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It was easy enough to get clean—to slough off the last remnants of the hell I’d been through. The soap left behind was designed to do exactly that—strip Wolves bare until only their scent remained. I scrubbed and scrubbed until I knew my skin had to be red and raw. I ached with it, but there was something cathartic about turning the water off and listening to it all drain away.
I made it back to the bedroom without incident, and even managed to find a pair of sweats and a t-shirt that smelled faintly like laundry soap without a great disaster. And while part of me wanted to stand up and walk the perimeter of the apartment over and over and over until I had tripped over every rug and slammed my shin into every table, fatigue was clawing at me.
My wolf wanted out—wanted to heal, wanted to find its way back into my bones—and the only way to make that happen was rest. Rest, and food, and the knowledge that I was free and it was safe. My back hit the bed and my eyes closed. I felt a sharp stab right in the gut as the motion made no difference to my reality. My eyes burned with tears as I rolled onto my side, but I swallowed them back as my hand searched under the pillow and dragged the shirt forward.
Misha’s scent was still fading—my human Omega who shouldn’t exist. But he’d wrapped himself around me, and I had a painful, intense feeling that no matter how much time or how many miles separated us, he would always exist just under my skin.
Chapter Nine
KOR
Morning was more disconcerting than waking up in the safehouse with Misha in the other room. I opened my eyes with the expectation of seeing light and was met with violent flashes and a deep ache in the back of my eyes. I groaned, rolling onto my side, but even pressing my fingers into my lids didn’t help.
It only lasted a few moments before they were replaced with the dark absence again, and I took in a few shuddering breaths before I was brave enough to rise. Orion hadn’t promised he would be by, but I would have been surprised if he wasn’t already there with breakfast and some sort of pep talk.
Scrubbing my hand down my face, I turned my ear toward the living room but heard nothing apart from the hum of the fridge and distant murmurs from my neighbors. Being able to hear chatter that far off felt like progress. As my wolf got closer to a shift, my senses began to sharpen. I wanted to take the doctor’s advice and not attempt to bring out my wolf until the moon, but I was starting to feel desperate.
Shaking it off, I made my way to the bathroom, emptying my bladder before scrubbing my face down. It took me eternal minutes to find the soap, and then the towel, and I wondered if it really would come easier with time.
It had to, of course. Blind people functioned through everyday activities all the time. Had done so since the dawn of history. I was hardly the first blind Wolf, and I wouldn’t be the last. But part of me was starting to wonder if I was equipped to adjust.
Swallowing thickly, I trailed a touch along the wall as I tried to remember the steps Orion had taken me from the bedroom to the kitchen, and after some trial and error, I found it. Trying to find coffee was beyond me, but I felt around and managed to locate a couple of bananas that didn’t smell over-ripe. I attempted to go through the cupboards, but apart from the bread, everything felt the damn same.
I swallowed back more frustration and ate two of the bananas and then a couple of pieces of dry bread before I heard the sound of someone approaching my door. My ears perked harder, and I reached across the pack bond, but the Wolf approaching wasn’t Orion. I could feel him somewhere in the compound, but nowhere near my apartment.
After a second, I caught another heartbeat, but it wasn’t human—and it wasn’t Wolf. It was the rapid-fast beat of an animal keeping pace with its owner as they approached my door. My instincts immediately put me on guard, aware that I was at a disadvantage both newly blind and injured, so if this was another attempt for my people to betray me, I was going to give the fight of my life.
The knock came gently a moment later—an almost melodic rhythm, and it carried on long enough that I was actually able to orient myself to the sound of it. I couldn’t tell distance, but I managed the short walk over, and after just a little searching, my hands found the lock.
“Can I help you?” I asked through the closed door.
There was a small pause, then something like a laugh. “Yes, hi. General Titus?”
It was bad enough that the hospital staff continued to use a title I wasn’t sure I’d be allowed to keep—especially considering that I was now holed up in a resistance bunker preparing to fight the government who had sold me—and I sure as shit didn’t feel like hearing it from some nameless stranger.
“Is there something you need?”
“I… Yes?” The man sounded confused now, his heartbeat steady, his scent vaguely that of a Beta without fear. “I’m sorry, is this a bad time? I was told you’d be expecting me for your orientation and mobility training and physical therapy.”
My stomach twisted and my heart rebelled, and I allowed myself to indulge in it for long enough that any other man might have walked away. But not him. There was just the beat of his heart, and that of his animal, and the measure of his patience.
My palms were sweaty when I finally turned the lock and opened the door, and I immediately recognized the scent of a dog whose leash clinked as the man stepped into the doorway.
“This is a bad time, isn’t it?” he asked. Face-to-face, his voice was pleasant. It lacked the patronizing notes of the hospital staff, but there was an air of authority like he was used to dealing with stubborn clients, and I almost smiled. Almost.
But I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing it on my face. “It’s not a great time, but I guess I was expecting you. I hope you don’t want a tour. I haven’t exactly gotten that far yet.”
The man chuckled, and I felt him step close to me as I let the door swing shut. “How about introductions. Can I shake your hand?”
I curled my fingers in toward my palm for a long second. “Feels damn awkward.”
“It can be,” he confessed. His fingers touched my elbow, then dragged down to my palm where he squeezed it. “Let it be awkward. Let people understand that you might need to do things differently from time to time. They’ll get over it.”
They’ll get over it. A piece of me liked that—but the rest of me hated it.
“I’m Cameron, by the way. We’re a little short-staffed, but luckily before shit hit the fan, I worked in both fields of O&M and physical therapy. I was briefed on your case.” His voice was a little sharper now, and I got notes of anger from him—though it wasn’t a surprise. I expected that was going to happen a lot the more the other Wolves heard the stories of what the humans had done. “Today I just want to get to know you a little bit, then maybe do a quick vitals check on your lungs and heart. And I’d be happy to answer any questions and give some tips about how to make your space more accessible.”
I bit my lip, but I realized if I was going to get any semblance of normal back, I needed this. And the fact that Orion wasn’t hovering over my shoulder made it a lot easier to nod my head. “Yeah. Uh. We can sit. I think there’s a couch somewhere.”
