My Lycan Mate of Suicide Forest

Hi, friends! Two chapters are coming tonight! Enjoy your weekend. :)

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August awoke to the sound of angry voices in the next room. She recognized Graeme's among them, and she quickly pushed herself up in bed to feel the soreness in her body that had finally caught up to her. The sun had moved in the sky to a late afternoon hour, making her wonder how long she was out.

As if sensing August awake, Graeme's familiar bristly face appeared in the bedroom doorway where he paused to look at her from across the room. His expression was not one she could read—his eyes like a dark storm rolling back to let the sun break through. August held her breath looking at the beauty of him from afar like this, wondering what he was thinking. She was suddenly desperate to know.

She couldn't understand it, but she feared that what happened today would change the relationship with Graeme somehow. She had let herself be put in danger. She had answered the door. Marius had put his hands on her. August gulped recalling it all as it played back in fast forward through her mind. The rage in Marius. His face so close. The smell of him. The desperation. And the way her body shook with adrenaline as she ran through the house and out onto the deck. The rough tree bark under her hands.

Greta passed Graeme quietly to come to August's side.

"Let me see your eyes, dear," she said, and August tore them away from where Graeme remained standing watching her. "It will take a few days to go back to normal. No digital screens until then, okay?"

August nodded, realizing that she had started trembling again, so she folded her hands together and squeezed her eyes shut to will the weakness away. She was stronger than this.

"Let me know if you have any new symptoms." With that, Greta squeezed her shoulder and made her way out, and August heard the front door close two rooms away.

Graeme finally moved from the doorway, and she watched him slowly make his way to her with fear blooming larger and larger in her heart as he did. When Graeme finally arrived before her, August's heart was thundering. Was he angry at her? Was he angry at himself? Graeme kneeled and took her hands in his, lowering his head to kiss the marks on her wrists before looking back up into her eyes.

"It's agony not knowing how you are," he said quietly, searching her face. His voice was so deep. It made her shiver and then immediately calm—the thickness of it covering her. "I wish I could just feel what you're feeling. And take it from you. Carry it for you."

For some reason, these few tender words made her tears resurface, and August looked down into their hands to try to keep him from seeing them. Graeme didn't seem angry after all. He tilted her chin back up where she met his gaze while her wretched tears welled larger.

"I'm so proud of you, August. You did well," he said deeply again. And with that, the dam of tears broke loose.

Graeme pulled her gently into his lap, tucking her under his chin while she wept against him, clutching his shirt. "I'm sorry," she sobbed against him, "I'm so sorry." She repeated it over and over, emptying all of the darkness inside of her into those words.

Graeme choked back his own tears at hearing her words—the thought that these were the words that came to her when she was hurt. Why did she feel guilty? What was she apologizing for?

Anger and sorrow fought within him as he held her, allowing the tremors and the darkness to make their way out. He rocked her gently back and forth, moving his hand through her hair soothingly as her sobs gradually died down into soft whimpers and then finally into a quiet peace.

When she eventually looked back up at him, her eyes were red and puffy, but there was a serenity that made her look more alive and beautiful than ever. She reached up and smoothed the sides of his face with both of her hands.

"Thank you," she said quietly, sniffling. "I'm sorry. I'm actually fine."

"Why are you sorry, my love? You've done nothing wrong," he said, rubbing her back and feeling her relax into him again.

She laughed awkwardly against his chest. "I just cry too much."

"Are you really worried about that? After what you just went through?" he spoke softly, clenching his jaw as he once again imagined Marius here in his home threatening her. The rage he felt when he entered the treehouse still burned close to the surface, and it took everything he had to tuck it back.

Marius was gone, and he couldn't punish him the way he needed to. If only he had finished Marius the first time—he should have chased him and finished what August had started. Why hadn't he? Or why hadn't Sam saved Marius for him so he could take him out himself? He would have made it slow and torturous.

Graeme turned his attention back to the girl in his arms who was still sniffling, and everything in him yearned to make it better for her—however he could after the fact. Greta had warned him that August didn't want to be made to feel weak or fragile, but he needed to know how extensive the harm to her was.

"Can I… ask how you are feeling?" he ventured.

He felt August stiffen in his arms at the question. "Just sore is all," she replied.

He sighed and squeezed her gently. "Have you checked yourself over?"

"I'm fine," she said.

"August…" he started, trailing off to wonder about his words and how to pick them. "You are… precious to me," his voice broke midway and he grimaced at it.

His stomach twisted harder at the helplessness he felt gnawing at him, spiraling down into his core at what could have happened. He hadn't been able to protect her. Again. Sam had described Marius' appearance, and he could only guess at the threat she had faced alone.

"Can I…" he swallowed hard before continuing, "may I look you over to make sure that you're okay?" he whispered the question almost apologetically. She nodded silently, and he stood with her against him and carried her out to the shower before placing her on her feet.

August's eyes diverted from Graeme's as he found the hem of her shirt and slowly lifted it over her head. He turned her around gently so she was facing away from him, and she took the opportunity to look down at her stomach, which had a few scrape marks—probably from the roof or tree, she thought. Graeme's hands worked through her hair as he scanned for any abrasions before turning her back around to face him.

With the afternoon light peeking over the wood slat wall, he saw the difference in her pupils that Greta had described. His brows pulled together as he ran a thumb around the orbital bone of her eye with the larger black pupil. The anger resurfaced to flash in his own eyes before worry consumed it, swallowing it up and leaving a pool of emotion in its place. August raised her hand to cover his.

"It's fine," she reassured him.

"How does a shower sound?" he asked, avoiding responding to her. Because it wasn't fine. The arm August had raised to touch his hand had the gnarled pink scar on its wrist, which was now surrounded by fresh bruises.

August saw him looking at her arm, and she dropped it to her side. "I've survived worse."

"He didn't give you a concussion last time," Graeme said through gritted teeth. "He didn't almost **** you," and saying it aloud, barely audible as he did, invited the wave of emotion to swell in him where the angry tears finally escaped.

"No. Before Marius," August jutted her chin out now with a hardened, vacant expression he hadn't seen—like a mask had been flipped down to keep him out.

"W-what?" he stuttered, squinting against the tears. "Someone else hurt you?" He heard her sigh heavily to this, and she pressed her eyes together tightly but remained silent. "You can tell me," he swallowed hard again.

August pulled the shirt back over her head before meeting his eyes again. "I guess you should know," her voice void of emotion. "It might change how you feel." His brows furrowed at what she could mean. "I was raped."

The words hung in the air like a bell that had been rung.