Iknow to say my wolf did it sounds like the equivalent of my dog ate my homework, but she did.
She stabbed him, not me.
And I can’t say I blame her.
This environment is triggering for both of us but most of all her. I’m just surprised she did that, considering she wouldn’t bother helping me take him down before I was imprisoned.
I feel terrible. I’m a monster, my wolf whines.
My body is shaking from the aftermath.
I shush her, letting her know it’s okay.No, you’re not. You’re just scared.
My wolf is my first and probably only love, but I don’t have control over her like others seem to. When she gets triggered or scared, there’s no stopping her.
We suffered years of abuse during our time in captivity, but she took the brunt of it—she protected me whenever she could. I don’t know the extent of what she placed herself in front of to keep me safe. She won’t talk about it. She says it’s better if I don’t know, and I believe her. We may share one vessel, but there are some traumatic experiences she’s buried somewhere in my mind that she won’t give me access to. A vault that only opens when we’re sleeping, and they come in the form of night terrors.
Do you think he could forgive us?
Thinking she made a joke, I laugh, but slowly, my laughter dies.Wait, is this bitch serious?
She lies down and folds one paw over another once she’s found a comfortable spot in my brain, refusing to look at me.
You’re joking, right?I ask her.
To distract herself from the vulnerability of hope, she licks her paw.It could happen. People give second chances all the time.
I want to gesture at everything around us and demand if this looks like a second chance in our future—but instead, I take a gentler approach.After you stabbed him? I’m thinking our chances aren’t looking too good.
I like to see the good in people, she says.
More like you believe he’d be good in you.
She growls, offended that I called her out. But she knows I’m right.
I press into my wound to help stop the bleeding.I know you like him, but you’re going to have to get over this crush. He’s going to be the alpha one day, and I bet the first thing he’ll do as alpha is execute us. Not to mention, we’re the reason for his ascent to leadership. Remember?
My wolf’s ears go back, and she lowers her head.
Besides, even if we hadn’t, we’re a rogue, and he’s an alpha. It would never work. We’re from completely different worlds. Plus, you stabbed him. I don’t see us coming back from that.
My wolf whimpers at our truth.
The creaking of the dungeon’s entrance catches my attention. Caleb descends the concrete stairs carrying a first aid and sewing kit.
On edge, I don’t take my eyes off in case he wants to end things now.
His wound is stitched. Poorly, if I might add.
Caleb stands tall, hiding the pain well. Something I’m sure he’s been conditioned to do. Able to sufficiently regulate his emotions, he’s not quick to anger like some masters I’ve had. Hispatience tells me I’ll be playing the long game until he finally cracks.
“Are you always violent toward women?” I ask him, not bothering to hide the judgment in my tone.
“Are you always violent toward men?” he claps back. “Male, female, big, small, if someone’s trying to stab me, I’m going to defend myself. Don’t like that? Then don’t attempt homicide.”
I consider his words and suggestion of a double standard. His boundary is reasonable. But why is he so calm? I did just stab him.
“Look, do you want the first aid kit or not?”
