The Hand That Beats You

Chapter 16

• Grayson •

Guilt has been eating me alive ever since I lost it on Azrael yesterday. I walked out of the suite fighting myself with every step. I wanted to go back—to apologize, to beg him to help me, but my father's threats, the ones he had been whispering in my ear for a decade had rushed through me in a hurricane, uprooting any hope I had that Azrael could genuinely help me.

"I'll kill you if you tell anyone, do you hear me? I will not lose my reputation because of you."

Why would Azrael want to help anyway? I'm a worthless piece of shit that killed my mother.

Most of me is sad he figured it out. He'll see me as less than, someone too pathetic to stand up to their father, someone who was rightfully used as an object to hold the grief I had forced onto my dad. Someone not worthy to stand by his side as Luna. How could I defend a whole pack when I can't even defend myself? It was ridiculous to even think about. A pathetic little wolf who flinches when someone raises their hand, supposed to be brave when threatened.

I'm threatened every day in my own home and all I do is look down, shut up, and take it.

The secondary pack hall stands like a sentry aiming directly at my face. Tradition was that mates were supposed to spend the day together to bond or whatever before the ceremony. Azrael and I wouldn't do that because of my outburst. Ironically, it was the part I had been most excited about when he explained to me two days before what happened during these ceremonies.

Rhianwen steps to my side, tilting her head at me. She was at least five inches shorter than me, meaning she had to crane her neck up to look me in the eye. "Are you all right, Luna?"

I sigh and cross my arms. "Nervous."

"Did you and the Alpha end on bad terms last night?"

"What?"

How would she know that?

"He was agitated when you left. Seemed like he was having a bit of a difficult time concentrating."

The ocean of guilt already drowning me shoves its way into my lungs. "Fuck." I'd need to fix that before the ceremony.

Which was taking place in less than twelve hours. I had woken up early, agitation crawling up my spine with cold fingers. Sleep had refused to save me from the sensation afterwards, and I had been left pacing my room, yanking at my hair in anger at myself. By the time I realized I should go see him, to apologize and accept that he knew, my arms had been red from my nails.

He knows how weak you are and there's nothing you can do about it.

The ceremony would take place at five, almost twelve hours from now. I had forced Rhianwen to follow me at such an early time to the pack house, so I could make it up to him.

"You nose your way into everything like its your right when it fucking isn't." The poison I had spit at him comes back to mind. I wince and dig my nails into my arms.

He wasn't nosy. He really wasn't. He was just overly helpful, always wanting to aid in any way he could. I was his mate, after all. The instinct to help me must be crazy for him. It must be driving him insane, trying to help someone who's impossible to help.

Someone who makes it impossible to help.

"You're a worthless piece of crap, Grayson."

My breath mists in the cold. Rhianwhen tilts her head slightly at me. Ever since I had burst out of my room at nearly four in the morning, she had been running after me, yelling my name. But I had become deaf to her cries the moment my mind set on apologizing to Azrael. She had eventually realized that nothing she said was going to get me back home, so she had just followed me, an axe lazily swinging in one hand.