Leave a new mark.
The knife stilled in my grip, folded closed now, and I glanced down at the long-healed lines along my forearm. I hadn’t added one in a while. Maybe I should?—
I cut the thought off. I wasn’t doing that anymore. Or, at least, I was trying not to do that anymore.
Xander’s botched trick kept replaying in my brain, a violent highlight reel I couldn’t shake. He should have stuck that landing. He was the best rider in our pack.
The accident gnawed at me, eating away at any delusions I still held that our pack was handling the beginning stages of Alpha ferality well. If our leader, a goddamn force of nature, could trip over gravity, what the hell did that say about the rest of us? Anger, hot and consuming, welled in my body.
The gentle hum of a breeze trying to cool me, but it failed. I rolled the closed knife between my fingers, needing the familiar hardness of the metal pressing into my palm. It wasn’t enough. I unfolded the knife and pressed the back of the blade into my forearm a centimeter away from the most recent scar. I pressed hard, leaving a red indention. It was a thrill, a temptation; theidea that I could carve out some of this restless energy. The pull of it was seductive, the potential for pain a visceral echo in my blood. I’d been down this road before. The relief a slice gave me always faded too quickly. Then I’d do it again. And again. Once I started, stopping felt nearly impossible.
I was losing it. We all were.
I squinted at the endless sky, wishing there was at least one damn cloud to ruin its perfection. The sky shouldn’t look so flawless, not while I was falling the fuck apart below it.
How long until brushes with death turned deadly? Each one of us was grasping for something we couldn’t name, and each one of us was falling apart for the want of that mysterious something.
I dropped my gaze to my palm, a truth settling over me. Xander’s crash—during a stunt he could do blindfolded—marked a turning point; if we weren’t careful, we might all plummet into that abyss together.
Taking a deep breath, I felt the tension clenching my throat. I pressed the blade against my skin again, this time edge down. I put it exactly where the red pressure line still showed. I drew the sharpness across my skin—just a soft, fleeting pressure, not too deep. In that split second, a rush of adrenaline surged through me, flooding my senses. The knife promised me release, even if just temporary.
The line of crimson trickled down my arm, stark against my skin. The sensation of glorious pain flared, momentarily eclipsing the chaotic thoughts racing through my mind. It was reckless, and my pack brothers would tear me up over doing it, like they had many times before. But the aching throb felt right. It was an affirmation that I still existed, that the world still had edges that cut.
Fuck, I knew that this wasn’t a real solution; it was a window into the madness lurking just below the surface. I stared at thewound, darkness still trying to pull me deeper. The struggle began, the struggle never ended.
I closed my eyes tightly, attempting to banish the thoughts consuming me.
Lash out.
Break free.
Carve the pain away.
I wasn’t a weak man, but swallowing down the shadows took more strength than I possessed.
When I finally opened my eyes, accepting the fact that I wouldn’t win against my baser self, I gazed again at the endless blue sky. It made me feel incredibly small. I sat up. The roof no longer felt safe. Shoving the knife into my pocket, I stood up and carefully walked sideways towards the edge so I could drop onto the balcony below.
As my boots hit the terrace, one question remained: how hard would we all have to crash before we could ride again?
FALLON.
I couldn’t keep still. I paced my room like a tiger in a too-small cage, energy simmering just below the surface. Each step felt heavier, the space around me closing in as if the walls themselves were squeezing the air from my lungs. Moonlight poured in through the large windows, driving back shadows lurking in corners. Those dark shapes seemed to leer at me as I drifted closer to the breaking point.
Xander was no stranger to crashes, but this one had been especially bad. The man always seemed invincible, but not tonight. He’d twisted in ways that shouldn’t have been possible, not while there were bones in his body. Jesus, if something happened to him, what would our damn pack do?
I pressed my fingertips against my temples, trying to halt the whirlwind in my brain. It was too much. I almost wanted to vomit.
Chaos was DemonX’s brand. Yet I’d always found a way to curate the madness. Lately, it had become increasingly harder to stay in control.
With a burst of panic, I pulled my shirt over my head, tossing it aside like it weighed a ton. I needed to feel something—anything—besides this gnawing anxiety. Each article of clothing fell away, like I was physically shedding all the bullshit feelings, until I stood naked in the pale light.
I felt less suffocated, almost liberated. I ran a hand over my chest, attempting to gather my scattered thoughts.How had I let this happen? My calculations were solid. Why did he crash?
My pulse hammered against my ribcage as my brain chased a thread, desperately searching for something to explain everything.
I moved to the window, nothing but glass blocking my nakedness from the dark world outside.
And then, standing there vulnerable as hell, I moved my hand lower, hoping to coax a response from my body—a spark of arousal to drown out the tension. I wrapped my fingers around my cock, stroking up and down. I tried and tried, but the heat that usually surged was nonexistent, leaving me fumbling in desperation. My chest heaved with frustration, and I could feel the seams of my sanity fraying.
