Kidnapped by my mate (Belle and Grayson)

Chapter 49

BELLE

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“Elijah,“ 1 said again, “what’s wrong?”

Elijah’s face had turned as pale as a sheet of paper.

I couldn’t tell if it was his wolf or his human side that was upset, based on the rapid change of colors in his eyes. Either way, whatever had just been told to him through mind–link- communicated to him through his brain–could not be good.

I tried approaching him when he didn’t answer.

The pain I was feeling suddenly didn’t matter; it was quickly being replaced by worry.

Elijah growled when I approached and took a step away, putting a fair number of feet between us. My brows knitted together.

“Kyle,” Elijah breathed out heavily.

My heart dropped.

“What?” I asked frantically, “is something wrong with Kyle? How do you know?”

Elijah shook his head rapidly, grabbing onto his hair in tight shifts.

It was obvious now that he was trying to rein in his wolf. Was this what it looked like to be fully mated and know that your mate was hurt?

He looked like he was in a lot of pain.

Shouldn’t he be running back to Kyle in a panic?

“Mind link. Mate bond,” he choked out, answering my question in short, pained sentences.

The way he spoke, without a hint of deception, made me believe that what he was saying was true. Something was wrong with Kyle. But if Kyle was seriously hurt, Elijah wouldn’t be taking his time getting back to the packhouse.

He wouldn’t be standing here talking to me.

I may have never known what it felt like to be fully mated, but deep inside I knew I would feel it if something life–threatening happened to Grayson. And nothing would keep me from getting

to him. It was the way Elijah was looking at me right now–wide eyes, serious expression—that told me there was something he was keeping from me, something he couldn’t tell me.

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Something serious.

With cautious movements, I stepped towards him.

“There’s something else, isn’t there?” I asked in a quiet voice.

Elijah shut his eyes tightly for a second before he nodded sharply in confirmation.

I sucked in a breath.

“Grayson?” I asked. “Did Grayson do something?”

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He didn’t give me any sort of confirmation, but his intense, nonstop stare gave me all the answer

I needed.

I was right. Grayson had done something, and based on Elijah’s reaction, it wasn’t good.

My mouth went dry, my heart rate escalating until it was beating at the same pace as a horse’s hoofs at the Kentucky Derby.

“Has he hurt someone?”

Elijah blinked once.

There was no doubt in my mind that he was struggling with whatever he was told through mind–link. He wanted to talk to me but couldn’t for some reason.

Something, or someone, was stopping him.

He ignored my last question, instead struggling to say, “Luna. You have to ”

He choked on his words, stopped by an unseen force.

His mouth shut and his eyes snapped closed tightly.

He grabbed onto his chest in immense pain, bending over himself until he was kneeling on the ground. Panic filled my b*dy.

I didn’t waste a second running to him and grabbing his shoulder. I tried to help him up, wrapping my arm around his waist and tugging him to his feet.

“No!” he yelled the moment I touched him.

He pushed with just enough force to send me stumbling backward. I yelled out in shock.

Elijah didn’t give me any time to process his actions.

“Please…” he continued, desperation and pain lacing his tone, “you have to tell me…”

“Tell you what, Elijah?” I asked.

ma to touch him but it was getting

I tried to keep my distance, knowing now that he didn’t want me to touch him, but it was getting harder and harder to stay away as his pain only seemed to increase.

“Tell you what?!”

And then, without warning, his back straightened. He sprang to his feet and looked at me with a bright, content expression. He smiled widely, showing all his teeth.

It sent chills down my spine.

“I must report back to the packhouse now. Goodbye,” he said through that smile of clenched

teeth.

And without giving any sort of other explanation, he spun on his heel and began walking in the direction from which we had come.

What. The actual. F***.

I allowed myself to stand there for a second, staring at his back, before I set off after him.

His confusing words ran through my mind. He needed to go back to the packhouse? Why? It

made no sense.

What had happened? What couldn’t he tell me?

It didn’t bother me that he seemed to not be coming with me anymore. I wasn’t selfish enough to worry about my own comfort when other people’s wellbeing were at stake. No, what bothered me was the fact that something was obviously very, very wrong.

And Elijah was walking in the exact direction of the danger, acting completely insane and

unaware.

“Hey!” I shouted, jogging a bit to catch up with him. “Where are you going? What the hell is going on?”

He didn’t say a single thing in return. As if I weren’t there, he continued walking, still sporting that eerie smile. I grabbed onto his arm, not willing to give up.

“Hey, you’d better tell me what’s going on right now, Elijah!”

He continued to ignore me.

“Hey, stop! Please! Did something bad happen to Kyle?” I said.

Still, Elijah didn’t stop. He continued to let me scream in his ear for a good minute without responding.

“I’m not leaving you until you tell me what’s going on!” I yelled.

Suddenly, he grabbed my arm and forcefully yanked me behind him. I screamed, surprised by

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his sudden commanding force. I was now walking straight up against his back, my movement incapacitated by his death grip.

He walked in the same way he had before. His hand moved down my arm, maintaining enough pressure to keep me in place, and then held my hand harshly.

I noticed how badly his b*dy was shaking against mine.

He squeezed my hand twice, then placed his pointer finger against my palm, moving it frantically over my skin.

It took me a second, but I realized with shock that he was tracing letters on the palm of my hand.

DON’T FOLLOW.

DANGER.

My breath caught in my throat as I interpreted his writing.

The fact that he needed to write the words out on my palm instead of telling me face to face only distressed me more. Why couldn’t he flat–out tell me what was wrong? Was someb*dy listening?

Was he in trouble?

Whatever it was, Elijah was trying to tell me to stay behind while he went and dealt with it.

While, might I add, he continued to smile in a way that I could only describe as soul–chilling.

I decided then and there that, although the last thing I wanted was to see Grayson again, the thought of Kyle or someb*dy else getting hurt as a consequence of my actions earlier today was reason enough to go back to the packhouse and help however I could.

I squeezed his hand once and began to write my own message on his palm, hoping he would understand how I felt instead of trying to argue.

I’LL COME.

Kyle’s steps faltered for only a second as he interpreted the information I relayed to him.

Then he squeezed my hand so hard it almost hurt.

NO, he wrote back, his letters accompanied by another hard squeeze, emphasizing his point.

I squeezed his hand back just as harshly.

YES.

With that, Elijah stopped walking so abruptly that I ran into his back.

His b*dy was still shaking as he wrapped his other trembling hand around mine so that both were squeezing my fingers.

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He waited a second, his shoulders rising and falling with a deep, focused breath before he squeezed my hand yet again, softer than before.

PLEASE. DON’T FOLLOW. PLEASE.

I faltered. He was serious. He really didn’t want me to come, wanted to go back on his own while I stayed behind. I could feel the guilt eating at me.

I couldn’t handle it if Elijah or someb*dy else got hurt fighting my battles.

My stubbornness was surging forward in full force.

But did I really have a choice?

Sensing my resolve, Elijah squeezed my hands gently again writing, GO BE HAPPY.

I didn’t expect the tears that started to run down my cheeks. Even though they were just letters on my palm, his words meant the world to me. There was sincerity and hope emanating from his firm grip, causing deep warmth to spread through me.

Elijah wanted what was best for me. I knew that.

And if that was going off on my own and leaving him to fight my battles… Then so be it.

I trusted him. I couldn’t stop myself from launching myself onto him, wrapping my arms around his waist from behind in a hug that I hoped conveyed all I was feeling.

My gratitude for his help and friendship.

My hope to see him again one day under better circumstances.

“Thank you,” I whispered against his back, holding back tears, “Thank you.”

Elijah didn’t respond. It didn’t surprise me given the circumstances. But I knew he felt the same way. I knew that, if he’d had the chance, he would be telling me I was a badass who was going to

rock it in the real world.

He placed his hands over mine in front of him and sighed, squeezing me lightly.

As sad as I was, the whole experience felt strangely cathartic. Not only was I saying goodbye to Elijah and the incredible friendship that had proven to be so important over the last month or so, I was saying goodbye to Grayson and the life and people that came with loving him.

I felt stronger. I felt happier. I felt ready.

We stayed like that for a minute, both of us silently communicating our goodbyes through our tight embrace. Elijah let me hold onto him for as long as I wanted to, seeming to need the release of emotions just as much as I did.

“Be safe,” I whispered to him.

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And then, as if we both knew it was time, he squeezed my hand, wrote, GOODBYE, LUNA. and let me go.

Leaving me, once again, completely alone.

Elijah was right.

The nearest town was a good ten–minute walk from us.

After grabbing my suitcase and backpack, it didn’t take me long to make my way into the small town. Once there, I was able to get a bus ticket with what little money I had stashed away in my backpack and hop a bus to Minneapolis.

During the ride I allowed myself to process what had happened to me over the last several months. I reminded myself that Elijah had told me not to think about Grayson, that it would only make the pain worse.

He was right about that too.

I ached all over just imagining Grayson’s smile, his laugh, his pet names for me, the night we had spent hours talking under the sparkling lights of the Eiffel Tower.

Just for now, I told myself, you will let yourself think of him.

You will let yourself be consumed by the thoughts of what could have been.

But the second you get off this bus, the second you get back to your old life, you will push him out of your mind.

You will not let yourself drown in self–pity.

You will not wonder what you did wrong.

You will be strong. You will walk with your head held high and not let what he did weigh you down.

And that was exactly what I did.

At the bus station in Minneapolis, I had a newfound outlook on things.

I wiped my tears and pushed back my shoulders, wasting no time before walking to my old familiar apartment building. I had intended to retrieve my things. I had left most of my belongings in my small studio apartment before going to Paris. Although I’d been gone a few months and hadn’t paid rent since before then, I hoped that my landlord had found it in him to keep at least a few of my things instead of selling them all or leaving them on the street.

I was wrong.

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My crusty old landlord wouldn’t even open the door for me when I came knocking.

He screamed at me for a few minutes before telling me to go away. When I continued to beg, he threatened to call the police. So I found myself back on the street with only the items in my backpack and suitcase and the clothes on my back.

As I looked around, I was flooded with memories of my childhood with my dad.

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While I was walking, I came across the playground where he had used to take me on the weekends. Then I passed the hospital where he’d died, only a few blocks from my old apartment. The good memories suddenly and thoroughly turned bad.

I realized that this place, this city, only came with reminders of sadness or heartbreak, even if the memories had been happy at the time they were made.

My dad would have wanted so much better for me then what I was doing right now.

I almost broke down then and there, not knowing what to do next, but I didn’t let myself.

Instead, I got another bus and let it take me far away. And then, when I felt like it, I got another one, letting instinct and chance decide where I went.

I rode that bus through the night and didn’t stop until the driver told me I had to get off.

I found myself in a new city with the hope of a fresh start blazing in my chest.

I was ready to move on and meet the stronger, more independent, more capable version of myself.

I wasn’t going to let anyb*dy tear me down.

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