The Willing

Emily

Luka approached my secluded corner at the bar, his eyes emanating a glacial blue that once held familiarity. A low growl rumbled in his throat, accompanied by a myriad of emotions flickering across his face—a blend of anger, hurt, and an undeniable hunger.

“Good evening, Emily,” he uttered in a tone devoid of warmth.

Meeting him in public had been a strategic decision. My letter surely caught him off guard, but with no return address, he couldn’t track me down. My sudden disappearance over a year ago, without a word of farewell, would have raised suspicions. He would’ve likely rushed to Will’s house, only to find him lifeless, a victim of my rage.

As his gaze bore into me, the air around us grew uncomfortably warm. Memories of our last encounter flashed in my mind, a raw passion tinged with fear as I fled for my life, knowing he’d come for me. Luka wouldn’t hesitate to exact revenge for his fallen comrade.

“Hello, Luka,” I greeted, a smile playing on my lips, recalling that night with a mixture of fondness and apprehension.

His eyes hardened, betraying the turmoil within him. Honor-bound as he was, Luka would seek to rectify the imbalance of his actions, but I harbored no such desire. I hoped his wife had uncovered his infidelity, hoping she felt the sting of betrayal.

Luka’s melodic accent wrapped around me, transporting me back to our shared past. “What brings you here, Emily?” he inquired, his voice thick with emotion.

I knew now that his native tongue was Portuguese. Initially, I had been captivated by his exotic allure—dark skin, dramatic eyes—but he hailed from the Venezuelan-Brazilian border, a territory steeped in Lycanthrope lore.

Shaking off the nostalgic reverie, I focused on the task at hand. “I want my life,” I declared, our enhanced senses tuning out the clamor of the bar. Alone in our world, I had a proposition to make.

“Your life?” Luka’s words dripped with bitterness and disbelief, twisted by the weight of accusation. “You forfeited that when you killed Will.”

I anticipated his response, yet I came prepared.

“And tell me, Luka,” I countered, sweetness lacing my voice. “What does a Lycanthrope male forfeit if he betrays the one to whom he is Bonded?”

A dangerous glint flickered in his eyes. “You wouldn’t dare. It’s your fault that I faltered in my faith to Brooke.”

“I don’t recall you being too unwilling to perform,” I shot back, my words laced with venom. “And as for Brooke, what I told you that night still holds true; she stole your chance at happiness all those years ago.”

In a fit of rage, he slammed his hand against the counter, his accusatory finger pointing menacingly at me. “Fuck you, Emily. She’s a good mother to our son and a loyal mate—the latter trait is much more than I can say for you, you murderous bitch.”

The bartender, alerted by the rising tension, approached our table. Although he hadn’t caught every word, he didn’t appreciate Luka’s tone.

“Sir, if you raise your voice again, you’ll be asked to leave,” the bartender warned.

Luka’s gaze sharpened at the interruption, but he gathered himself enough to respond audibly. “Sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t,” the bartender interjected, turning to me. “You let me know if he starts bothering you, miss.”

I offered a grateful nod as the bartender returned to attend to the other patrons, leaving us in a tense silence. Luka visibly composed himself, rolling his shoulders and taking a deep breath. The necessity of a public meeting became evident as we struggled with the weight of our words.

His glare turned to me, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. “What reason do you have to be happy?” Luka snapped. “The Council has called for your death. Maria will have your blood, and my father says he’ll hunt you himself if I don’t.”

I responded calmly, “I’m not concerned about Will’s mother or Raníer.”

“Where does this confidence come from, Emily?” he sneered. “You’re the hunted now. What’s to keep me from killing you as soon as we leave the public eye?”

“I have something your people will want—something you will want,” I countered.

“You can have nothing the Clan desires, except maybe your life, and even that is worthless to us,” he retorted sharply.

His words struck a chord. He finally admitted that I didn’t matter to him anymore, a realization that stung despite my efforts to conceal it. My feelings for him remained unchanged, untouched by time.

“Brooke isn’t the only one who’s a good mother,” I declared, watching as understanding dawned in his widened eyes.

“Emily, no—” he began, his voice a mix of fear and hope.

“Luka, yes,” I affirmed, leaving his question hanging in the air, uncertain of its implications.

“I don’t know whose it is,” I replied carefully, the weight of my words heavy in the air.

The pain that flickered in his eyes made me regret my admission. I hadn’t come here to cause him more anguish. The last thing I ever wanted was to hurt him or Will. Will’s death had been an accident, a consequence of my uncontrollable bloodlust. Now, even as I sat composed, I found myself scraping Luka’s emotions raw.

He closed his eyes, a silent moment stretching between us before they reopened. I held my tongue, waiting for him to speak, knowing that regardless of my own feelings, he would have to make the first move.

“What color are the baby’s eyes?” he asked quietly.

“Brown,” I replied softly.

He sighed, a hint of sadness in his voice. “Not surprising, considering you and Will both had brown eyes before the Change, as did I before the gene manifested at puberty.”

His unexpected tenderness caught me off guard. “A boy or a girl?” he inquired gently.

I couldn’t help but smile, a glimmer of pride shining through. “A boy,” I answered, but then added hastily, “I won’t tell you his name yet, not until I know you’ll protect us.”

“I cannot save you, Emily,” Luka murmured regretfully. “Even if I refuse to slay you, the Clan will come for you.” His eyes reflected his inner turmoil. This was difficult for him too. “They will take the baby after they kill you.”

“No one will take my son from me,” I retorted fiercely. “I’ll kill anyone who tries.”

He reached for my folded arms, pulling my hands toward him. His unexpected gesture surprised me, yet the tension between us was palpable, reminiscent of that desperate night when he craved my touch. The air crackled with the unspoken emotions swirling between us.

He stroked my fingers gently, his gaze fixed on our intertwined hands. “I loved you, Emily,” he whispered.

Tears threatened to well up in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. “I still love you, Luka,” I confessed softly, the words hanging in the air, heavy with the weight of our shared history.

He yanked his hands away as if they’d been singed, refusing to meet my gaze. I observed a slight tremor ripple through his arms. “You shouldn’t say such things. We need to leave. I can’t speak to you like this in public. Someone who knows Brooke may see us.”

“I won’t be alone with you,” I declared firmly, pausing to choose my words carefully, finding no other defense. “I’m scared of you.”

The admission weighed heavily on him, evident in the way his sapphire eyes finally met my dual-toned ones, his throat working hard as he swallowed. “I will not hurt you, Emily,” he assured me, his voice carrying the weight of sincerity.

“Even if you’re ordered to?” I pressed cautiously.

“Even if I’m ordered to. I swear—on Will’s grave and my son’s life,” he pledged solemnly.

That was the promise I had sought. Luka might be lethal, but he remained a man of honor, at least to those he considered allies. His reaction to my touch hinted that I might still hold some semblance of that status, though I doubted he comprehended my role fully at that moment.

As I smoothed the fabric of my long-sleeved shirt, rising to my feet, I couldn’t shake the feeling of manipulation gnawing at my conscience. Survival seemed to demand such tactics lately, yet I owed him something for his willingness to extend me another chance.

“Are you on your Ducati?” I inquired knowingly, aware of his unwavering attachment to his motorcycle.

A smile tugged at his lips as he gestured toward his weathered leather riding jacket. “Of course. It’s the only way I travel these days.”

I knew it was a lie. During the full moon, he would roam under the moonlight in his majestic wolf form, just as I would in my own tawny coat during the next Change in a few days. But his playful grin reminded me of the Luka I once knew, and I desperately clung to the hope that fragments of him remained.

“Then follow me, motorcycle man,” I teased, feeling a flicker of familiarity and warmth.

He chuckled, rising from his seat, and in that moment, it felt as if we had never been apart.

As we approached the door, Luka’s grip tightened on my arm, his voice a low hiss. “You have a human watching your child?”

“She’s different. She knows about us. Don’t worry,” I reassured him, attempting to placate his concern. If he understood just how unique Rachel was among humans, he would never dare to enter the apartment.

“What do you mean, ‘don’t worry’? Why would you ever reveal our secrets to a human?” His tone dripped with incredulity and suspicion.

“Because I was human once,” I snapped back, my frustration bubbling to the surface. “And humans aren’t as foolish and deceitful as some Lycanthropes seem to believe.”

His expression faltered, a hint of shame crossing his features as he realized the implication of his words.

Releasing my arm, he muttered, “It’s dangerous knowledge for her.”

I nodded in agreement. “She can take care of herself, I promise. Besides, she’s incredibly discreet. She’s a friend of the only person I trust in this world right now.”

“Is this friend the one who pays for this apartment?” Luka questioned disdainfully.

“Yes, Rachel lives here too, and she contributes equally,” I affirmed, a defensive edge creeping into my tone.

“And who is this other friend?” he pressed, his curiosity evident.

“That’s none of your business. Rachel’s a good listener, and I trust her with my life,” I asserted firmly, a hint of defensiveness in my tone. Pausing, I locked eyes with him. “And Micah loves her completely.”

“Micah,” he repeated, his voice barely a whisper, but I could sense the turmoil brewing beneath the surface as he grappled with unspoken thoughts.

“Yes, Micah. My son,” I confirmed, knowing the implications lingering in his mind, though he dared not voice them aloud.

“Does she know what I am, too?” he inquired cautiously, his guardedness palpable.

“She might figure it out, but I don’t think it will bother her too much,” I replied, hoping to ease his concerns, though his response remained inscrutable.

Unlocking the door, I hesitated, knowing Luka could sense my reluctance to invite him into the intimate world I had forged for Micah and me.

Rachel’s dark brown eyes flashed as she rose from her spot on the couch, Micah cradled in her arms. Her gaze flickered to Luka as she handed Micah to me, but she refrained from asking questions, understanding the peculiarities of our lives. She had grown accustomed to the comings and goings of strangers at odd hours. While I had never brought a man home before, I trusted Rachel to maintain her silence.

Neither Luka nor Rachel acknowledged each other’s presence, their focus solely on Micah and me. Tension etched Rachel’s features, a natural response to the presence of two werewolves. Humans may not always comprehend our nature, but they feel our presence instinctively. Rachel, with her education and her own reasons for respecting the mysteries of the night, understood better than most.

Gingerly, I broached the subject. “Do you think you could leave us for a while?” I asked Rachel, knowing she wouldn’t take offense. Just like that, she departed, Luka’s gaze trailing after her. I knew she wouldn’t mind; after all, I often gave her space when she needed it. She wouldn’t begrudge me the same courtesy, allowing me the precious moments alone with Luka and Micah.

Luka observed the gurgling baby in my arms with a careful gaze. Micah eagerly reached up, his tiny hands outstretched towards my face. Unable to resist, I found myself slipping into the silly, high-pitched tones reserved for infants and small animals.

“Hello Micah. Did you miss me? Of course you did, you precious thing,” I cooed, unable to contain my affection. Similar sentiments followed effortlessly. It was difficult not to adore someone who greeted you with such unbridled joy every time you appeared.

Holding Micah close, I turned to Luka. “This is Micah.”

Luka’s gaze softened, a flicker of emotion crossing his features. I remembered once asking him what he desired most in the world, and he had answered without hesitation: “to be a father.” He understood the likelihood that Micah was his child. As he reached out for Micah, I reluctantly relinquished my hold. Despite my instinctual urge to protect my son, I knew Luka would never harm an innocent child. He might be a Slayer, but his targets were those who threatened the Lycanti, like myself, not innocent children.

Seeing Micah nestled in Luka’s arms snapped me back to the pressing matters at hand, pulling me away from the blissful reverie of motherhood.

“Are you willing to undergo a paternity test?” I asked, the weight of the question hanging heavy in the air.

Luka’s sharp gaze pierced through me. “Are you a fool? Do you understand the consequences if our DNA were to be exposed to the public?”

I furrowed my brow, realizing the gravity of his words. “But they took blood from Micah in the hospital; there’s nothing abnormal about him.”

“There’s a difference between a blood test and a DNA test,” Luka explained patiently. “DNA tests use phosphorescent lights to analyze the strands. The Lycanthrope gene stands out like a poorly painted Monet.”

“Oh,” I murmured, absorbing his explanation. We lapsed into silence, the only sound filling the room being Micah’s gentle breathing as he scrutinized Luka’s face with an intensity that bordered on comical.

“So you would rather just not know?” I asked, my voice tinged with frustration.

Luka sighed, enfolding Micah in a protective embrace. “It makes no difference. Even if he were Will’s child, I would care for him as my own. Brooke wouldn’t need to know that you’re his mother.”

My anger flared, words spilling out before I could contain them. “You’ve got to be kidding me, right?”

“About what?” he inquired, his tone betraying confusion.

“Do you honestly expect me to let you take my child home to that deranged woman?” I spat out, my frustration mounting as Micah’s cries added to the tension in the room.

“Give me my son,” I demanded roughly over the wails, reaching out to take Micah gently.

But Luka refused to release him.

“Luka, don’t do this,” I pleaded, desperation creeping into my voice.

“He needs to come with me to the Clan, Emily. He’ll be safe there. Safer than you can keep him,” he insisted, his words striking me like a blow to the chest.

My heart sank. I had known deep down that this would be the inevitable outcome, but I had clung to the hope that Luka would support my decision to keep Micah here, with me, in Southern California. After all, my parents were here, unaware that their daughter was still alive. They would surely want to meet their grandchild and know that I was alive. But Luka voiced my deepest fears.

“The Clan will hunt you now that you’ve reappeared. He’s not safe,” he added solemnly.

“Then I’ll take him away,” I murmured sadly, my gaze fixed on Micah as if willing him to vanish before my eyes. The flicker of hope I’d held onto died out, leaving behind a hollow ache in my chest.

He leaned in, and I caught a whiff of that unmistakable spicy aroma that was distinctly Luka.

“Let me keep him safe, Emily,” he cooed, his voice laced with a soothing tone. “Even if it means allowing another Clan member to raise him. He will grow up loved, rest assured.”

As his words washed over me, my mind began to drift into the familiar softness I had once felt with Will, phantom sensations stirring within me. Anger surged through me at the realization.

“You’re trying to manipulate me!” I accused sharply.

He recoiled slightly. “I didn’t realize I was doing it.”

But I knew he did. A Lycanthrope or Lycanti male could choose when to release sex pheromones to subdue or attract a mate. Luka understood this far better than I did.

“Give me my baby,” I demanded, my voice firm and resolute. “Now.”

Reluctantly, he looked at Micah again, considering just leaving with my son. Thankfully, he handed the child over to me. Micah settled in my arms, his tiny fingers grasping at my necklace and hair.

“There are other alternatives to keep him safe,” I insisted firmly, though the words felt sticky in my mouth, the result of countless rehearsals in my mind over the past year.

“Like what? Moving to a different country? Where do you expect to get the money for that?” Luka retorted, his tone edged with skepticism. “Your friend may rent you an apartment, but I doubt she’ll foot the bill for you to live in another country. And you can’t hold a job. Who knows when you’ll Change?” He paused, his expression souring. “Do you realize what kind of life that would be for your son? He could never be around other normal children, not because of himself, but because of you. He won’t start to Change until sometime after puberty, not that you know anything about how we develop.”

Once again, I felt a surge of emotion at his contempt for my humanity. He had never treated me this way before Will’s death, before the baby, before I became Lycanti. When I had been human, he hadn’t harbored such animosity towards me. Now, as a Lycanti, he seemed eager to remind me of my humanity at every opportunity.

“I want you to leave, Luka,” I managed to say, the words catching in my throat as I fought back the threatening sob. Never did I imagine I would utter those words to him.

“And I want sons who know their father,” he retorted sharply, his tone laced with frustration.

Our gazes locked, and I struggled to contain the surge of shame that accompanied his words. He followed me as I made my way to the next room, laying Micah down for the night.

“I want more than that for my boy, Luka,” I stated evenly as we returned to the den. “I want my son to be human.”

His eyes narrowed. “You have no right to make that choice.”

“I’m his mother. I have every right,” I countered, refusing to back down.

Luka loomed over me, his presence intimidating as he moved uncomfortably close to my face, as if contemplating a kiss.

“You will give him the choice at his first Change. That is tradition,” he declared firmly.

Anger surged within me, threatening to boil over, but I forced it down, unwilling to let it control me during our argument.

“I don’t care about your damn traditions. Micah doesn’t deserve this life,” I snapped back, my frustration evident.

“The life of a Lycanti is different than that of a pure blood,” Luka sneered. “Surely you know that from your time in the north.”

I gasped, taken aback. “You knew?”

“Of course I knew. It’s my business to know. I tracked you until Oregon then came home,” he admitted, his tone tinged with bitterness. “I thought Josh would kill you and save me the trouble.”

I swallowed the hurt, turning my gaze away. “You almost got your wish several times.”

Luka gently cupped my chin in his hands, forcing me to meet his gaze. Surprisingly, pain reflected in his eyes.

“I was hurt, Emily,” he confessed softly. “You used me that night. You knew I couldn’t say no to you, and now I live every day with the knowledge that I betrayed Brooke.”

I jerked away from his touch. “Don’t mention her name here,” I spat, my anger flaring anew.

“She’s a part of my life whether you like it or not,” he insisted, shaking his head. “Just as you are part of mine, whether or not she desires it.”

I sighed heavily, feeling a sudden longing for the old Luka, the one whose infectious smile could dissolve any tension between us; the one whose playful demeanor and impulsive nature never failed to warm me from within. This new, solemn version of Luka left me unsettled. I yearned for his lightheartedness, not this bitterness.

“There’s no way out of this, is there?” I asked, resigned to our grim reality.

He ran a calloused thumb along my jawline, from my temple to my chin, his touch both comforting and unnerving. “No,” he admitted softly. “But I won’t punish you for Will’s death—if you tell me what happened. The truth, Emily. I’ll know if you lie this time.”

The urge to Change surged within me, a desperate desire to flee from this confrontation. But Micah slept soundly in the next room, vulnerable and innocent. And as much as I trusted Luka, I couldn’t trust him that much. Yet, if he truly wanted to know about Will, perhaps it was time to reveal the truth.

“You won’t like it,” I cautioned him.

“I have to know,” he replied stoically.

So I recounted the horrifying events of that fateful night: how I had returned, tense and volatile; how I had bound Will and toyed with him, indulging in a perverse game of power; how I had savagely torn into him with a sharp iron arrow, drinking his blood and tearing at his flesh as he screamed in agony and ecstasy, never once pleading for mercy. Even I, cynical as I am, couldn’t hold back the tears at the end.

“I guess he thought he could endure anything,” I concluded weakly.

“Or he was willing to die rather than deny you,” Luka remarked darkly.

“God, I hope not,” I murmured passionately.

Luka reached for me, and without hesitation, I melted into his embrace, finding solace in the shared grief over the man we both loved. I felt the heat between us, the palpable tension that crackled in the air. My body responded instinctively to his proximity, my senses heightened by the raw emotions swirling around us. Luka knew the power he held over me, and his touch ignited a fierce longing within me.

But beneath the surface, I couldn’t shake the weight of regret. My seduction of him had cost him more than just his honor—it had cost him his friend’s life. And as we clung to each other, I couldn’t help but wonder how different things might have been if I had been able to control myself that night. If only my bloodlust hadn’t consumed me, perhaps Will would still be alive, and Luka and I wouldn’t be mired in this sea of regret and resentment.

Luka’s voice rumbled softly against my hair. “Thank you, Emily. I’ve been wondering for so long.”

Lost in the sensation of his presence, I momentarily forgot the context of his words. Then it dawned on me. His gratitude felt undeserved, and I braced myself for what I had to say next. His arousal pressed against me, a reminder of the reality lurking beneath our shared moment. Uncomfortably, I shifted in his arms.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, sensing the shift in my mood as he pulled away.

I squirmed, feeling suddenly bashful. “I need a favor.”

His demeanor shifted to suspicion, a stark contrast from the Luka I once knew. How much had changed in a year!

“I should have known that’s why you returned. Always wanting something. Why come back for anything else?” he snarled, his arms still loosely draped around me, but the warmth replaced with a cold distance.

His pain was palpable, and in that moment, the truth dawned on me. Despite everything, he clung to the hope of our reunion, even while tethered to Brooke. It angered and saddened me in equal measure—poor, idealistic, honor-bound Luka, caught between love and duty. The plight of women throughout history echoed in his predicament, and I cursed him silently. And cursed myself for wanting it just as badly. But I refused to let bitterness seep into my tone.

“I want you to take me to the Lycanthrope,” I said firmly.

“My father will kill you,” he retorted immediately.

“Not your clan—Will’s.”

“They will kill you, too. You’re not exactly in their favor, Emily. Maria knows you killed Will. A mother seeks revenge. She won’t spare you.”

“She will if I have her grandchild.”

“Which you can’t even confirm!”

“They don’t know that.”

Luka’s voice seethed with anger as he forcibly pulled himself away from me. “You conniving bitch. You have no right to take Micah away, especially if it means I have to relinquish my claim to him. What could you possibly want from the Clan? If you think they’ll make Micah human, you’re mistaken. He has the right to his own opção. They will honor tradition.”

I shook my head vehemently. “It’s not just that. They need to know about Josh’s pack.”

“We know everything. There aren’t enough of them to worry about right now. And Oregon is outside my hunting range until I take care of the last two Lycanti here. Then I can move away from all the bullshit here,” he retorted, his glare piercing through me.

“This has nothing to do with Oregon,” I stated evenly.

Luka’s eyes widened in surprise. “And what, exactly, does it concern?”

“Alaska,” I replied simply.

“Alaska?” His tone betrayed a hint of confusion.

“Yes, Alaska.” Drawing a deep breath, I braced myself against the flood of memories threatening to overwhelm me. “Josh’s pack is moving—and they’re taking their property with them.”

Behind the clear swirl of his eyes, I could sense the myriad of questions forming. Finally, he spoke gravely, “You think to invoke the Clan’s wrath on Josh’s pack? Revenge?”

“Revenge is simple,” I said. “This is much more complicated.”

He nodded, as though he understood the depth of what I had endured, the torment Josh had inflicted upon me.

“I will take you to Mexico, to the Clan, but I have one stipulation,” he said, his demeanor stern.

I offered a wan smile. “Of course you do.”

He didn’t return the smile, embodying the new Luka. Instead, his gaze drifted past me to Micah’s room.

“You will say nothing about you and me. They cannot know that you have been with me.”

I stared at the tiled floor, the unexpected demand not aligning with my plans.

“You said you didn’t want to give up your claim to Micah.”

Silently, I acknowledged his words as if he had spoken them aloud: Or to me.

“I have no choice,” he responded, his tone heavy with sorrow. “No, Emily. Not for me…not anymore.”

I had achieved most of my objectives. Luka agreed to take me to Mexico and support my claim that Micah was Will’s son, but it came at a steep cost. In that moment, I realized our relationship would never be the same. Whatever unfolded from this tangled mess would likely be far from pleasant.