I couldn't respond, even my mantra had abandoned me when I needed it most.
My vision blurred completely, darkness creeping in from the periphery. The figures and activity surrounding me melted together into nondescript smudges, like wax figures too close to a flame.
Though I was slipping into the blackness, I heard the monitors screaming, my vital signs dancing into dangerous territories.
The pain returned, but I was too far away to care.
The last thing I heard before blacking out was: "Record this response. She's showing remarkable cellular activity. This could be the breakthrough we've been waiting for."
Then Doctor Emerson’s response: “Pay attention to the damn patient. She’s not your experiment.”
If I survive, it’s worth it.
Worth this never-ending. Agony. No light at the end of this brutal tunnel…
1
XANDER, DEMONX PACK
{Seven months ago}
One little slice is all it would take...
The shard caught the minimal light in my room; it gleamed in a taunting, persistent way. Malevolent intent winking up at me. I rolled it slowly, testing its edges against my thumb, not enough to break skin. Not yet, anyways. The whiskey bottle it came from lay shattered on my floor, amber liquid seeping from its fractured body, slipping into cracks between floorboards.
The bottle. Bleeding.
From a wound I’d made.
Like my own injuries, some visible and others invisible.
Spreading wider with each passing moment.
I'd decorated this room to match what lived inside me—all dark walls painted in shadowy strokes of different deep grays, black leather furniture worn enough to feel honest—not staged but undeniably lived upon—and metal fixtures that gleamed cold and unforgiving. The space was a confession; one I couldn’tvoice. That my life had long ago gone monochrome. I didn’t even remember the warmth of color.
The whiskey bottle hadn't fallen by accident.
I’d tossed it brutally hard into my dresser; one drawer was cracked down the middle now. I’d watched the bottle sail through the air, knowing full well it would shatter, but making no move to save it. The sound of impact had been brief, yet satisfying.
Now I held the largest, jagged piece between my fingers, turning it this way and that. The edges were uneven, unpredictable. Perfect. I settled back against the headboard of my bed, my breathing steady despite what I was contemplating.
It would be so easy.
I hovered the glass over my left wrist, not quite touching. The thick veins were visible through my pale skin, complex pathways carrying life through my body. One decisive slice and I'd have release. Even if the guys found me in time, I felt like nearly dying would make the pressure behind my eyes and in my chest abate for a while.
"Do it," I whispered to the empty room. "Just fucking do it."
But I didn't. Because I was Xander, the guy who’d pushed DemonX into reality. I couldn’t abandon everything. Couldn’t leave my pack behind to deal with the fallout.
Instead, I touched the glass to my skin just below my wrist and dragged it upward. Not pressing, just grazing. The lightest kiss of sharp against soft. I watched a thin white line appear, then fade, not even breaking the surface. I traced the path of my veins, moving slowly up my forearm, feeling the anticipation of pain more acutely than any actual sensation.
At the crook of my elbow, I stopped.
A fresh wave of melancholy washed over me. I stared at the unblemished path I'd traced, feeling cheated somehow. Even in this, I couldn't let go.
There was nothing left to try.
Or if there was, I couldn’t fucking think of it! What would happen when we couldn’t keep our heads together enough to ride? We’d lose contracts. We’d lose our home. I couldn’t become that fucking kid again, the one living at the mercy of the system with nothing to call his own. From basically birth, I’d been a ward of the state. Parents dead, no extended family. You’d think, with Alphas being so fucking important, that the government would have strict regulations on care. But the Alpha Protection System got gamed just like every other program. Alphas and Omegas signed up as foster parents, and they were trusted because of their status, and kids like me got tossed to wolves nine times out of ten. People always thought people like me had it so damn good. But, just like Betas, Alphas and Omegas could get the shit end of the stick.
