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Iris’s pain adds fuel to the rage I feel against the Collins. They aren’t just thieves. They’re awful people for abandoning their daughter to a pack of wolves.
Why couldn’t they take her away along with their omega daughter?
Iris has proven she’s a useful person. She cooks, cleans, and fights better than most men. Any pack would be lucky to have her.
The feeling of protectiveness intensifies. The beast inside me wants to make sure I take care of her.
I can see the yearning in her face as we get closer to her home.
Light pours out through the windows of the houses lining the suburban neighborhood. Iris’s home is easily distinguishable from them because of the closed shutters and darkened interiors.
I stop the car right outside her house.
“Iris,” I call out as she unbuckles her seatbelt. “I have one piece of advice before you get out of this car. Don’t run.”
“I won’t.” Pushing the door open, she steps out and steadily heads toward the house.
I follow her, keeping a close distance between us as she walks inside the house.
Iris has no trouble looking for the light switch in the darkened living room area. She turns them on, bathing the whole place in a warm, golden glow. “I’ll be right back,” she says and walks toward the kitchen.
I give her space but still follow her there.
Pain and determination are etched on her face as she pulls open a drawer under the kitchen counter. Her hands rummage among plastic containers, making a loud sound.
She brings out two small bottles. Unscrewing the cap, she pours the pills onto the counter.
I have no idea why she’s doing that but I stay in the background, simply watching and keeping her company.
Iris’s breathing turns fast and shallow as she lays two pills on her palm and brings them close to her face. Her bottom lip quivers as she picks up one of the bottles, reads the label, and then sets it down.
Soft gasps escape her. It’s a second before I realize she’s sobbing.
“Iris?” I call out uncertainly. What exactly did the doctor tell her to make her behave so strangely?
“Iris?” A completely different voice calls out her name.
We both turn toward the doorway.
A strange young man with neatly combed dark hair is standing there. He’s young and doesn’t seem much older than her. His breathing quickens as he stares at her.
“It’s really you, Iris,” the stranger says.
Thick tears stream down her face as she meets his gaze. “Ethan,” she calls out in a wounded voice. Running toward him, she wraps her arms around his neck and breaks down completely.
“Iris, what’s wrong?” he asks but she doesn’t respond. She continues crying like her heart is breaking.
A strange kind of pain flares in my chest. I hate the sound of her wounded soul.
Guilt weighs heavily in my gut.
I’m the one who tore her away from the life she knew.
I’m the one who punished her for her parents’ wrongdoing.
A different emotion flares inside me as I watch her hold another strange man. Jealousy, like I’ve never felt before, consumes me.
Iris shouldn’t be with an outsider.
