The Sixes

chapter 9

Kaden

The hours tick by and no movement comes from the red room. Not even a faint swear.

I eat my dinner sparingly, being in no rush to have my head ripped off my shoulders. Kate's asked about Brianna a few times now, but settled when Reid told her she went out for a run.

Not.

The corridor is quiet. Unlocking the door to the red room, I ready myself for whatever damnable version of the little wolf I would find inside.

The hinges squeks as the door swings open and to my shock - Brianna is passed out in a ball, the air conditioning on her naked skin causing the fine hair on her body to raise.

I pick Brianna up and carry her into my room. Her body is limp in my arms, her face pale, barely conscious after what had happened. What I did to her.

I can still feel the weight of my own strength, the sting of regret tightening my chest.

I'm aware that as an alpha, my power is far greater than hers, and the mild spanking I’d intended had gone too far. It was supposed to be a teasing gesture—a reminder of my dominance—but I hadn’t anticipated just how much force I’d put behind it.

Her lower ass cheeks had taken the brunt of it, and she’d collapsed in pain, unable to muster a response.
The blue and burgundy stripes my hands left would normally heal quickly, but my strength as an alpha meant the damage would take longer to mend.

I lay her carefully on the bed her body barely stirring as she sinks into the mattress. She's exhausted, her breathing shallow but steady as her body tries to heal itself from the inside out.

I brush a strand of hair from her face, guilt gnawing at me as I watch her brows furrow in discomfort even in her barely conscious state.

I shouldn’t have been so harsh her first time.

I think bitterly to myself, knowing that deep down I'm going to be doing it again. Soon judging by the uncalled bulge pressing against my pants. Sociopath.

I move quickly, heading to the cabinet where they kept the healing salve, a potent mix of knitbone, calendula, hypericum perforatum, honey, mugwort and beeswax, designed specifically by great- grandmother Cross- Granny Cross for short- for situations like this.

Well maybe not specifically this situation...

The scent of the herbs fill the room as I open the jar—mossy and sharp, with a hint of earthiness that always makes me think of the forest after rain.

It is a concoction our pack has used for generations, meant to speed up recovery from wounds that even our enhanced bodies couldn’t easily shake off.

Brianna groans softly from the bed, her eyelids fluttering as she hovers between consciousness and oblivion. She isn’t fully awake, but I know she's aware enough to feel the pain radiating from her ass and hips.

I kneel beside her, careful not to jostle her too much as I gently pull back her dress. This damn dress.

Her bare skin is marked with deep, purpling bruises where my hand had landed repeatedly, the bruising spreading across her ass cheeks and upper thighs. I wince at the sight.

She was tougher than most— she held out.

“Fuck me.” I whisper under my breath.

I dip my fingers into the salve, warming the mixture between my palms before gently applying it to her skin. Brianna stirs slightly, a soft whimper escaping her lips, but she doesn't resist.

She's too exhausted to move, too drained to object, even though I know part of her probably wants to.

The coolness of the salve spreads across her bruised skin, mingling with the natural warmth of her body. The herbs would work quickly, help to repair the damage, but it would still take a little time.

As I work, I keep my touch as light as possible, my fingers moving in slow, deliberate motions. Every now and then, Brianna would stir, a faint noise of discomfort slipping from her as her body responded to the treatment.

Her half-lidded eyes opened briefly, unfocused and clouded with fatigue, but she doesn't say anything.

Brianna’s head turns slightly toward me, her gaze heavy with exhaustion but laced with a faint flicker of resentment. Her wolf is dead silent. Submissive.

She's too tired to fight back, too drained to argue, but I can feel the tension in the air between us. She doesn't trust me— I know that — but right now, I can’t find a way to blame her.

When I'm finished applying the salve, I wipe my hands clean and gently cover her with a blanket.

I stand still, watching her for a moment as she settles into the bed, her body sinking deeper into unconsciousness as the herbs begin to take effect.

My chest tightens as I sit down on the edge of the bed.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, though the words felt hollow. I want to fix everything, to make the pain go away instantly, to explain -or try to explain- that I'd just been overly frustrated.

Frustrated at her for her attitude, frustrated at me for allowing it, but mostly frustrated that she refuses to acknowledge our bond. A bond I've craved for so long.

Brianna lets out a soft sigh, her body finally funny relaxing into the bed as the herbs dulls the sharpness of her pain. Her breathing steadies, her chest rising and falling in a slow, rhythmic pattern. She still wasn’t fully conscious, but she wasn’t fighting anymore either. She was letting me take care of her, even if it was begrudgingly.

I stayed by her side, unwilling to leave her alone in her fragile state. My guilt sat heavy on my shoulders, but I know that all I can do now was watch over her, ensuring that she was safe and comfortable. The damage would heal, but the reminder of my mistake would linger, and she won't let me forget that.

As the night stretched on, I kept vigil, my eyes never leaving Brianna’s sleeping form.

Eventually, Brianna stirs again, her eyelids fluttering open just enough for her to glance at me. She doesn't say anything, but her expression stays hard. Resentful.

Even if it takes me chaining her to this bed, she won't leave, I won't let her. I'll give her time to rest, heal, and maybe even get in a tantrum or two, but after that - I'm claiming my real prize.

The easy way or the hard way.