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One
Every night, Micah Chase battled the monsters in his dreams.
The ones responsible for his captivity and torture. The ones who did terrible things to him—forced him to do things—that made him wish he was dead. And each day, he awoke to the increasing reality that the nightmares about his hellish time in captivity weren’t simply products of a tormented and cracked mind.
They were memories.
Worms, churning up the rot in his soul, filling him with self-loathing. Hatred. Yeah, he’d liked it much better back when he couldn’t remember a fucking thing.
Pushing himself out of bed, he walked into the bathroom, feeling far older than his twenty-nine years. The Alpha Pack had been called out yesterday to eliminate a nest of goblins—how the holy fucking hell had those little bastards gotten through the portal from the Unseelie realm, anyways?—and his body was covered in scratches and bruises from their nasty little claws and teeth. He should’ve healed by now.
That he hadn’t was cause for yet another worry in a very long list of them.
In the bathroom, he studied his ruined face in the mirror. He’d taken his good looks for granted once. Before he had been tortured like a lab rat, made to scream in agony and beg for death. The dark eyes that stared back were dull, hollow with pain and mental exhaustion. Dark brown hair, once shiny and full, hung to his shoulders, limp and lifeless as his gaze. But it was the sight of his face that hurt most of all.
The left side was perfect. A reminder of how truly naive he’d once been to the evil in the world, to what one being was capabl
e of doing to another. The left side, however, was a mess of scars, like melted candle wax had been poured from his forehead to run down over his brow, then down his cheek and neck. In reality it had been molten silver, splashed onto his face as he’d been held down, screaming.
“You’ll do what you’re told next time, dirty wolf! Isn’t that right?”
“No! Stop, please!”
“He still hasn’t learned.” Eyes burning with manic light, Dr. Bowman flicked a hand at an assistant. “Again.”
Shaking his head to clear the horrid scene from his brain, Micah gripped the sink and thought bitterly how books and movies didn’t always get it right. While he’d healed, his wolf shifter’s DNA hadn’t been able to rid him of the terrible scars.
But maybe it was fitting that the outside matched the inside.
Ignoring the throbbing in his head, he turned on the water in the shower and let it get hot before stepping into the stall. For a few minutes he stood and enjoyed the spray beating down, soothing his tired, abused muscles. It did little to ease the pain in his head, however. In fact, the throb ramped up to a sharp stab behind his left eye that left him breathless, and warmth gushed from his nose.
“Shit.”
He swiped his hand underneath his nose, then stared at the blood. There was more this time, the bleeding heavier. It would stop, though. Always did.
Tilting his head back, he let the spray wash the blood away until the flow ceased. Then he finished his shower and stepped out, toweling off. In the bedroom, he dressed in jeans and a plain black T-shirt, then pulled on his black boots, sliding his big knife into the right one. Typically he went light on weapons when he and the guys weren’t out on a call. But he couldn’t always shift into his wolf, especially in public, and it never hurt to be prepared.
As he straightened, his gaze found the small pill bottle resting on the dresser. He hated being dependent on that shit, so leaving it behind should be easy. Right? Yet the very thought of being in town, out in the field, or even across the compound, and not having it when the demons closed in? God, the idea made his hands shake and his heart race. Made him sweat.
Taking myst was like wrapping himself in a soft, warm blanket, chasing away the cold. The darkness. The stuff cocooned him in a layer of I-don’t-give-a-fuck, at least for a few blessed hours. Sweet relief.
Hating himself, he snatched the bottle with a curse and opened the lid, downed a couple pills, dry-swallowing them. Then he shoved the container into his front jeans pocket. Sucking in a deep breath, he let it out slowly and waited. Gradually, the medicine took effect and he felt the turmoil in his mind ease. His muscles relaxed, tension bleeding away.
There would be a price, though. Always was.
Leaving his quarters, he walked into the hallway and shut the door behind him. Everyone was probably at breakfast by now. The thought of eating made his stomach twist, but he didn’t want to be alone. Besides, acting normal, sticking to his routine, kept his buddies and his sister, Rowan, off his back. Mostly.
Fake it till you make it.
His boots shuffled on the carpeted floor as he made his way to his destination. Outside the dining room, he paused. The aromas of pancakes, bacon, and syrup simultaneously made his stomach rumble and stirred a flutter of nausea that rose in his throat. He was so hungry, he could have eaten a half-cooked goblin, but the side effects of the medicine prevented him from consuming much without getting sick. Another misery to add to the growing list.
“You gonna go eat or just stand there sniffing the air?”
Turning, he managed a grin for Nick Westfall, the Alpha Pack’s commander, and tried to ignore how the expression pulled strangely at the ruined side of his face. His boss was with his new mate, Calla Shaw, and the vampire princess was glowing. Nick appeared as proud and happy as any man would, being the reason for that glow—and the baby in her belly, which was several weeks along. Lucky bastard.
“Good morning,” Micah said, nodding to them both. “Princess, you look more beautiful every time I see you. How’re you feeling?”
