Her Chosen Mate

Part 18

(POV - Marcus)

~ Present~

His knuckles bled through the straps on his hands, but the bruising was nothing. The pain was nothing.

The punching bag swung on the chain connecting it to the ceiling, the metal creaking under the weight of the bag and the force of his punches. Sweat dripped down his temples, off the tip of his nose, and slid down his neck. The vest he wore was drenched with it, the soaked fabric clinging to him like a second, stifling skin. He'd lost track of how long he'd spent in the gym, decimating punching bag after punching bag.

His shoulders ached, his arms straining as he threw another jab, biceps curled and tense. He kept his bleeding hands up, fingers loose and near his ears, the muscles in his back locked and ready.

He could feel the agitation gnawing on the far reaches of his mind. His rut was close, and he had a few days at best before he'd have to lock himself away and spend yet another rut alone. He'd tried to work through the tension that had built up over the last few weeks, driving him further into a corner.

It felt worse this time around. His rut had always been difficult, especially since the passing of his mate. He'd had to spend the last few years holed up, so he didn't hurt anyone when he was in the throes of it.

This time, his rut could send him into a much darker place, somewhere most wolves never returned from.

This rut could be the very last straw that broke the camel's back, so to speak, and made him entirely feral.

It had been bad, and probably felt worse when he went into rut for the first time after Helena had died. It had been months after she and their son had died, months after he'd lost his title as Alpha.

He hadn't been able to dedicate himself to his pack after the loss of his mate. After finding her dead on their bed and mourning her, he'd fallen into a blind rage. He'd snarled at Jaden, ordering his Beta to leave him alone, and he went on a hunt. It took a few weeks to track down the rest of the rogue pack that had caused him to lose everything he held dear.

When he finally found them, he let his wolf take full control for the first time ever, only coming to after murdering every single wolf in sight. He'd stood alone in the carnage, shifting back to his human form to dampen the toxic scent of blood and spilled guts. Sweat and blood covered every inch of his body, dripping from his fingertips. His feet slid in the mud as he trudged back into the wilderness, walking numbly for days on end. No food, no sleep, until his old packhouse came into view.

Jaden had seemingly materialized at his side, eyes wide and reeking of worry and concern that Marcus didn't deserve.

He didn't deserve the care and devotion of his pack. He'd failed his mate, he'd failed their son. And he'd failed his pack by slipping into himself, disregarding his duties and neglecting the role of Alpha. He didn't organize the patrols anymore. Jaden had taken over, allowing Marcus time and space to grieve. But his grief would never leave him. It would be permanent, and he would never be a good Alpha ever again.

So he'd left, shrugging off Jaden's protests with a gruff, "Don't look for me."

Jaden had let him go, watching Marcus leave without a word. There wasn't much that could be said that would change Marcus's mind, and he was so desperate to get away, to disappear into the blur of the woods and fade out of their memories as the Alpha who lost his Luna.

It hadn't been an easy transition.

Living as a lone wolf had damaged

his sanity, and he eventually sought