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I stumble out and freeze at the combined scents that are so painfully familiar. The entire pack is here. Falcon is dressed in a black jacket and a deep grey shirt. He looks perfectly rumpled. Dylan is wearing a singlet and jeans low on his hips. While Gray and Silas are both wearing light slacks with darker shirts. I’ve never seen them like this before, so casual. I drink them in, unable to stop staring at them.
Gray hits me with a glare that could strip flesh, and that’s what pulls me out of my hypnotised state. Falcon doesn’t even react to my presence, but it’s Dylan rushing towards me, slamming me into the side of the wall that hurts the most.
My heart thunders in my ears as he glares down at me. I'm not hurt, but I am rattled.
“What are you doing?” I ask him in horror. For the first time since I've met him, I'm afraid.
“You lied to me,” He spits out in a bitter growl.
The hair on my neck stands up, and I struggle to find words, but all that comes to mind is, “You lied to me, too.”
He snarls.
“We made a bargain,” I whisper to him as his fingers tighten around my throat. “I have not once broken that agreement. But you have.”
He stares down at me. “Liar,” he hisses.
“Says the guy with his fingers around my throat,” I point out in a hoarse whisper.
He lets out a moan. His eyes widen, and he throws himself away from me, stumbling back, staring at me with a pale face. “No, I don't, I didn’t mean-” Whatever stricken feelings he feels, he pushes deep inside himself because his face turns cold and hard.
I rub my throat and then flinch when Falcon invades my space.
“This, whatever this was between us, is over. It’s done,” he clarifies with perfect coolness. “I will no longer tolerate you hurting members of my pack with your sinister games.”
I think I might be breaking apart, piece by piece, crumbling to dust from the inside out.
“Falcon,” I protest. “I didn’t do anything wrong.” I reach out and grab his arm, but he deftly shakes me off.
He pulls out a tablet while the others stalk away. Silas and Gray don’t even look back at me. I focus on the screen and watch my sister talk to Vienne about how she’s going to steal the pack from Dylan. Do they really think this is me? Do they believe I'm capable of such deceit?
My shock holds me silent while I watch the video.
I almost protest when she steps out of from behind the ferns. On the security footage, you can’t see the difference between us. I watch impassively as she promises that her sister Silver will end up with the pack, one way or another.
“Do you see now?” Falcon asks. “I’ve allowed you to stay until the end of the week to make a point, Onyx. Your kind will not be tolerated here. This brand of attention-seeking, pack-hunting, greedy, selfish cruelty will not be welcomed here.”
I glance down at the tablet. It’s on the tip of my tongue to protest, but a little voice inside my head asks me why? They should believe me. They should know me. If they felt anything for me at all, they would believe it. How could they think that I could do this to them, to Dylan? It’s insane.
For a moment, I almost throw it all away and beg and plead for him to listen, but then I grab hold of that tiny part of hurt and pride I have left and wrap the shattered rags around me.
I turn and step back on to the lift.
“Nothing to say?” Falcon growls with the first display of emotion I've seen since it all happened.
“No, Alpha Treyfield,” I say in a monotone. “You don't have faith in me. Now, I don't have trust in you.”
His eyes flicker, but it’s too late, the lift doors close and take me away.
thirty-one
Onyx
They are happy. For three days, I watch from a distance, unnoticed as the pack lives their lives. They touch each other, love each other, be themselves. Grayson kissed Silas in public yesterday. It was so sweet. It made me ache. But they are hurting. They are closed down. I see the hypervigilance in the way they watch everyone approach. They keep Dylan close, safe. But this behaviour it’s not right, it’s not them.
I'm not sure why I'm still here. I have my stuff packed, but every time I try to leave, I find myself sitting on the edge of the uncomfortable bed and having this argument with myself. One half of me wants to leave and be done with them forever, the other half wants to give them a chance to come to their senses. One more chance.
My mother always said that people deserved second chances. She always said that we, the world, was too quick to make snap judgements and hold onto anger when a simple explanation could be found.
