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Did it feel good? Did it make her feel beautiful to crush something pure? Did it make them all feel strong and safe to destroy that which is different from them?
The urge to fight back was there, muted and choked down but still burning like the last flickering ember of a fire that refused to entirely go out. But my voice was stuck in my throat. I was paralyzed by my own experiences, unable to move or speak.
The Gamma’s son stepped forward, eager to get a word in. He reached out and grabbed me by the arm, pulling me up from where I was crouched among the flowers' remains. I winced in pain, but I was too scared to even cry out. I knew there was no point.
You can only get knocked to the ground so many times before you inevitably learn to stay down.
I could feel my cousin watching him in approval, which only egged him on further. My heart was pounding in my chest as he tightened his grip on my arm. I could feel bruises forming where his fingers dug into my flesh. I was trapped, and there was nothing I could do to escape.
“Aw, look, the mutt got dirt on her clothes,” he hissed, tearing at the hem of my shirt with his other hand. I tried to stagger away from him, but I tripped over the ruined garden. He yanked on the shirt as I fell backward, the fabric ripping as I landed in the battered soil. Surrounded by the broken petals of the daisies I had so carefully tended to, I wrapped my arms across my chest to cover myself.
Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, my cousin shifted into his wolf form. He bared his teeth and growled, his eyes glowing with malice. Behind him, Oscar’s girlfriend shifted uncomfortably, her expression growing distant. Her eyes glazed over with boredom. It was easier than seeing what was being done to me. Apathy is softer than horror, quieter than guilt and shame, comfortably close to numbness. They say sticks and stones are the worst of it, but I can tell you that I would choose words over teeth and claws any day.
Oscar was massive in his wolf form, his fur a dark, mottled grey. His eyes were a burning, rabid shade of yellow, and his muscles rippled under his fur as he moved, making him look even more fearsome. As he growled, his ears flattened against his head, and his elongated jaw revealed sharp fangs.
His breath came in frenzied pants, the sound sending shivers down my spine. There is nothing more frightening than a cruel predator, one that has abundant time to tear its victim apart and play with the pieces.
I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the impact, but it never came.
Chapter Ten
Tristan
She won’t even tell me her name.
I pace around my room. The space is open, with high ceilings and large windows that let in plenty of light during the day. The decor is practical and comfortable, with clean lines and neutral colors. A plush, king-sized bed dominates one wall, inviting and cozy, opposite a cluttered desk on the other side. A fire crackles in the background, filling the room with a pleasant warmth that doesn’t quite soothe the ice in my veins.
I can feel my frustration growing with each step, building as I pace back and forth, my arms crossed over my chest. This girl, with her haunting eyes and timid stance... she’s my damned destiny, and she won’t tell me her name.
I run my hand through my hair, fingers sliding through the wavy brown locks that fall just above my collar. After an insufferable amount of pacing, I stop in front of the window. The crescent moon casts a soft glow on the Rovers' village, illuminating the quaint buildings and winding roads built into the mountainside.
There’s a knock at the door, and the wolf within me stirs at the sound, but I shove down its hope, scolding myself. The scent coming from outside my room is a familiar one, and it’s not my mate.
Before I can even answer the door, Amara lets herself in with a grave expression. “That could have gone better,” she says matter-of-factly, and I shoot her an unamused glare. “At least she ran to her room and not off the property entirely.”
Amara closes the door behind her, turning to examine me. Her words are of little comfort. Even if the girl tried to flee the villa, she wouldn’t make it far. Once she got out of town, she’d find the harsh and unforgiving terrain of Silvertooth Peaks. I've spent my fair share of time as a lone wolf, so I know these lands like the back of my hand, but she’d be lucky to make it halfway back to her old pack.
The idea that she’s trapped here makes something twist unpleasantly in my gut.
“You, on the other hand, don’t seem like you’re handling this whole mate business very well,” Amara points out.
Out of everyone that could have knocked on my door, I’m glad it’s her. Amara may be Mark’s mate, but she is as much my Beta as he is, if not more. She’s just as stoic as her husband and twice as clever. She has a quiet sense of authority; something ancient and nameless swims in the depths of her dark eyes.
“What am I supposed to do, Amara?” I growl, unable to keep the frustration out of my voice. She’s not the one I’m mad at, but anger has a way of blurring lines. “She won’t talk to me. I don’t even know her name. Sophie said this girl is my destiny, but as far as I can tell, she can barely stand to be in the same room as me.”
“Are you sure Sophie is right about her?”
I arch a brow at Amara. Sophie is our Seer. Her visions have saved our pack countless times, and we all learned a long time ago not to doubt her premonitions. “You know Sophie. Has she ever been wrong before?”
“Maybe her vision was about another strange girl with violet eyes living with an enemy pack...”
I step away from the window, leaning on the nearby wall as I look at Amara with curious amusement. “Was that a joke? Are you making jokes now?”
“There’s a first time for everything,” she says with a catlike smirk. She walks along the edge of the room, the flames burning in the fireplace reflected in her large pupils. “You know you can just ask the house to heat itself, right? It’s the twenty-first century, and you have an enchanted mansion. You don’t actually need to light a fire.”
“What can I say? I’m an old-fashioned guy.”
She scoffs. “You, Trystan Lyall, are the least traditional male I’ve ever met, and I know Nico.”
