Betrayed: Days of the Rogue

Excerpt:

It was near dawn when Damien finally dozed off. He’d been unable to settle, his leg ached, and the bottle of whiskey he’d bought a day ago had been the human variety, much too weak and emptied far too soon to have any great effect. It had forced him to spend much of the night reliving memories that were best forgotten.

The months after Beth died were mostly a blur. Days, then weeks, blended together in a haze of grief and pain that had been almost debilitating. Sometimes human, mostly wolf, he’d traversed the land existing without a purpose; physically alive but in all other respects dead. It hadn’t mattered if he had taken another breath or eaten another meal. There’d been no reason to live, no will to survive. At times he’d despaired, begging the fates to take him so he could be with his beloved mate.

But fate had never been that kind. It had kept him alive, placing a rabbit before him when he would have preferred to starve, having him stumble into a warm, dry den when he would have fallen asleep in a snow bank with the hope of never awakening. On the verge of total despair, fate had kicked him in the ass and forced him to carry on.

Now he was left with a numb bitterness. This was his life; his efforts to speed his exit from it were futile. For some reason he was doomed to continue to exist. At least he had a purpose now. Too bad it meant he brokered in death.

Damien leaned against the wall of the shower, his hands propped on cracked tiles as he let the water cascade over his body. The bathroom was dingy and mildewed, barely a step up from the ponds he splashed in when in his wolf form, but it didn’t really bother him. Where he slept or bathed hardly mattered anymore.

Shutting off the water, he dried off then pulled on a pair of jeans and a clean t-shirt, stuffing the dirty one his small backpack.

He picked up his wallet off the table and checked the contents. It contained the only item of importance in his life; Beth’s picture. It had taken him ages to find one since everything had been lost in the explosion. When he’d finally come across a copy of her high school yearbook in a library, he’d had her picture scanned and enlarged. Even though she’d been much younger when the photo was taken, she looked almost the same as the day he’d met her. Sweet and shy but with a streak of stubbornness evident in her determined chin.

Slowly, he stroked his finger over the curve of her cheek and whispered his message. “I’m sending you flowers for your birthday, today. White daisies. I know they’re your favourite.”

Closing his eyes, he thought of how she’d smile, her grey eyes lighting up with joy at the simple gesture, her fingers skimming over the delicate petals. Then she’d stand on her tiptoes and press a kiss to his mouth. He exhaled slowly and tried to imagine the gentle pressure, tried to bring to reality the warmth of her lips, her hands sliding up his chest, her flowery scent wrapping around him...

Of course, it didn’t work.

Beth was dead.

The flowers would be placed on her grave by some anonymous delivery man. And then they, too, would wither and die.