Free Till Abandon by Avril Ashton

there—the intruder didn't make any attempts to hide it.” Voltaire looked away from the censure in Blake's eyes. “I followed the familiar trail and it led me to visions of someone poking and prodding Aimee into confronting you and me. Into making a scene—or maybe they hoped I'd kill her.” She shrugged. “I don't know."
    "Who did you see?"
    Her gaze snapped to his as he forced the words out. Anger and rage coloured his features, his eyes were narrowed and his jaw flexed.
    "Um, he didn't—"
    "Who, Voltaire?"
    Voltaire squeezed her eyes shut at the shouted words, then opened them with a sigh. “The trail was made to look like Czion's.” Blake's jaw hung open and she rushed to clarify. “But it wasn't his, only a really good replica made by someone we both know intimately."
    "Do you really believe that?” Blake's voice was pitched dangerously low. Voltaire worried for only a second before she nodded.
    "Yes. Czion didn't kill Marcus."
    A look of betrayal—so harsh and raw it took her breath away—crossed his face. Tears stung her eyes as he stared at her, unblinking. Voltaire didn't have to touch his mind to know what her mate felt. It was etched on his face for her to see. The hurt, betrayal, and anger. Violence simmered in the air around him, thick enough to slice through.
    She felt his retreat and shook her head. “No. Don't do it.” Throwing her hands out, she pushed into his brain, ready to do something, anything to keep him from leaving. Blake let out an awesome growl, the sound almost shaking the building and bringing goose bumps to her skin. The hairs on the back of her neck stood in surrender.
    "If you try any of that shit on me, I will never forgive you.” His words rumbled deep in his chest as he turned from her and headed out the door.
    "Blake, don't walk away. Please. Please.” She grabbed hold of the bar, fingers digging into the wood as her knees gave out and she crumpled to the floor. "Blake."
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Chapter Ten
    * * * *
    For a few minutes, Voltaire sat on the floor, letting the tears stream down her face, indulging in her misery.
    But she'd be damned if she'd wallow any longer. No way would that shifter of hers be allowed to think he had her shaken. Sure, she'd messed up, but he had to give her a chance to fix it.
    He had to.
    She got to her feet and walked around the bar to pour herself a drink—whisky to settle the nerves she'd always considered to be encased in iron. Damn shifter was turning her into a pile of something soft and needy. Tilting her head back, she poured the amber liquid down her throat and blinked away moisture. She couldn't tell if the sudden leaking of her eyes was from the liquor burn or the fear of losing Blake.
    She did know the last time she'd cried had been the day she was taken in by the Council—her sixteenth birthday. Back then, she'd felt alone, helpless against her fate. Unable to make the moves necessary to change the trajectory of her life.
    Not the case this time. Her shifter, her mate, would be made to see her regret and contrition for keeping things from him. He'd see she'd never intended to betray him—her main goal was to find his friend's killer, which would keep his people—his pack—safe.
    Blake would see she'd rather die than hurt him. Her mate, her other half. Her love.
    She loved him. Had been in love with him since those first images of his green eyes in her dreams so long ago. And it was time he knew. Time he understood what loving him meant for her.
    And for him.
    Blake's wolf took over the instant he left Voltaire's presence. Now the animal ran through the dark woods, blades of grass and twigs lashing his muzzle. The wolf remained on alert, tuned to the sounds, natural and not, around him. Deep inside the animal, Blake's heart was heavy—he couldn't believe his mate thought she could lie to him.
    She'd protected the jaguar, believing him innocent. The same jaguar who had tried—on several occasions—to force a