Logan is Rudolph.
Lucien is Logan.
Terminator, Logan, the future Alpha of Dark Diamond, Thor—they were the names of my mate, the owner of my heart and all its blood vessels.
And he was also Rudolph, the guy I’d been endlessly talking and writing to for weeks, telling him private things about me and my mate. Private things about himself!
He’d humiliated me!
“Oh, Goddess.” I clapped my hands over my mouth and shook my head. Shook the truth away from me, sending the whole day to the trash.
Logan was talking fast, lips moving, eyes sad and pleading. But I couldn’t hear him over the sound of his betrayal.
“Impossible,” I mumbled, my eyes filling with the product of my overwhelming emotions.
How one single individual could cause so much damage, and how another could retain so much… It would have to remain an unanswered question.
Before the last glimmer of hope that this was all a prank could vanish forever, three werewolves lunged at us from both sides, coming fast and hard. I didn’t even have to scream in alarm or defend myself. Logan pushed me out of reach of clawsand fangs—and, Stephen, if he didn’t know just what he was doing!
A guttural curse ripping from his throat, he ducked left and grabbed one by the paws, flipping it to the ground. Before the wolf could get up, Logan stomped on his chest, nailing him down. The other attacker ended up in a suffocating grip, kicking and wriggling, unable to free himself.
They thrashed and foamed at the mouth, but Logan had them. A third wolf came at him.
And Logan?
He bit him. Right in the face.
Grim. Lethal.
His cool, calm expression disturbed me. I heard a disgusting snap before the third limped off, defeated.
Blood, broken bones—none of it ever bothered me if I was fixing someone up. But Logan?
Logan wasn’t fixing anything. He was the destruction.
I saw it, then: Logan in his element. So in control, so comfortable in violence.
I couldn’t look away from the tips of his fangs or the crimson streaks smeared across his face. His hair stuck to his forehead, damp with sweat or blood—maybe both.
His gaze swept back to me, fierce and unyielding.
When I didn’t move, just gawked, he took my hand in his bigger, violent one. He yanked my arm forward, bent down, and pressed his lips to my knuckles as he gazed up at me. His glowing eyes were intense, his irises red, the wolf’s blood dripping from his mouth. He breathed deeply into my skin, and my scent hushed the growls that still rose from deep within him.
My anxiety spiked, and I pulled back.
He released my hand, not surprised that I’d refused him.
“Sorry,” he muttered, closing his eyes for a second.
I covered my mouth when sobs made their way out. My heart fractured further the more he talked with Rudolph’s voice.
“Yvaine, please don’t cry.” His voice cracked. He looked like a defeated man, a bit of fang peeking from his mouth. “We can?—”
“Stay away!” I screamed, hugging myself and staggering back.
His shoulders dropped, and he said nothing. He just stood there staring at me, hands that had caused so much violence hanging at his sides. At least he didn’t come closer.
Clearly, I’d been deranged if I’d believed I didn’t need to trust what people said about him.
