How much can love save?
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Leila is torn between keeping away from her mate and saving her Pack. She believes staying away from him is best for the both of them. But the only way she stands a chance at protecting the people she loves is if she accept...
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~NATASHA.
A finger raised my chin to look up, up at the man who my brother and his mate were worked up on.
Edward.
"Tell me..." He spoke with a dangerous calm, a smirk on his beautiful unworldly face. "...tell me again how exactly you got into my mansion? Maybe this will all be over soon."
My knees trembled even when I was on them, his men holding my arms apart, my face bloodied from the beating I didn't expect.
"I'm just a tourist." I sobbed.
I knew what I was getting myself into when I got involved with the rebels trying to fight for their real alpha. I knew what I was getting at when I ignored all Kayeel told me and walked in my own path. Ever since I observed the secret movements in the streets, my heart told me to follow. It told me it was what I needed to do. Help them. Give them hope.
It turned out there were millennia-old tunnels under the mansion that led deep into the woods. They were used for the sole purpose of escape when the battle was too deep. They were too old, no one remembered them anymore. But at this time of need, one would be surprised at how much desperation can lead to outside thinking and extensive research.
I offered to sneak into the tunnels because it would be easy for me when I got caught. I didn't have a rebel's reputation and I had spent days making everyone believe I was just a tourist. A very curious tourist.
I did expect the beating...maybe death. But by the look of Edward, he didn't want to kill me right away. He wanted answers. Answers I wasn't ready to give.
Another punch on the face and I'm groaning in pain. I already knew I had a broken nose, burst lip and purple eyes. I hadn't yet told Poppy to heal me for fear of surfacing much of her scent. The tunnel's gore and dirt had done an easy job of masking my scent...probably Max's since he'd been the last one to touch me. I feared his scent still lingered on me. Poppy can be a keeper sometimes; she liked to hold on to things. But with all the dirt and blood, I was sure even my scent was hard to read.
"Girl, I'm not playing. I could kill you in a matter of seconds."
I breathed, "I'm just a tourist. Yes, I've been curious. Your men have sometimes had to drag me off forbidden grounds but I'm an artist. I paint whatever inspires me."
He turned to his men. "And none of you ever thought to tell me of her?"
They looked away. "We just thought she was a nosy tourist. She always had her canvas so we thought she was an artist."
I bit, "I am an artist."
Edward turned to me. "Maybe your next piece will be painted in your blood."
The man executing the beating raised his fist again and I whimpered, expecting another series of pain.
