Page 26 of Bonds and Beasts

I knew I was lonely. God knows I felt lonely, but after a while it became background noise. Like the sound from a misfiring machine that never stops. It's horrible, but if it goes on long enough, you adapt.

I'd adjusted while I was alone, but now the horrible, sharp ache of the memory returns tenfold.

I scrub my face, eyeing the makeup and face cleaning supplies that Bello and Easton brought from the west wing, not realizing I hadn't touched them since I stopped leaving that part of the house. Some of them are likely expired.

But I decide I'm done being this weak, fragile, exhausted version of myself.

I blow dry and prime my hair, using as many products as I have. I braid it and leave some curls loose in the front. It still doesn't look like it did before my birthday, but it looks better than it did this morning. Then I apply light makeup. I'm afraid I may have forgotten how, but it turns out to be like riding a bike. A little foundation here, mascara there. Finish with a nude lipstick. Done.

I put on the outfit I chose from the pile the guys brought: a slouchy cream sweater with a dark brown denim skirt, lined tights, and little boots. It all fit me last year, but everything but the boots is now too big. I tuck in the sweater so the loose fit seems more purposeful and use a bobby pin to cinch the waist of the skirt so it doesn't fall. Carefully, I open the bathroom door and step back into the bedroom.

The guys are standing in a semicircle, chatting in low tones. When I step out, three pairs of eyes snap to me. Bello's draw my attention and cause heat to pool at my core. Easton's are searching, constantly looking for injury. And Dean. Dean is grinning like a feral beast. He's the first to step forward, so quickly that I hardly have time to react as he wraps his arms around my waist and spins me.

I squeal in delight and he places me back on the floor, nuzzling and scent-marking into the hollow dip of my shoulder. "Sweet Girl, I couldn't imagine you would get more beautiful," he praises. I duck my head and feel heat climbing up my cheeks. Even before everything, I was terrible at taking compliments.

A soft "Thank you" is all I can muster.

We head down to breakfast. The fridge has food I recognize from childhood. Mrs. Portidge. I'm sure it must be her. Entering the kitchen and dining room is like coming home after an unenjoyable trip to a foreign land. I've been homesick while living in my own house.

Looking around at the three alphas making easy conversation while including me, I consider that they make this house more of a home for me than it ever was before.

Through the open windows of the dining room, we can hear tires crunching on the gravel drive out front. I see a familiar black car park on the U-shaped drive.

Bello stands, his chair scraping against the expensive wooden floor, and steps to the window. "Clocks."

Growls rise from Easton and Dean, making me both unsettled about an obviously impending confrontation and molten at the thought that they'd protect me.

The alphas all march out of the dining room and through the front door.

"Wait, what are you going to do?" I ask, quickening my pace to keep up with their long strides.

"Talk to him," Dean says lightly, flashing me a wolfish smile.

"Make sure he understands where he's not welcome anymore," Easton confirms in a serious tone as they make their way toward the car.

My skin feels prickly and I can feel my heartbeat in my palms. I'm embarrassed to say that a large part of me still thinks this all has to be some big misunderstanding. Mr. Clocks, my parents' most trusted friend and advisor, wouldn't have purposely hurt me. There has to be a better explanation. He may have truly believed that Dr. Fray’s treatments were correct. My doctor was a medical professional. How would Mr. Clocks know any differently?

But why didn't he take me to a hospital? Why were there no drugs or anything else in my system?

He may not have understood that there was a safe way to take me to the hospital. He is a beta, after all. And as for the drugs, maybe that's the doctor's fault. Yes, the doctor might be shady and have tricked Mr. Clocks. Mr. Clocks could be as innocent a victim in this as anyone else.

Mr. Clocks has already exited his car. The face he makes when he sees me has the world tilting out from under me. He doesn't look concerned or upset or angry with the alphas for disturbing me. He looks like a thief caught in the act. He looks guilty as sin. And I know from that one look that he knew exactly what he was doing.

The three alphas have fanned out in front of me, facing Mr. Clocks. Bello is saying something, his face the picture of rage, but I can't hear him over the ringing in my ears. The one person I trusted after my parents passed had lied to me. Had tricked me.

"Was it for money?" I find myself asking. Bello stops and turns. I can see all the alphas watching me through my peripheral vision, but I only have eyes for Mr. Clocks.

"I beg your pardon?" he asks haughtily, but the register of his voice is too high.

"You should beg," I reply, shocking myself with the statement. My anger and sorrow are a physical vice on my voicebox, leaving no filter for my words. "How could you do this to me? My designation was a disaster, my parents had passed. You were the only person I had to turn to, and you lied to me?" My initially level tone has grown in volume until I'm nearly screaming. I feel a hand on my back and twitch, only to turn and find Easton next to me, giving me the physical touch my body still so desperately needs.

That too was Mr. Clocks's fault.

"You watched me waste away when you knew I could be helped by proper care. If not from my pack," I gesture to the alphas around me, "then by volunteers and doctors." I glance to Easton, who nods. Dean steps up to my other side and slips his hand into mine. Bello’s hard, tall body stands close enough to act as a barrier while not blocking my view of Mr. Clocks. He will not let the man who hurt me get close.

"Adison, dear, you're confused. That's not what happened. I only wanted—"

"I don't give a fuck what you want." As horrible as this conversation is, it's giving me back my confidence. I’m frightened, but it's reminding me of my worth. Before my birthday designation, I was outspoken, independent, and in charge of my life. And this man in front of me, this gross collection of clothes and skin, tried to use one of the worst days of my life, along with my parents passing, to take my voice and my rights away forever.