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When Cevon’s footsteps walk away, a sadness overtakes me, as my wolf whines for us to follow.
I don’t fully understand it, this desire to be around the man who took me. I should hate him, but, instead, he intrigues me.
There’s got to be a name for this kind of feeling—the feeling of liking your kidnapper. I bet George would know.
I shake off the weirdness and open my suitcase. I’ve been wandering around in the underwear I woke up in, and whilst Cevon’s not leered at me, it still doesn’t feel nice to be this on display.
I kind of presumed that when he dressed me in underwear that he did it deliberately. He put me in something he liked, so that he could get something out of it, but it doesn’t seem like he cares about my state at all.
In fact, I get the feeling he’d prefer if I just wasn’t here in the first place. Which makes no sense since he’s the one who took me.
I wonder who the underwear belongs to. It smells new, the only scents on it being me and the orange laundry detergent he uses, but maybe I’m wrong. Maybe they belonged to one of his exes.
Or previous kidnap victims.
I start pulling out my clothes from the suitcase, trying to pick something appropriate to wear. Orson and I packed for a trip to my old pack, and not a weekend getaway with my kidnapper.
But when I pull out the t-shirt on the top of the suitcase, I spot a wrapped up parcel with Orson’s hand writing scrawled on the outside. I lift it up and find a card taped to the bottom.
Open this when you miss us,
Orson xoxo
Tears well up in my eyes, and you know what? This time, I let them fall. Fuck being strong. In a moment like this, when everything is falling apart, I don’t need to try and pretend I’m something I’m not.
I don’t need to be strong. I don’t need to be anything but how I am.
I’m scared. No, I’m terrified.
And I don’t know what’s happening.
Fuck, I don’t know where we are for that matter.
All I know is that Atticus’s brother, the leader of the hunters, has kidnapped me.
I can’t sense more than the general state of my mates, and all I know is that they’re alive. I can’t tell if they’re worried, or hurt, of scared.
I feel so fucking alone.
The tears continue falling as I rip open the paper, and then a warmth fills me despite the upset as soon as I realise what is within it.
The other night, Orson asked me if there was anything he could do to make this trip easier on me, and I said no because, in that moment, there was nothing I could think of that he could do.
But this here, this package, it’s absolutely everything. He didn’t even know what the future held, knowing I’d be taken, but somehow… he prepared for that, too.
The package he’s given me is something that I didn’t even realise I needed.
It’s a pile of shirts, each one belongs to one of my guys, even one of Atticus’s despite the fact that he’d be there with me. They’re all obviously different sizes, and this is the first time I’m actually grateful for that. I shove all the stuff off the bed, and strip the bed sheets because I can’t stand the scent of things that aren’t mine, and just try to minimise the dusty, unfamiliar place.
I grab my t-shirts and wrap them around me in the bed. I put Orson’s over me because it’s the biggest, and then the others I kind of just tuck up with me so that I can smell them all, and I curl up in the bed and burst into tears once more. I just wish I knew what his plan was. I wish I knew what I was going to do.
I cry myself to sleep, the scents of my mates making me feel that much worse.
* * *
Bleary eyed, I check the time on the clock in the hallway, hoping that it’s actually accurate. It reads three am, but I’m not sure I trust that Cevon maintains this properly.
Without my sleeping tablets, the aid that I’ve been relying on to sleep through the night, everything is a little fucked up. Although, I’d like to blame it on that, but to be honest I think it more could be the fact that I’m just not home.
