Feral Obsession

Chapter Thirty-Six

"You've been holed up in here for hours. Come for a run."

Clarice stared at Atlas, worry thick in her throat at the sight of him sitting there, empty alcohol bottles stacked on his desk like he was collecting them. He wasn't looking at her; he wasn't looking at anything, just staring off into the distance, his mind somewhere else.

When Atlas didn't answer, Clarice stepped into the office and shut the door behind her. It reeked in there, but Atlas wasn't in the headspace to hear her complaints, so she kept her mouth shut. She watched his glassy expression, his mind clearly somewhere else.

"Atlas. Don't make me drag you out."

"I heard her." His voice cracked. "She asked me for help."

Clarice didn't need to ask who he meant. She sat down in the chair across from him, tentative and hesitant. Atlas still wouldn't look at her. He was gripping an empty glass hard enough to crack.

"So, let's go help her."

"He'll murder her if we show up. Hell, he'll murder her regardless."

"Atlas, you aren't thinking clearly. I get you're concerned for her wellbeing, but we need to get her out of there. We'll murder him if he touches Ruby. He doesn't get to leave unscathed-"

"If he dies, Ruby will be forced to take over his pack. It doesn't matter how you cut it. Ruby doesn't belong here."

Clarice squinted at Atlas. "Is that what you're worried about? Her being the heir to another pack doesn't make her any less your mate."

Atlas stared off into space, his face devoid of any emotion, or any thought, of anything. It was as if the words could not permeate the barrier he had put up. Clarice had to reach across the table and place her hand atop his, forcing his gaze to find her again.

Clarice had never seen Atlas so thrown. The bottles lined up on his desk was indication enough that something was wrong, but it was unlike Atlas to not focus on work. Even in his worst moments, he was focused on the pack. In his worst moments, the pack always took first priority.

"Atlas, let's go for a run. C'mon."

Atlas swung his arm across the desk, pushing the empty bottles to the floor, watching as they splintered into dozens of small shards. The sound made Clarice flinch, forcing herself to a stand, staring at the mess. Her mouth flopped open, her eyes blinking rapidly at the sight.

"There is no point-"

"There is a point! Your pack needs you, Atlas. No matter what happened with Ruby, no matter what happened with Kierson, your pack needs you. And you are not your father. But this is beginning to feel like you're morphing into him. Turning into the monster that consumed him."

"Can't you see?" Atlas snarled. "It's no use! I murdered Kierson. Murdered his entire pack. I'm just like my father!"

"You had to wipe them out. Kierson kidnapped Ruby, brought Bloom here, and he's the reason we're even in this mess. Keeping Kierson alive would have gotten us all murdered, eventually. You're spiraling, Atlas."

Atlas could feel his fangs lengthening in his mouth. They felt cramped, sharp, biting into his cheeks. His vision went hazy as he began to lose his composure. He felt the hit rush of his shift start to take place, but he fought against it, retracting his claws back into his skin. He rolled his jaw and clenched his fists, avoiding eye contact with Clarice.

"Run. Now." Clarice demanded. She grabbed Atlas's arm, yanking him through the study doorway with the strength only a werewolf could possess. She flung his body forward towards the front door. When he didn't continue moving, Clarice took both hands and shoved his back, nearly startled when Atlas tripped and fell to the ground.