She wasn’t his mate, but he sympathized with her, as he figured she was grappling with trying to deal with how she’d come to be at Sanctuary and being a marked mate for a lycan. He understood the struggles of trying to figure out who you were and what was expected of you, especially after living a life with a completely different outlook of what was and was not reality.
“Um, no.” He took a step back when she crowded his personal space, which she did quite often.
“I could come over and help you, you know?” She batted her long lashes at him and slowly ran her tongue over her lips.
The urge to run away was strong, but he’d look like a fool if he hightailed it into the woods because a girl made him nervous. He took another step back and almost threw caution to the wind when she walked two fingers up his chest.
“It would be fun, hon. We could hang out and get to know each other better.” She leaned closer. Her breasts brushed against him as she stood on her toes to slip her mouth up by his ear. “You know I’d like to get to know you better, right, Lorent?”
He felt the hot rush of blood to his cheeks. She had to know that if he got to know her in the way he thought she was insinuating, it would be his balls, because once Anthony found out, he’d rip them off if Brent didn’t get to him first. Anthony and Karen played integral parts at Sanctuary. Anthony kept the reformants in line, which sometimes required a good ass-kicking, and Karen helped the newly reforming rogues with the mental side of things.
While Karen had worked in an office before meeting Anthony, it hadn’t taken her long to find a new interest in psychology. She’d taken several online courses in the subject and was currently looking into becoming a full-fledged psychiatrist.
There were rules about touching the mate of another. Hell, there were rules about everything, but this was the only real home Lorent had ever known, the only home where he felt people actually gave a shit about him—
even if just a little—and he wasn’t going to screw it up by letting his hormones get the best of him.
“I’m sorry, Shannon, but you know I don’t get into the Christmas spirit.
It’s not my thing.”
She shoved her bottom lip out into an exaggerated pout, but before she could say another word, he hurried off with a quick “I’ll see you later” over his shoulder.
He’d gone twenty-five years without sleeping with a woman. He’d kissed and made out a bit, but circumstances had never permitted him to go further than that. He wouldn’t deny he’d wanted to have sex, still wanted to have sex. What red-blooded male didn’t? But he didn’t want to jump into bed with the first willing woman just for the fact that she’d made herself available. As old-fashioned as it might be, he at least wanted to have some feelings—
besides tingly-in-the-pants feelings—for the woman he slept with.
He would never have sex with a woman unless he was one hundred percent sure that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He’d seen too many women used by rogues to want anything other than that. The ideal situation, of course, would be to find his mate, but he held next to no hope that that would happen. If she existed, he’d probably never lay eyes upon her before a rogue got her, and really, what did he have to offer a mate anyway?
He had the option of dating a human woman without the scent, but he wasn’t sure it would be worth the effort. Many lycans did it, but since it was forbidden to tell any human—other than those with the scent—of their existence, if something became serious with an unmarked woman, he would be required to leave Sanctuary. Since living alone for hundreds of years tended to get lonely, some lycans chose this path. And with hope of finding one’s mate dwindling every day with the increasing number of rogues, he could understand the need to have something permanent, or at least semipermanent.
Unfortunately, lycans aged much slower than humans, and a relationship with one could only last a few years. Within ten years or so, it became obvious that something was different when no new wrinkles or evident signs of aging were present. Not to mention no children would come of a union with one not marked. While he understood the need to fill the empty void inside him created by loneliness, he didn’t think a temporary relationship would be worth the pain it would ultimately cause. The hurt suffered in the end when he’d be required to walk away wasn’t something he wished to inflict upon himself, or someone else, for some short-term comfort.
He tried hard not to let his imagination delve into all the ways his mate might have already suffered at the hands of the things he used to hang out with—the thing he used to be. He knew he should cut himself some slack—
the others had told him as much. But he had trouble doing it when inflicted by constant swirling memories of all of the horrible acts he’d seen rogues perform, and of all the times he’d turned a blind eye or never said a word to try to help the victims.
He clenched his fists. When one started sounding like a damned broken record to oneself, it was time to focus on something new. Unfortunately, the self-inflicted torture over his past had become as habitual as weed to a pothead. He’d been a misguided kid, simply a product of society, born into less than savory circumstances, but even under those circumstances, he felt weak blaming others for his actions. He wasn’t a child any longer, and he preferred to take responsibility for the things he’d done.
He made his way to the small cabin he called home and opened the front door. It wasn’t much, but it was clean, and as long as he lived at Sanctuary, it would always be his.
A knock at the door came only moments after he closed it and startled him. He hesitated to answer it, wondering if Shannon had followed him home, and sighed in relief when he heard the familiar voice on the other side.
“Lorent?”
He opened the door. “Hi, Karen.”
She was average height and build, but the black hair that framed her pixie face provided a perfect setting for her ocean blue eyes. She had always been nice to him, and although she wasn’t all that much older than he was, he thought of her as a mother figure. She had no qualms about pointing out his shortcomings and wrongdoings, yet she’d not do it in a degrading manner.
No, she’d do it in a way that told him she cared, that she only wanted to help him become a better man. He appreciated that trait in her, most of the time.
Until he’d come to Sanctuary, no one had cared for him. No one had been kind to him or considered his feelings. Both he and his feelings had been no more than dispensable objects that could be thrown away at a whim.
He’d gotten good at telling when that whim was coming, too, and would cut his losses and move on to the next temporary craphole he’d live in until he’d worn out his welcome and had to move on again. There had been long stretches of time when he’d stayed on his own, but when push came to shove, he’d favor dealing with the rogues. Being around anyone had been better than being alone—which was strange considering his aversion to crowds.
“We’re having a campfire tonight at about eight. You’ll be there, right?”
“Yes.” He nodded.
His own emotions were conflicted; while he felt uncomfortable around others—although he had worked on getting better about that—he still yearned to be a part of a family, a real family who cared about him, whom he cared about, who was normal. And even though it had taken him a while to admit it to himself, he’d come to care about the people at Sanctuary.
So yes, technically Sanctuary had been forced upon him, but he chose to remain because he was finally somewhere he was accepted, a place with others of his kind, others of his kind who treated him with respect, dignity, and love. He never thought to be in such a place, and he had no plans of leaving anytime soon. He’d gone through the reformation program, and was now duly reformed and able to leave if he wanted. But he chose the second option he’d been given: a home, security, and love for as long as he desired.