“Am I remembering it right, Dylan? Are you gay?”

Hannah watched a dozen different expressions flit across his face as he squirmed in front of her, his eyes darting about the room seeking an escape she wasn't about to give him.

She waited, half-hoping she'd somehow got it terribly wrong, not wanting to face the all the implications that came with such a deception; but the longer the silence stretched between them, the quicker hope died.

“Well?” she finally challenged, her voice close to breaking. “Are you?”

“Yes.”

Shit.

“What did you do?” she repeated, backing as far away from him as she physically could. Her legs began to shake uncontrollably; the shock of his revelation had sucked all the air out of the room and she struggled to take a breath. Coherent thought was beyond her, her mind rebelling against the stark truth laid bare by his reluctant confession.

He was...

Which meant, she wasn't...

Which meant, he had...

The tapestry brushed up against her back and she clutched at the rough material with both hands as though it could somehow hold her upright. Her eyes never once left her captor, who stood between her and the door.

Her captor. Yes, that's what he was. Not mate. Not cousin. He'd lied to her, deceived her in the cruellest possible way. Kidnapped her, taken her away from the pack she’d grown to trust and... he had... and he was planning to... She felt the sudden and violent urge to throw up.

The bin was too far away. She eyed it accusingly, knowing she was never going to make it across the room before the contents of her stomach reacquainted themselves with the outside world.

Dylan, who had been watching her descent into panic with increasing alarm, spotted the green tinge to her skin and moved with remarkable speed – grabbing the bucket and thrusting it in her direction.

She took a half-hearted swipe in his direction as she snatched to bucket from his clammy hands -- too preoccupied by her nausea to make much of an impact against his rock solid arm – nothing more than a bug batting ineffectively against a window.

The reminder of how powerless she was against him increased her anger and, as soon as she'd gotten her stomach under control, she unleashed her wrath in a wave of fear driven accusations.

“How could you?” she shrieked in his general direction, beyond caring who heard her. Her Scottish lilt rose and fell with every syllable, creating verbal jabs that hit hard enough to make Dylan wince with every accusation. “You deceived me! You lied to me! You – you – kidnapped me! I mean, I know I went with you willingly – ” She paused a moment as her stomach heaved again, disgusted by her own stupidity. Why hadn't she waited until she'd been sure? Why hadn't she trusted her instincts?

“ – but that was because you convinced me you loved me! I mean, what was the plan, Dylan? Wait until it was all over and then turn around and say, “sorry dear, I forgot to mention I like guys!”

“Hannah, please!” he begged her desperately, waving his hands in a pacifying sort of way, his eyes once again on the door his father had exited just a short time before. “Shush!”

He knew as soon as it came out of his mouth that it had been entirely the wrong thing to say and an expression reminiscent of a man watching a tidal wave approach crossed his features.

There was a short pause.

Then, her emerald eyes glittering with savagery, she wrenched her head up to glare in his direction. “Don't tell me to shush!” she yelled at him, her voice travelling an impressive two octaves higher than before. “Don't you ever tell me to do anything, ever again!”

There was movement on the other side of the window and Dylan froze, regret etched onto his face like a carving on a stone. If she didn't stop shouting, they'd both be in trouble. His eyes drifted unintentionally towards the leather pouch discarded on the table.

Hannah followed his gaze. Oh no you don't!

With no other way of distracting him, she threw the putrid bucket in his direction and made a lunge towards the door. Fortunately for him, his reflexes were astonishingly good, and he somehow caught the bucket deftly without releasing any of its toxic contents.

The brief distraction was enough, however, to prevent him catching her before she'd snatched the leather case from the table. Her hands trembled as she fumbled at the clasp, spilling the contents across the floor in her agitation.

“Hannah, no!” He lunged forward, but before he could stop her she began stamping on the delicate glass vials, shattering each one underfoot in a flurry of un-tempered aggression.

They faced one another, Hannah's hair wild about her face, her breathing coming in short, sharp bursts as she glared at her captor. Dylan, his face pale, staring down at the broken vials, the precious contents soaking irretrievably into the carpet.

“You're bleeding,” was all he could think of to say.

She looked down. Sure enough, the damp carpet was slowly turning red as blood seeped from under her feet, the shattered glass tinged pink where it had sliced her bare skin. She let out a satisfying expletive and sank into the nearby armchair.

Dylan instinctively moved towards her, concern in his eyes.

“Keep away from me!” she hissed, biting her lip against the radiating pain running through her left foot.

He took another step towards her. “Hannah, please. You're hurt. Let me help you.”

“No!” she half-shouted, shifting as though to pull herself out of the chair, only to fall back as the pain lanced through her. She swore again.

“You're hurt,” he repeated.

As though she hadn't noticed, Hannah thought bitterly. “And who's fault is that?” she snapped as she twisted her foot around to see the damage. Several small shards of glass remained embedded in the sole and she bit back a cry as she began gingerly pulling them out, one by one.

Dylan sighed. “Technically, it's your fault,” he muttered as he headed towards the door. “Stamping on glass with no shoes on tends to result in a certain amount of blood loss.”

“What are you doing?” she asked, alarm running through her. Was he fetching more of those damn vials? Her Uncle, maybe? Despite her anger, a shiver of fear ran through her at the thought of confronting the powerful socialite.

She braced herself to dash out behind him, perhaps she could make it far enough to get away? She'd done it before, and on feet in a far worse condition than they were currently.

“Relax,” he said, reaching, not for the handle, but towards one of the shelves near the door, retrieving a small box tucked into the corner. Opening the lid to reveal plasters, bandages and other first aid paraphernalia, he returned to the chairs, placing the box on the table beside them, and crouching down in front of her. “Please, let me help you.”

She shook her head, pulling her feet out of reach, and a look of exasperation flitted across his face. “Okay fine. But you won't get far on those if we don't get all the glass out,” he pointed out. “So, any escape plans you might be cooking up in that head of yours, forget about them.”

She stared at him a moment, then reluctantly lowered her feet and leaned back in the chair, allowing him to examine them for himself. Her eyes watched him like a hawk as he used a pair of tweezers to carefully extract the smallest slivers of glass, strands of his red hair flopping down into his eyes as he frowned in concentration.

“This was never the plan, you know,” he told her as he worked, taking advantage of her temporary silence. “My father's always been ambitious. Too ambitious, really. It's all about the bloodline, the Clan and the family name... always has been.” He shrugged, the air of sadness in his voice reflecting someone who has long since accepted their lack of importance in his father's eyes. “Which was fine. When Adam was alive to fulfil his every fantasy.”

He gave her a speculative look as he switched to cotton wool, cleaning the thin wounds carefully as she made a valiant effort not to pull away. “As soon as Adam was announced as the official heir for the Macleiry pack, Father approached your parents about a possible match between the two of you.”

“With Adam?” Her eyebrows shot up.

“Aye. A way of keeping the Lachlan pack ‘in the family' so to speak. Your parents were... less than agreeable to the match.”

She snorted. I'll bet.

“What did Adam think of this brilliant idea?”

He wasn't opposed, I don't think.” Dylan's brow creased. “Adam was an odd sort of wolf,” he mused. “I saw little of him growing up, but I doubt he would ever have taken the initiative with a she-wolf on his own... he was always far too content to follow father's directions.”

She snorted. “And the real power behind both packs would be Angus Macleiry, suddenly the most powerful werewolf in all of Scotland. You're right. That's a lot of ambition. What changed?” she asked, realising as she spoke she already knew the answer.

"Adam died," Dylan said bluntly. "The child that mattered died."

Hannah could see it all too clearly. His heir apparent. The key to all her ambitious Uncle’s dreams... Who else could he now press his agenda onto? Who else could provide him with the heirs his bloodline so desperately needed? Not a gay son, certainly.

“How ironic,” she murmured dryly. “Years and years of planning, erased in a single moment of senseless violence.”

Dylan growled suddenly, a reprimand on his lips. “My brother died avenging your family,” he informed her through gritted teeth. “His death was not senseless.”

She blinked, but made no reply, her eyes narrowing as she observed his serious features.

He was the villain of her story, of that there was little doubt, but his concern for her wellbeing, coupled with her faded memory of his attempt to help her escape contradicted all the evidence before her he couldn't be trusted. How did he go from being the quiet, gentle boy she'd seen in the meadow, to a kidnapper with no qualms about breaking as many laws as necessary to force her into a fake mating?

Then she spotted it. Lying unnoticed on the carpet right next to her chair, a shard of glass, larger than the rest; the base of a vial, tiny, but perfectly broken, tapering to a wicked point at the end. Her eyes flitted quickly back to Dylan, who had returned to bandaging her aching feet... he hadn't seen it.

She hesitated only a moment as he wrapped the last bandage around the sole of her foot, then leaned swiftly to the left, wrapping her fingers around the vial at the thickest end before he had time to react. His eyes widened as she pressed it against his neck. “Tell me everything,” she demanded. “and I swear to the Goddess, Dylan, if one more lie comes out of your mouth, I'll find somewhere excruciatingly painful to stick this.”

He swallowed thickly and leaned back until only the very tip of the glass still touched his skin. “You don't have to do that,” he told her. “I'm no threat to you.”

She let out a snort of disbelief and he sighed heavily, looking suddenly and overwhelmingly tired.

“You were right,” he admitted, his harsh voice overly loud in the silent room. “Years of planning, gone. Everything Father worked for, destroyed. You remember what I told you about the line of succession?”

She did. The succession ran through all the available male heirs, then the female heirs, but only those who were – “You tried to mate me so you could become Alpha?” she asked in shock. “But, you're ineligible... or was that just another lie?”

He looked at her through dull, defeated eyes. “If I hadn't been born after my father's banishment, I would have been next in line regardless. But I need to mate back into the clans to regain my status – ”

“So kidnapping me was your solution?” she grated at him. “Are there no male wolves to mate with in Scotland?”

He grimaced and shook his head. “Mating you not only re-establishes my claim, it strengthens it by giving me true Alpha blood. It means I could claim both packs without any resistance and merge them into one. Just as he originally planned with Adam.”

“Yes, except for one teeny tiny problem,” she pointed out angrily, her fingers digging into the shard of glass in her agitation. “You're gay Dylan... and I'm not your mate.” She glared at him, kneeling on the floor, making no attempt to move out of her reach. “Could you have really gone through with it?” she asked. “Mated me against my will?”

He looked non-plussed.

“Oh, I know you thought you’d gotten around the problem when I lost my memories,” she said dismissively, a bitter tone to her voice. “How easy it must have been for you to persuade me that Eleanor had loved you. That she was eager to fall into your arms. How gullible I was to believe it.”

She fought back the unwanted tears that welled up behind her eyes and he reached towards her as though to offer comfort, but she angrily batted his hand away.

“I did believe it,” she admitted. “and I would have mated you willingly, hoping to regain some semblance of the connection we're supposed to have.” Her eyes narrowed on his accusingly. “ But before that? When you had to keep me drugged and supressed just to get me across the border? Could you really have forced a mating? I clearly wasn't in on your little plan.”

“I – my father said that there were drugs we could use to persuade you to – ” He stumbled over the words as though the simple act of forcing them out made him choke over each syllable. “ – and I believe he'd found an Eta that wouldn't question your lack of – lack of..." his voice trailed off, the guilt clear on his face.

“Enthusiasm? Interest? Comprehension?” she spat out, her free hand balled up into a tight fist at her side as the other pressed the shard deeper into the side of his neck revealing a tiny trickle of blood. “Lack of what, Dylan?”

Her nausea turned to disgust as she stared at his guilt-ridden face, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor and she leaned back, a thin line of blood where the glass had been. “I don't believe you’re capable of such an act,” she said finally. “You're too much of a coward. You can't even look me in the eye and admit what you planned to do.”

“I'm trying to keep you safe!” he growled, his eyes finally meeting hers.

“Safe?” she laughed in disbelief. “Oh yes, I feel completely safe right now, Dylan, thank you. You've done a marvellous job.”

His eyes flickered and he leapt to his feet, pacing across the carpet in an effort to retain control. Suddenly, he smashed his fist against the wall with a snarl of frustration. “I have done nothing but try and keep you safe for months, Hannah! Months! You have no idea what I've sacrificed for you.”

Her eyes wide, Hannah curled tighter into the chair. Painfully aware of his superior strength, a quiet voice in her head pointed out that she would do well to keep him calm. Should he turn his anger on her, she wouldn't stand a chance of protecting herself. Still, she couldn't prevent from retorting with a sceptical frown.

“Do you really think my father had any plans to let you live outside of his control?” he asked roughly, forgetting she had no memories of the past. “To not only lose the chance at taking over Lachlan, but risk you mating with a wolf who might one day decide to claim both packs for himself?” He shook his head at her naivety. “No. He made it abundantly clear to me that if I refused to go through with this, he would have no other choice but to ensure that you never returned to Scotland.”

“So, this is all for my benefit, is it?” she scoffed, hiding the deep sense of fear that coiled around her stomach. “You’re not a liar or a kidnapper? You're a knight in shining armour? You gave up your chance at life with a real mate out of a sense of... of... duty? To me?” She shook her head. “This isn't a fairy tale, Dylan. And you're not the misunderstood hero.”

He ceased his pacing and shot her a hurt look, as though she was doing him a great injustice. His eyes flickered again and, with an astounding level of disregard for her own safety, she rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry, but I'm a little short on sympathy today. I've just found out that I've been kidnapped as part of some insane plot to take over half of Scotland, remember?"

"Yes," he hissed, showing a spark of fire. " And, for the second time, I'm putting more than my life in danger trying to help you escape!"

She looked startled. Escape? "I don't - " He spun towards her, his sudden movement startling her already frayed nerves and she let out an involuntary cry of alarm.

Dylan stared at her, a look of bleakest melancholy settling on his face and he sank down on the bed with a deep sigh. “I already found him,” he mumbled towards the worn carpet, bitterness etching his features. “My true mate.”

For a moment her surprise surpassed her disgust, confusion warring with her desire to punch him in the face. “You did? Then why – ”

“He was perfect,” Dylan continued as though she hadn't spoken. “For the first time in my life I was completely content.” His lips twisted into a grimace. “Happiest three months of my life,” he reflected sadly.

“Did he... reject you?” she asked uncertainly. She couldn't conceive of any other reason a wolf would flee from their true mate.

“No,” Dylan shook his head, an element of pain joining the bitterness. “I suppose you could say... I ran from him.”

“But... why?” Hannah asked, bewildered. “I don't under – " Realisation dawned. "Your father," she spat out angrily.

Dylan nodded. "It's not what you think," he defended the man who had torn his life apart so easily. “He's not – I mean he doesn't care that – ”

Hannah raised her eyebrows in disbelief and Dylan let out a humourless laugh.

“When I finally screwed up the courage to tell him the truth, he couldn't have given a damn either way. He was too wrapped up in Adam’s rise to power to be bothered with his younger son. It was extremely anticlimactic. Years of worry I'd carried around with me, and it culminated in complete disinterest... I was almost disappointed,” he mused to himself. He shrugged and then sighed heavily. “He wants heirs. My mate can't provide them.”

“Well you're not getting heirs out of me either,” she said shortly, then shook her head. “Your father is insane.”

“He's not insane. He's power-hungry, greedy and utterly devoid of compassion. But he's not insane. He’s lived a harsh life. He – he forgets that we don't all share his view of the world.”