The Rogue

XV

*Faye*

My life seemed to come in phases. One moment, I would find myself gasping awake. The next, my world would return to darkness. In, out. In, out. Sometimes I could hear someone's screams but didn't have enough time in the conscious world to wonder if they were mine.

Finally, I woke to warmth. Michelle wasn't near me. I knew this because her hands were icy cold, just like her mystical healing powers. My lips were chapped and my eyelids felt heavy. A deep breath filtered into my lungs as I moved to sit up. Wincing, I fought against the soreness in my abdomen.

The bedroom was empty. Everything seemed oddly quiet and still. Pushing the covers off, I started easing out of the bed. Then I noticed I was still topless. My eyes roamed down to my shoulder to where the unhealing wound was. The gaping wound had been replaced by a faint, pink line about two inches long. A scar.

I shakily rose to my feet and trudged over to the closet in hunt of a shirt. Fortunately, I found a simple blue tee. It no longer hurt to pull it over my head, although my muscles were all sore. Barefoot, I left the bedroom to find some food. I wasn't even hungry, but food seemed like a good idea.

Nobody appeared to be here with me, so I kept on towards the kitchen. As I passed the living room, a figure jumped up from the couch. I was too frightened to make a sound. Mr. Nick was standing up now with a worried look on his face.

"Mr. Nick?" My voice sounded hoarse and croaky.

"Hey there," he replied with a forced smile. "You should go lay back down, Faye. Maxen won't like that you're up."

"I'm fine. Actually, I'm on the prowl for some food."

Chuckling, he closed the space between us to wrap his arm around my shoulder. "I can bring you food. You need to get back in bed."

"I don't remember what happened," I admitted, "but I know I don't want to get back in that bed right now. I'm fine, Mr. Nick. I promise."

"Okay..." He didn't sound convinced.

I slid out from under his arm and headed to the kitchen. Mr. Nick stood in the doorway while I raided the fridge. Unfortunately, there wasn't much of a variety. Silver cans of Coors beer, a bag of pepperoni slices, and two packs of bacon were my only options.

"I see the wolf diet is very limited," I remarked in disappointment.

"Not necessarily. Maxen just never learned how to cook."

"How unfortunate."

Grabbing the bag of pepperoni, I closed the fridge door and lumbered over to the island. Mr. Nick joined me in feasting on the little meat slices. They were surprisingly delicious.

"So," I said, "where is everyone?"

"Out." He popped another slice in his mouth. "Maxen had to make a visit to one of the, uh, territories."

"What does he do on these visits?"

"I haven't gone on any yet, so I don't really know."

"Oh. Because he's making you be my babysitter?"

His lips curled into a grin. "I don't mind it. You're not too much of a pain."

"Not too much," I grumbled, smirking as I rolled my eyes. "So...where's Michelle? How long was I out for?"

"She finished healing you about an hour ago. Then she just left."

"What about—"

The front door squealed open. I was almost overcome with the childish urge to run to my room and hide. Mr. Nick gave me a worried look, but I stuck out my chin. As expected, Maxen strolled into the kitchen shortly after. He looked at me long and hard before walking away. I was surprised. A door, which I presumed was his bedroom, slammed shut.

"What happened?" I asked my companion.

Mr. Nick shrugged. "You probably don't want to know."

"Probably."

We returned the pepperonis to the fridge and went to the living room. I stood by the window, hoping the night would be clear enough for me to see the moon. From this angle, however, I couldn't see it. I pursed my lips.

"You missing home at all?" Mr. Nick asked.

When I turned around, he was seated on the couch. I shrugged and said, "A little."

"If you could go back just for a few days, would you do it?"

"Of course."

"Then why don't you?"

"Rian won't let me."

"So he'll let you come here but not go home?"

I sighed and lowered myself to the wood floor. The planks felt cool under my damp palms. "It's not like that. I came here by choice, so Titus and I could be healed. Rian's afraid he'll go berserk if I go home."

"Really?"

"Yeah. You don't know how the anima works?"

"I do. Sort of," he added. "I never met my anima. I don't even know if I have one."

"I thought all wolves have one?"

"Well, that's what packs say. But look at all of Maxen's Rogues. None of them have animas. If they do, they somehow manage to live without."

Groaning, I rubbed my face with my hands. "You wolves are so complicated."

"True. Most of us probably wouldn't choose this life if we were ever given the chance."

I could imagine why. There was hardly a choice in anything. Everything was dictated by the Alpha. To be fair, the wolves in Rian's pack didn't seem to mind. They had bonfires and paloozas and seemed to genuinely care for each other. So maybe it wasn't all bad.

"I would," rumbled a deep voice.

Mr. Nick and I both jumped at its sound. Maxen stepped out from behind the wall and into view. His monstrous figure looked bearish in the dim lighting.

"I told you to keep her in the bedroom." He must have been speaking to Mr. Nick. It was impossible to see his eyes from this position in the dark.

"She was hungry," Mr. Nick said, sounding ashamed. "She's feeling well, all things considered."

"All things considered," he muttered. "Faye, you need to rest. Do not argue with me on this."

Rising from my spot on the floor, I pressed closer to the wall behind me. "I'm fine. I feel fine."

"That doesn't mean you're strong yet."

"Maxen, I was in that room for forever. The last thing I want to do is go back."

He winced. "You can rest in my room, if that's any better."

What was supposed to be a snort came out as a nervous chuckle. "No thanks."

"Then go to your room."

"But—"

"Right now."

With a defeated sigh, I started for my door. Maxen surprised me by grabbing my hand as I moved past. He held me firmly but didn't meet my gaze. His eyes were already occupied with my scar. He'd pulled the neck of my shirt to the side, probably stretching the fabric too much, and now brushed the pink line with his index finger.

Then I was abruptly let go. I stumbled back a foot or so before catching myself. When I looked up, his green eyes were stormy. He pointed in the direction of my room, brows knitted together and lips pursed.

I scowled and then marched off to my room. Rest. I didn't need any rest.