a hard, dense weighted silence. Bucket after bucket of dirty water is splashed on the pile of rubbish. Out of the periphery of my eye at times I see her shadow. I don't know why I know it's her watching, but I know it's her.

I can feel it inside my gut.

"I'll be back soon, I have to get us something to eat." He's out of his pants, only wearing a loincloth. Thighs are hidden underneath inked tattoos, that travel down his calves until the imagines stop around his ankles. Thick vines of green leaves wrap around them like thick green shackles. When he goes out the front door, I watch him walk casually towards her shadow before disappearing into the treeline.

It's no use to busy myself with the mundanity of cleaning, it doesn't work. Nothing works to take my mind off of what they must be doing or talking about.

When the Savage finally comes back, the flickers of the flame from the candles prances along his jawline in soft shadows.

"Where have you been?" Letting the hollow of my voice echo from the inside of my chest. I've been waiting in my corner sitting in a self-restrained pose.

"Hunting," He holds up the dead things as proof. His other hand has herbs, and long green stems he's holding. Opening the door to the castiron stove, he lights the inside. Within seconds I can hear the frantic crackles of dry logs catching flame quickly.

He puts a pan on the stove walking away to the counter and again he pulls open a drawer, before closing it back shut.

There is nothing inside.

"I need your knife." His hand outstretches for what I have underneath my silk arm. Stomach growls with the scent of blood.

Handing it to him, looking into those snakes of green. "Did you talk with her?"

I've never been exposed to this much silence before, my home was filled with music, laughter, and voices. Not the kind of sound where you can hear your own heartbeat start to race upwards waiting for answers.

"Yes, I spoke with her." Why does it hurt my insides when I knew he was going to say that.

"What did you talk about?"

"Bessa..."

"Tell me. What did you talk about? Did you apologize to her for finding me?" He closes his eyes, putting the knife down.

"Yes, I did." I want to slap his face but can't because I'm stuck in my spot, holding onto the wall for support.

"Will you always apology to her about me?"

His voice escapes him, only a long breath out is heard.

"What did she say?"

"She told me that she loved me." Can voices hold tears, his sound seems to be dripping with sadness.

"You should have never brought me here. You could have pretended that I didn't exist, like the way you're making me feel right now. You and her would have lived a happy life, a full life."

"I couldn't walk away from you."

"Did you think about it? Did you think about just walking away from me to be with her?" Tears blur the vision of him.

"I did." He holds himself firmly in his spot as I slump down to the floor, the silk dress billowing out around me. I'm not able to stand any longer. Words feel more powerful than a knife to the heart.

"Why did you have to be so weak and take me then?"

"You're my mate, and I couldn't walk away. I couldn't just leave without you. There was no way to leave without you."

"Then why can't you just walk away from her if I'm your mate?"

"Because I love her. I just can't walk away from her either, but I have to. It's over between her and me. I told her." He rubs his eyes. I can't help the way my palm slaps against the wood floor. The other palm stings as I begin to slap the wood the way I want to hit him.

"Did you tell her you loved her when you saw her?"

"No."

"Why?"

"She needs to understand that I have a mate now."

"Now! You've always had one. I have been here always. Just like you were always with me, in the back of my head. I knew you would be a strong male, I knew you would be everything I imagined. I just never thought that I would become my mates breeding whore."

"Bessa, you're not my breeder."

"Yes, I am. You don't love breeders, you just put your seed in them. Isn't that what's going to happen once you mark me. My heat will come, then you're going to put your heir inside me. Breeding me while loving someone else. I'm nothing but your breeder, your obligation." It takes a few moments to recover my voice before asking the next question.

"Tell me who do you feel sorrier for, me or her?" The rage is climbing in my sound now.

"Bessa, stop."

"No, I won't until every single question is answered." The need in my voice is hungry for the foulness of his answers. I'm a glutton for my own misery, I should stop asking these questions, but there is no preventing my mouth from opening again.

"Right now I feel sorry for her, she won't get over you, she's not doing well."

"And you think I'm doing well? You'll think I'll get over this? How? How do I get over her when you don't know how to get over her?" The Wild inside takes this opportunity to vocalize a tremor of her disapproval of the skin standing for her judgment.

"How long did you talk for?"

"Not long, I had to go hunting for us." He starts to butcher the aminals now. Skinning the fur off the bodies quickly, he's got a skill of a huntsman.

"Was she waiting for you when you came back?"

"Yes, I told her to go home."

"Did she go home?"

"Not at first, I had to make her go."

"Did you give her part of your kill?" His knife stops cutting.

"Yes, I must provide for her."

"Why is it your duty now that you have me to provide for? Let someone else do your duty while she's still breathing." I can't stop the threat that tears through my throat.

"I must provide for my brother's mate and-" I stop him before he can go further.

"Your brother must look down from the Moon and rejoice how well his brother feeds what's his. How will you ever face your brother inside the Moon? How will you ever hold his eyes?" He flinches his shoulders with what I've said. The Savage starts with the butching of the animal again, placing pieces of meat in the frying pan that holds herbs and long green stems of a plant I'm not familiar with.

"I never touched her." The words are barely heard over the sizzling meat.

"You should have." I can even taste the vile within my words.

"I have no choice I have to provide for her, them"

"Them?"

"The other three that have sacrificed themselves for the greater good of the pack. They are there just in case something happens to you or each other."

"Your pack holds breeders for the Alpha just in case I can't fulfill my duties as a breeding whore and produce an heir." The tension aches my jaw, so I have to open it for a few moments before shutting it tight again.

"She's your main breeder, isn't she? She will be the one to hold your pup if I can't?"

"Yes, only if you can't or won't." His eyes hold mine

"What of you, what happens if it's you that can't produce a pup?"

"That won't happen. I'm not sterile." He's almost proud the way he says it. He's right, I can smell the fertility of him.

"It's hard to produce an heir when you have no appendage to produce with." Taking a silver knife that's hidden in the folds of silk.

"Put that away." The sound is rooted in his throat, the tone of him is with the substance my fibers are made to listen. I put the knife away, but at least he knows that I will always carry death.

"When do I get to meet the rest?" The fakeness drips from a sweet voice that makes it stink of lies.

"Tommorrow. Each family is expected to bring food, there will be dancing and celebrating." His voice doesn't seem celebratory.

"Good, I can't wait to meet everyone." No fakeness now, I am excited to meet these female.

The Savage stretches slightly, his muscles that were corded, flex and relax momentarily before shifting themselves in their place.

"Would you take one of them if I can't fulfill my obligation?"

"I would have no choice, I would need to take one of them."

"It would be her, you'd take her first right?" Bile rises sticking to the back of my throat, like a harsh acid. She will always be in our background.

"Yes."

Somehow the shell of the house bears the sound of my disbelieving wrath, long tones of violence is scorched out from lungs that are on fire with the singular emotion of rage. He watches while I have a few moments to hurtle a war of words at him that are so fast coming from my mouth that I don't think he understood most of what I said. When finally calming down enough to look at him again there is a hoarseness to sound my broken sound.

"Do you even want to mark me?" Holding my breath for his answer.

"Yes," He stops turning the meat in the pan, another thing I let him keep because she never cooked, she just ate.

"Did you want to mark her?" Why do I do this to myself, asking questions I already know the answer to.

"I thought I did until I met you." He looks up at me, do I believe him? When he gets closer, he hands me dinner that's been put on a piece of flat wood.

Lifting my veil from my face, the lingering of his eyes sight is felt on my lips, nose, cheeks, trailing down my neck to the mark his Wild made. I try to cover myself back up, "don't." His voice has a subtle command, a soft show of his force.

"I want to see your face." The whisper of his sound hurts my ears. My head turns from his traveling eyes, a tear drips on the meat I have no idea what it is.

We eat with our hands.

The Savage slides down the wall, our shoulders almost touching. It's a cruel thing being so close to your mate without allowing yourself to feel his flesh.

I suffer...

If I were kind, I would tell him what he made was good, but I can't seem to find my kindness.

Once done, he throws the wood plates into the fire, saving the bones as if they are the most critical thing in the world. He seals them up in a bag, placing them in the icebox.

"Why save the bones?"

"We don't have any food for winter. We'll be lucky to have those bones in a few months."

"Whose fault is that?" Challenging him to say it's mine.

He doesn't say anything, but when I get closer to sink to wash my hands, he touches my arm before claws bringing me into his body again. His nose finding my neck and if it were a different place, a different time I would let him kiss me...

"Don't, she could be watching us right now through the window. What would she think if she saw you doing this to me? She'd be hurt, I don't want to cause her more pain." Saying it, while looking through the glass.

She's there, watching.

Our eyes find each other. She looks wild, crazed and above all else broken...

"We need to initiate boundaries, you don't touch me unless I touch you first. There might be times that I have a weak moment. Know this, it's only a weak moment, and it won't be long before my head clears. Treasure the weakness within me, because that won't happen often." The tip of my finger brushing the curve of his lower lip before I pull it away.

"I can't promise that. I need to touch you." A chill seems to shake his spine when his head turns to look where I'm looking.

Always meet your threat with a smile of teeth. I take off my veil so she can see how sharp mine really are.

Walking out the back door, she holds her spot. An ax in her hand, silver slides into mine.