Free Half Truths (A Helheim Wolf Pack Tale) by Lauren Dawes Page A

her eyes and thought about being somewhere else. Connall’s hands began
roving over her naked flesh; his rough fingers playing across her collarbone,
skimming down between her breasts. He lay his palm there, feeling her heartbeat
beneath her ribs. He dropped his head, nuzzling into the space between her
shoulder and neck, his palm still burning hot against her skin.
    ‘I want you to
have my pups,’ he murmured softly.
    She swallowed.
‘I’d rather die than give birth to the poison that will come from your loins,’
she answered just as softly. This wasn’t the first time that he had asked her
to bear his children. And it wouldn’t be the last. She gasped when something
sharp bit in under her ribs.
    Connall pulled
away from her; his face twisted into an ugly mask. She looked down to find he’d
pulled a knife on her—one of her knives. The silver-plated tip was buried into
her skin, burning her flesh. Pressing her lips together tightly, she looked
away from his glowing eyes and over his shoulder.
    He growled
softly. ‘Be careful, Leona. I want you, but I will not have you talking smack
to me like that.’
    He pulled the
blade free, making Leona gasp again. Connall picked up the towel at her feet
and pressed it to the wound. ‘Sorry, Lover, but you know the rules,’ he
whispered into her ear, running his tongue along the shell of her ear. She held
back the shudder.
    ‘Leave me to get
dressed. Marcus must be wondering where I am,’ she told Connall in a hollow,
dead voice. His eyes slipped colours furiously as he looked at her.
    ‘Don’t take too
long, Lover.’ He turned on his heel and stalked away from her room. When the
door closed behind him, she noticed the lock had been kicked in.
    Looking down,
she lifted the towel away from the cut. It was still bleeding heavily, and
would continue to bleed like that unless she cleaned the silver away. Back in
her bathroom, she pulled the small container of first aid supplies out from the
bottom of the cupboard, pawing through until she found a tube of Neosporin.
    Dumping the
towel, she slathered on the ointment, sealing the wound with a thick layer. She
felt her skin tingle, and after a minute or so, the bleeding had stopped.
Wiping away the remaining cream, she stalked from her bathroom back to the
chest of drawers to get dressed.
    She had
countless scars from Connall. Each of them were small “love cuts” as he called
them. Ever since her violent admittance into the pack, Connall had had his eye
on her. She had never been attracted to him. There was just something about him
that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. She found out why she
felt that way when she discovered his “trophy collection”.
    Connall’s room
was a shrine to his kills. On every inch of spare wall, he’d put up shelves.
And on each of these shelves, were small jars filled with formaldehyde and the
ears of his victims. Some were human—cut cleanly, methodically. Most were wolf,
torn from the body of his enemies with his teeth.
    She threw on a
black tank—not bothering with a bra—and a pair of leather pants. Pulling her
boots out from under her clothes from the night before, she put them on,
followed by her wrist sheaths. Carefully checking over her daggers, she slid
them into the leather before attaching her hip holster where she kept her
Browning.
    When she opened
her door, Connall was standing outside in the hallway. ‘What are you still
doing here?’ she asked through narrowed eyes, already making her way down the
long hallway. Connall fell into step with her.
    ‘Marcus wants me
in the meeting too.’
    ‘You could have
gone ahead of me,’ Leona said, getting a little queased out by the puppy act
Connall was pulling. ‘Did Marcus tell you to keep close to me?’
    ‘No, Lover,’ he
replied in mock seriousness. ‘I just love being able to smell death on you.’ He
grinned. Leona’s stomach flipped as she pushed open the door to the kitchen.
    Marcus was
sitting at the