71, Hurts Like Hell Part II

Kiran’s soulmate, the only one who looked at him and didn’t mind the blood splattered across it. Zinnia made him laugh and cry when no one else could. Before Kiran met her, he couldn’t name a single thing that made him happy besides ripping someone’s throat open. He was the son of butcherers and she was a daughter raised in a sunny wildflower field.
“I know you can protect me,” she whispered. “I just wish…things were a little different.”
Zinnia’s hand slipped from his cheek to her belly once more. Kiran sighed and placed his palm on top. He scented the salt of her tears and kissed one away. “I know.”
She sniffed. “We could have had a litter right here in front of the fire… Three little boys and a girl. Then we would take them up to the Keep in the winter so it wouldn’t be so dark at night. In the summer we would swim in the lake—”
“Zinnia, stop.”
“Hmm?”
It was impossible to be angry at her. He could be angry *for* her, though. In his opinion he hadn’t spilled nearly enough blood from her rapist. Who knew if Larkspur the fucking bastard was dead, but Kiran hoped he bled to death slowly. He hadn’t been able to rip apart *his* reproductive organs and that was a damn fucking shame.
Kiran couldn’t articulate that, not now.
Zinnia sighed this time, following his silent wish for her to put aside her bad memories. Instead she craned her neck to kiss the scar made not from deranged possessiveness but from supernatural love—the Marking bite at the juncture between Kiran’s neck and shoulder, claiming him as Zinnia’s mate, an unbreakable bond until death. But being soulmates, they believed, could last far longer.
Kiran bent to kiss hers, too, gentle and lingering. They breathed in their mingled scents. It was the ultimate form of euphoria—just knowing they were bound together in every way possible. “Just the two of us…forever.”
*Forever*. The word haunted Kiran long before falling in love with Zinnia.
“Let’s see how tomorrow goes, eh?” he said, trying to be light, nuzzling her neck. “I’ll scout first and then we go together?”
Zinnia hummed noncommittally. “Can we wait a few days?”
Kiran Cyrus was only twenty-five years old but he had seen, heard, and learned enough of the world, met enough werewolves and humans alike. It took none of that knowledge to know the tone of avoidance. “Something else is bothering you. Spit it out.”
She adjusted herself so she faced him. Normally there was a spark of life, a mischievous glint. She was always ready to laugh and play and love herself, love *him*. She liked to make sexual jokes. She liked to have sex. She was very good at it.
But she hadn’t always been so carefree.
It had been almost five years since he saw Zinnia look…broken.
Since accepting the mating bond all those years ago, a special sort of communication opened between their minds. Not only could they exchange a simple expression to convey a dozen things, but it seemed they could manage basic telepathy.
Through all those ties, her message came clear, and Kiran understood: *It’s the anniversary*. There were multiple fateful events that could have fallen on this wintry day. But the right one was also clear: *The day her second life began*.
What did that entail? Well, Kiran remembered it all too vividly.
As vivid as the blood gushing from Zinnia’s exposed belly, her womb thudding to the wooden floor of her home. As vivid as the flesh of her abuser jelly-like between his jaws.
The day they ran away and fell in love even as Zinnia bled out by a riverbank.
They released a shuddering breath together. She didn’t want to be consoled in words, so Kiran just held her close until they drifted back into sleep.


A month passed. Winter grew deeper. More cold, more snow and ice, more darker nights. It took that long for Zinnia to finally believe the hunters were no longer lurking in their vicinity. Kiran dutifully scouted the entire area all the while making sure he didn’t scare away the game they were going after in the first place.
In her wolf form, she nearly blended in with the snow. It was so high that when she reached the end of the path Kiran shoveled out the front door, she had to leap into it—promptly falling through it, leaving an Omega-sized hole in the sparkling landscape.
Kiran, tall enough for that embarrassing moment *not* to happen, howled with laughter.
Zinnia snarled and struggled to free herself. “You fucking bastard, help me out of here!” she yowled.
He trotted over, not without some difficulty, he admitted, to dig her out. She looked like she was simply tossed into the air and left to land. Her stare was daggers. “Laugh it up, yellow-fur.”
“*Yellow*?” Kiran repeated in disbelief. But Zinnia had already leapt up and out, plowing into him, sending them rolling into another wall of snow. She flopped down on him and let saliva drip down onto his cheek. He felt it freeze his fur. “Gah—fuck!”
It was her turn to laugh. She retreated before bowing her front half with her tail wagging.
Kiran rolled onto his cold paws and shook the light coat of snow off his pelt. He dropped into a bow. “Oh, you wanna play?”
She licked her nose. “Oh, I wanna play, Kiran!”
With the thrill of joy bursting in his chest, Kiran lunged forward—only for her to jump out of the way in the last second. *Oh fuck*, he had the chance to think before plowing head-first into a snowbank. A second later he felt her kicking up snow as if she hoped to bury him. She was cackling the whole time.
Roaring, he broke free with a collapsing of the wall, flinging himself around to catch her just in time. They rolled in a tangle of limbs until she was on her back and he was on top of her. Their wolfy smiles and laughter faded.
Even with the clouds of breath from their panting obscuring them, Zinnia’s eyes were livelier than any sort of spring metaphor. *Gods*, Kiran thought with a punch to his heart, *she’s beautiful*.
She lifted her head up to lick his cheek. “I love you, Kiran Cyrus.”
The words, her voice, made him melt. Never would he think he’d be defeated by someone so small and so pure.
He nuzzled her back. The words from his maw sounded rough and low compared to the symphony of hers. “I love you, Zinnia Amaranth.”
As much as her wolf form would allow, she beamed. “Well, what’re you waiting for? I thought we were supposed to be hunting!”
Kiran snorted and nipped at her before easing off. She rolled onto her feet and nudged his shoulder with hers. “*Well*, you need to lead the way. Tiny Omega body, very large snow piles.”
“For being so tiny you have a massively foul temper, my love,” purred Kiran.
She shook. “And who dares prod it?” she wondered innocently.
Gods he loved her.
So he cleared a path, digging and burrowing to lead out where the snow was only ankle-deep. From there they assumed the seriousness of tracking their prey. It was easier in winter to stalk deer as they spent their time searching harder for foliage to graze.
Wolves, whether supernatural or not, were smart in their strategies. They hunted in such a way that the deer never learned to avoid this part of the forest.
When they found a doe and fawn pawing and nosing for leaves—going after a buck was just too much hassle with their antlers and always looking for a fight—they assumed attack positions. They’d been doing it for the past five years, their teamwork impeccable.
The hard part was keeping silent. The crunch of snow underfoot was loud and clear to alert deer ears. Sometimes Kiran kept in his human form for two limbs less to make noise, but this sunny morning he decided to stay Shifted in his wolf form.
Their plan was for Zinnia to prowl forward from the front. When they turned to flee, at least one of them ran straight into Kiran’s waiting jaws.
The was the plan five years ago, and it was the plan today.
In position, Zinnia leapt into the clearing before the deer could listen too intently. The doe parted left, the fawn darted right. Choosing between mother and young had been a moral decision once, but werewolf instinct, as well as callous personalities, learned to ignore that morality. Kiran lunged for the meatier meal. Ending the mother’s life, Zinnia caught the fawn.
There. Ethical decision avoided.
Zinnia trotted over with the fawn’s neck in her mouth. Dropping it beside Kiran’s catch, she licked her chops and offered, “How’s this: you take them back and I’ll find some wood by the stream?”
“Deal. Don’t take long,” Kiran started to warn.
She was already bounding off. “Frostbite! Don’t worry. Picking up a few sticks is an easy job compared to hauling bodies.”
He huffed a chuckle. Shifting into his human would allow him to carry both deer over his shoulders, but trudging through this much snow stark naked was obviously not a smart idea. Taking the doe first was.
Kiran grunted and began the journey back to the cabin. His fur was starting to form tiny crystals and his bones were starting to chill. Noon was still a ways away, but the temperature wouldn’t get much warmer. His mind switched to the near possibility of snuggling back under their quilt and napping with Zinnia tucked against him to share body heat. He’d kiss her to warm her lips, and rub her arms, and whisper other things he wanted to do to her against her neck—
A gunshot rang out.