Her jilted Alpha

She is a woman

*Gina*

“In some cultures”. Talon says quietly. “You're responsible for someone after you've rescued them”.

"He's not my responsibility”. I am not very pleased that my words lack conviction. Gently, I pull the covers over him.

“I'll leave some strong pain killer for his discomfort and some salve to help with the healing and prevent infection. Bandages should be changed a couple of times a day. Send word if he becomes fevered and delirious. Try to get water and broth into him if you can”. He says as a matter of factly.

My long drawn-out sigh echoes my displeasure. “He's going to be a lot of bother”.

Chuckling low, he says. “The women I know would tell you most men are. But maybe he'll be worth it”.

I very much doubt that. “How much do I owe you ?”

“I'll settle up with him once he's recovered”. He grabs his things, staring at me. “Don't forget to send a message if I'm needed”.

Giving a brisk nod, I see him to the door, close it, and lean against the oak, more exhausted than I have ever been in my life. I glance around, the usual peacefulness of my place is missing. It is almost as though it has been violated. Brutality and violence … or at least the results of it … has been allowed in. I have a strong urge to scrub it all down with boiling water.

Instead, I settle for scrubbing down the table, as well as the pots and bowls that has been used.

I gather up the stranger's tattered clothes. They can be mended. For all I know, they are the only possessions left to him. He might have fancy garments, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t fallen on hard times. Otherwise, why is he here ? I will wash them later.

Only then do I notice my own clothes are stained with blood, his blood. I have to get out of them as quickly as I can, before he awakes, before I need to tend to him again.

*Thor*

I become aware of the intense agony first, throbbing through various parts of my body. I try to recall what had happened. The rogues, the struggle, the theft of my belongings, the man with the angelic voice who had saved me.

With a Herculean effort, I open my eyes. The room is dark save for a single lamp on the table near the bed and the low fire burning in the hearth, the glow of which outlines someone standing near the fireplace, dragging a shirt over his head, the short strands of his hair falling quickly back into place as the shirt is tossed aside. I watch in rapt fascination as the person begins to unravel linen from about his chest until firelight dances over a magnificent pair of breasts. “You are a woman”.

A shriek rents the air. Her movements are so quick I can’t decipher them with my addled brain, but when the excruciatingly sharp pain tears through my left shoulder, I realize she has hurled something at me. My anguished groan filling in the space left by her screech coming to an end.

Instinctually, I grab my shoulder, roll over, and make matters ten times worse as pain rips through other parts of my body, mercilessly reminding me that the villains had used their teeth and claws on me earlier … blast their deranged hearts. I am bloody well going to die because of an innocent comment.

How many times could a man face death in a single night and come out the winner ?

But I am kinda grateful that I still can’t change into my wolf, be it the drug or just my near dead state, but transforming in my state might leave me lacking control of the wolf's actions.

I issue another low groan as the bed shifts. Suddenly cool hands are guiding me onto my back.

As much as I want to fight them off, they feel so marvelous, soft, and tender that I surrender to their urgings.

“I'm sorry”. She says. “But you startled me”.

I no longer care about the agony. Suddenly the prospect of dying doesn’t seem so dire, not when a man is leaving this world with a lovely bosom swaying in his face, near enough to kiss. I might have made the effort to do just that if I didn't fear she would smack me hard enough to send me flying off the bed.

“Damnation, you're bleeding again". She mutters.

She presses the heel of her hand into the curve of my shoulder. I very nearly howl at the jolt of pain, except the pride keeps me silent, gnashing my back teeth together, tightening my jaw, determined not to embarrass myself any further than I already have.

Stars clouds my vision, darkness begins to creep in at the edges, but I fight to stay focused on her because I don’t want to slip back into oblivion, I don't want to become lost again. I don’t want to leave this woman who has saved me, who is my tether to life, who even now shoves her own modesty aside to stanch the flow of my blood.

Sometime later she states matter-of-factly. “The bleeding appears to have stopped”.

Most women I know swoon at the mere mention of blood, much less the sight of it, especially the high born ones.

Straightening, she eases off the bed. I catch sight of something cradled in her hand, but can’t determine what it is. Turning her back on me, she says. “I'll get some linens, to change that bandage”.

She sets the object on the mantel from where she had originally swiped it, then she marches over to the wardrobe, grabs some clothes, and heads for the door. Stopping just shy of it, she holds the bundle to her chest, leaving her throat and upper shoulders bared, and I imagine the pleasure a man can take from trailing his mouth slowly over them. I have to be fevered to be in such discomfort and have my mind

drifting to places it shouldn't.

“Don't leave the bed”. She orders like a general addressing an army, as though she is accustomed to giving commands and having them obeyed without question. Then she is gone, the door closing in her wake, leaving me alone to count the minutes until her return.