Rejecting Her Rogue Prince

The Pull

“And you are sure I can’t get you anything else?” I ask, bending down to take the glass from the elderly lady.

“No, my dear,” she answers, patting my hand. “You’ve looked after me very well indeed. I should just like to get home now.”

“I’ll let you know as soon as a carriage is available.” I offer a small smile and take the glass over to lay it down on the now-empty banquet table.

I let out an exhausted exhale as I look around the room. The elaborately decorated tables are sparsely filled with the remainder of our guests. Some are being treated for wounds. Others are taking the opportunity to eat or have a small drink to settle their nerves. Some are reliving the horror of the night's events through animated discussion. In contrast, others are solemn in their grief, crying for a loved one who is either dead or injured.

My chest aches at the sight, and I close my eyes in escape. Only it’s no escape at all. Because behind every blink, I see the same images on repeat—the rogue shifting to his human form. His imposing figure jolting as bullets strike his flesh.

Goddess.

I lift a hand to my head, falling back a step to rest against the table.

“Squeaks, are you okay?”

I drag myself back together, mustering an unconvincing nod before I look to Sybil.

“Are you?”

She shrugs, lifting the old lady’s glass, which she promptly fills to the brim with the nearest bottle of alcohol. “Duncan is dead.”

My heart sinks. “I’m so sorry, Syb.”

She shakes her head a little, tossing back her drink. “I just had to tell Sarah that her husband won’t be going home with her tonight. El, I’ve never felt so useless.”

“You are anything but useless, sister,” I say, reaching over to squeeze her arm. “I saw the way you fought tonight. Duncan would have been so proud. You did exactly as he trained you to do.”

She doesn’t reply, and although I know she hears my words, I also know she’s not ready to accept them yet.

“What news of the others?” I ask, part of me utterly terrified to hear her response.

“Five dead in total,” she answers, the words expelled quickly like acid on her tongue. “There are twenty-six who will remain in the hospital for now. Father has drafted in assistance from Greystone, and of course, Robert is contacting his allies.”

I nod, and we both stand for a moment in silence, looking out over the muted ballroom.

“Here I was thinking Mother’s incessant meddling and match-making would be the worst thing that would happen to me tonight.”

She chuckles a little. It’s sad, heavy, the kind of peculiar laugh that holds no joy, only pain. “Anyway, Squeaks, I’m sorry that your big day has been ruined. You must be dreadfully sad about it.”

I shake my head assuredly. “No, I—really don’t worry about me. Robert and I still have one another. We are luckier than many this evening.”

“It could have been a lot worse had you not gotten to the tower. Apparently, the warrior who was supposed to be on duty was found drunk in his mistress’s bed, totally unaware of his spectacular f**k up.”

My brows rise, and I fold my arms over my chest. “Goddess, I’d hate to be him when father gets hold of him.”

“Father? Forget Father, I’ll skin the little asshole myself. Worthless sack of s**t that he is.”

It is then that I ask the question that has been on my mind since the moment the wolves appeared between the trees. “Why?”

I turn to face her, searching her for answers. “Why would the rogues target us, Sybil? Why now? Why tonight?”

She exhales as if she has labored over the same thing herself. “I have no idea. Warrior training has been uneventful of late. Duncan never mentioned any specific dangers or threats. Father hasn’t served in the military for at least seven years. Nothing makes sense.”

“I suppose the actions of rogues rarely do.”

“Exactly,” she spits, shaking her head. “Bunch of brainless, ignorant, cruel fuckers, every single one of them.”

Her words turn my stomach, and again I’m thrown images of the captured rogue. His breath hot against the cold air, his body heaving, drenched in blood. The blood of my pack members. My friends.

I feel so sick that I cling to the edge of the table for support, my knuckles whitening.

“Goddess, El!”

Sybil calls for someone to fetch a glass of water before she slips a hand around my waist to guide me over to a nearby chair.

“Have you seen the doctor yet? Some of these cuts are pretty deep.”

“I’m fine. They are already healing. Don’t worry, I’m just a little tired. That’s all.”

“Shall I fetch Mother?”

“Goddess, no.” I shake my head. “There’s much to do and I—“

“Absolutelyyyy not,” Sybil interrupts. “You’re as white as a ghost! Honestly, Squeaks, between the cuts, the bruises, the deathly complexion and the auburn bush you have going on up there on your head, you’re far from alright. If only Robert saw you now, eh? He’d be hitching a lift back to Redcliff with his injured pack mates.”

“Oh…thank you very much,” I mutter as Sybil shoves the glass of water into my hands.

I take a sip and look towards the ballroom doors. “Where is Robert anyway?”

“He is with Father and some other neighboring Alphas. The Royal Palace is sending an envoy to oversee the rogue’s…questioning.”

Her words spark a match within me, and I try to act casual as I ask, “What will they do with the rogue once he’s questioned?”

She scoffs, a vengeful grin spreading on her face. “Let’s just say it’s unlikely the mutt will see sunrise.”

My eyes widen, my thoughts in a complete muddle, when Robert suddenly appears at the threshold, his eyes scanning before they land on me.

“Elara…” he breathes, worry etched on his face as he approaches. “Sybil, you did not see fit to take her to the hospital? Look at her, for Goddess's sake.”

Sybil’s eyes narrow slightly. “She doesn’t want to go, Robert. She’s a grown woman.”

The words sound funny coming from Sybil, who still often treats me like her seven-year-old little sister in need of her continual protection.

Robert ignores her small barb, bending down to capture my hands. “Elara—“

“I do not wish to go to the hospital, Robert. The doctors shall have to spare someone to treat me when there are others who need attention.”

His jaw tightens slightly. “Then I must insist on taking you up to your room.”

I try to refuse, citing his countless duties as my reason, but he ignores me completely. In the end, I have no choice but to relent.

He scoops me up in his arms, and after I say my goodbyes to Sybil, he carries me upstairs.

***

I throw the sheets to one side, tossing and turning, already knowing it’s useless. The hot bath didn’t help. Nothing can erase the sounds from tonight. The screams, the terror, the way the beasts tore through what was supposed to be the best night of our lives.

Now everything is quiet. Still. Calm. I heard the last carriage leave an hour ago.

Let’s just say it’s unlikely the mutt will see daylight.

Sybil’s words echo in my head. My teeth grit, my eyes squeeze shut, trying to forget what I saw…What I felt.

I just have to make it till morning. Just till morning, and the problem will be gone. No one has to know. No one.

I pull the sheets up to my neck and turn toward the dying fire. I stare at the flames, the clock ticking on the mantle like it’s drilling into my skull.

I can’t take it anymore.

I climb out of bed, pacing, trying to will the gnawing pain in my stomach away, but the harder I try, the stronger it grows. The pull claws at me from the inside, like something in me is about to tear itself apart if I don’t submit.

What I’m about to do goes against everything I am. Everything I’ve built. But I can’t hold back any longer.

I grab my dressing gown, tying it tight over my nightdress as I move for the door. Pressing my ear to the solid wood, I hear nothing in the corridor. My father has his warriors on high alert, no doubt, but I know this house. The staircases the guards ignore, the shadowed nooks Sybil uses when sneaking in her various lovers.

I move quickly, slipping past warriors stationed near the hallways, keeping to the shadows, ducking behind pillars and doorframes when a lantern appears too close. The corridors feel impossibly long, the wood creaking beneath my feet, but somehow I manage.

The dungeons are below my feet now, and I can somehow feel the cold, the darkness, the pain. The realization makes me shudder, but I continue descending the familiar stairs.

The smell hits me first. Damp stone, iron, the faint tang of blood. I avoid the guards on duty by hugging walls, slipping into shadowed alcoves, and timing my breaths with the passing of patrols.

It’s only a few minutes, but it feels like hours by the time I reach the heavy door. I stand there for a few seconds, my hands shaking. Not from fear of being caught, but from the force inside me I can no longer control.

I open the door a crack, slipping my body inside. I lean against the closed door and stare at the darkness before me.

There’s no sign of movement.

No sound.

But I know he’s here because I can feel it.

I can feel him.

I swallow down my fear, moving on tiptoes as I wander down the corridor. I reach the end, and I press my back into the stone as I edge closer. Close enough to watch from the shadows.

In the last cell, a figure slumps against the wall. He’s wearing pants now, soaked with blood, dark and sticky against his skin. His wrists hang chained over his knees, head bowed, his dark and damp hair clinging to his forehead and neck. Even hunched, there’s a presence about him. Powerful, dangerous, impossible to ignore. The curve of his shoulders, the lean muscle of his chest, the cuts and scars that carve up his forearms. He’s a predator, wounded but still deadly.

Disgust flares in my chest. Anger. Fear. Betrayal.

And yet… the pull.

It twists through me, insistent and scorching. My nails dig into my palms. My teeth press into my bottom lip until it bleeds a little, but I manage to turn away.

I take a slow step back toward the door, my heart stopping in my chest when I hear him speak for the first time.

“I know you’re there…mate.”