Strays

Chapter 39

I came awake slowly to the sound of rain tapping against the window.

I was stretched out on my stomach on a strangely familiar bed, my body stiff with tension, like I'd been subconsciously bracing myself in my sleep. Pinpricks of pain radiated from the base of my spine, gentle little shocks that pulsed with every slow thump of my heart, but it was nowhere near as powerful as it had been before I passed out.

I stared at the sea-green wallpaper and tried to assess the damage. I was so exhausted – so bone deep, achingly tired – that I couldn't manage much more than a half-hearted blink every few seconds. Each breath rattled from my chest. The back of my throat felt like it had been scraped raw with sandpaper and the taste of tainted blood lingered in my mouth, silver residue embedded in the pores of my tongue and coating my gums with a bitter after taste.

But I was alive.

Maybe the thought should have left me relieved, but all I felt was... cold. Empty.

And I could feel it: a tiny, narrow thread tugging at the back of my subconscious, a small sliver of deceptive warmth in the back of my head. A reminder of who I belonged to; who owned what was left of my soul.

Wolves were essentially pack animals. Deep down, they craved that kind of link with others of their own kind; a sense of family, of home, of safety. The knowledge that there would always be someone there, someone hitched to the end of that thread that would never leave them behind.

But I knew it for the collar it really was. How it made us obedient and complacent. How it meant turning a blind eye to the fallibility of a leader because the promise of home was too strong to resist. How, if it hadn't been for Theo, I would have willingly remained shackled to Sebastien for the rest of my life because deep down, I knew that I needed it. Needed him.

It hit me, then, that no matter how hard I had fought to escape him, a tiny part of me had still been clinging to the hope that one day I might find a way back. That I might find a way to trust him again, to believe in him again.

But with one deliberate bite, Michael had severed any chance of that ever happening again.

Pain rippled through my chest. My vision blurred with humiliating moisture, but I was too tired, too weak, to prevent the tears from escaping. I pressed my lips together tightly and cried silently, the tight knot of hurt unravelling in the pit of my stomach and surging through me in one long, bleak wave.

I wasn't ready to let go. Despite everything – despite every lie he'd told me, despite the orders he gave to kill my own brother, despite the fact that he'd chosen to love her instead of me – I wasn't ready.

Sebastien had been home for so long that this felt like a betrayal of him. It didn't matter that Michael had taken the choice out of my hands; I should have been able to fight harder. To be stronger. God, Sebastien had taught me that.

I knew that if I'd tried hard enough, I could have found the power to resist. I could summoned the strength to force the change all by myself.

And as I sobbed into a pillow, my shoulders trembling with the effort it took to keep silent, I knew that was the crux of my pain: the realisation that, deep down, I hadn't truly wanted to.

_______________

The second time I woke up, darkness had fallen.

Soft light filtered through a gap between the carpet and the door, illuminating the small bedroom just enough for me to make out the glass of water on the nightstand and the box of painkillers next to it. I frowned, struggling to remember if they'd been there earlier. I didn't like the idea that someone could have snuck inside while I was asleep. I rarely ever slept that deeply.