“Your little witch must be one sweet piece of ass. Does she know that you're capable of breaking a man's neck with your bare hands?” he goads then releases an ugly laugh. “I bet she doesn’t. Think she’ll still want you when she finds out?”
I remain silent, but for once in a long time, his baiting finds its mark. Beyond the physical pain, it feels like he’s digging his claws straight into my heart. Callie doesn’t know, and after what she’s been through, she can’t find out. I know I’m a monster. I have too much blood on my hands to be anything else. But I’m a monster that needs her. As much as I resist, I don’t know what I’ll become if she throws me away.
No hay mal que dure cien años ni cuerpo que lo resista. Todo estará bien, mijo,my mother’s voice whispers in my ear. Words of comfort she’d murmur to me after the bastard beat her.This isn’t forever.
My vision blurs, and watery blood drops off the end of my nose into the pool of saliva and blood on the chair’s seat. I feel tired and empty. Only knowing I’m alive because it hurts too much everywhere for me to be dead.
“Got nothing to say?” the Alpha taunts, letting the silver tipped whip drag along my exposed flesh, welts forming as it traces my skin.
He huffs, and his boots are muffled thumps as he paces back and forth behind me.
“Do you know why I put up with your insubordinate bullshit?” he asks, but I know it’s because he likes the sound of his own voice, not because he wants an actual answer. “Three fucking sons, and it’s the ‘spic whore that gives me my successor. Losing my Grace made me soft on the boys, I think. Look too much like their mother.”
Am I supposed to feel pity?I’d snort if I wasn’t having so much trouble just trying to breathe.
The air is a humid blanket filled with the scent of blood, sweat, and mutilated flesh, as he rambles on some more about his dead wife-- how everything would’ve been different had she lived. Any time I look like I’m about to pass out, he whips me again. With each hit, I can’t help but groan with pain, which leads to more choking and coughing up blood.
“When you get to my age, a decade is like a blip. Your little rebellion? Nothing but a blip,” he informs me, the whip’s tip resting against my lower back, but I barely feel it now. “In a year, all your friends will be gone, and you’ll still be here-- stuck with the pack you fought so hard against.” He squats down beside me, careful not to kneel in any of the blood, then casually, like he’s wondering out loud, says, “Hell, maybe it won’t even take that long. Accidents do happen. Your little human friend figured that out the hard way.”
I blink hard against all the shit in my eyes, because I have to see his face. I have to know.Is he saying he killed Felix?
His face gives nothing away, and I don’t know if I’m angry or disappointed. All my emotions seem to be locked behind a thick glass wall of blood splattered pain. My lips twist into a snarl, but my growl is pathetic even to my own ears-- more of a wounded, gurgling sound than true menace.
He laughs mockingly. “Not so tough now. Remember that the next time you come fucking strolling through my land stinking of witch.”
Standing back up, he rolls the whip back up and hangs it on the wall, my blood still dripping from it. He gives me one more hard kick, knocking me off the chair, then walks out of the room not caring about the red trail of boot prints he’s leaving.
The burning in my gut hasn’t stopped, and what’s left of my mind not drowning in pain starts to panic. Am I dying? After everything, is this how it ends?No! No, damn it. Not now. Callie!
Now that he’s gone, I gag and heave trying to get this shit out of me. Mentally, I reach for my wolf, desperate for anything that will keep me alive, but he’s as broken as I am. I lie there panting, willing my heart to keep beating and my lungs to keep breathing, but no matter how hard I try, the world grows dark around me.
∞∞∞
I’m jarred awake from the loud scrape of the window opening followed by Sam exclaiming, “Jesus fucking Christ, what did he do to you?”
I don’t know how long I’ve been out, only that the smell of vomit has joined the hellish collection of scents and between the swelling and crusted blood, I can’t open my eyes.
“Why haven’t you shifted yet?” she whispers way too loudly, while she climbs through the window.
At least the thumps of her feet landing inside the room are quiet.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her to go. That it’s not safe. But when I open my mouth to speak, nothing but a painful wheeze passes my lips.
“Holy shit, your mouth and tongue are black!”
I release a breathy laugh, in my mind hearing Callie grumbling sarcastically,She’s real astute! Can’t get anything past her.
“Shit,” she huffs, then she starts wiping at my face. I do my best not to wince. “This is real bad. We have to get you out of here. Can you shift? Like at all? Even a partial shift would help.”
I shrug… I think. Hard to tell.
“Well, try, while I text D to meet us at the gates, because you need get the fuck out of here. Roadkill looks healthier than you do right now,” she instructs, dropping the soft fabric she was using to clean me on top of my face-- her attempts at humor only a thin covering for her obvious concern.
Grunting that I heard her, I slowly reach up for the cloth, my arm shaking, and finish working on my left eye enough that I can finally open it. Sam is squatted in front of me, her thumbs rapidly moving as she texts. Her dark, pixie short hair is a wild mess, swirls sticking up on end, like she gripped it with both hands and pulled straight up. She’s also dressed in nothing but a bra and jeans. The cloth in my hand is her t-shirt.
I roll onto my back, which is a real fucking bad idea, as white hot pain shoots through me and I nearly black out. My cry of pain feels like fire shooting through my throat. I try to roll back over, but I’m too weak.
Have to shift. Need to shift.
