Page 107 of Rot In Knotty Pieces

I tremble hearing his words over and over. His massive hands are heavy but soothing as he strokes them down my back, one goes down, then the other, top to bottom. His lips are pressed against my ear.

His words are constant.

The pack comes into the room, I can smell them clearly, hear the different ways they breathe. That feeling of being safe gets stronger.

“Choose to stay. Don’t run.”

I reach out, finding a hand. It’s strong and calloused and huge in mine.

Sage moves closer, his scent getting stronger, as he purrs. Another notch of calm grabs at me, shoving the memories further from me.

“We are in the middle of nowhere on a farm that my family owns,” Rolly says. “I know you are probably starting to wonder.”

I open my eyes and realise I can just make out the shapes in the room. I can make out their shapes.

“It’s safe. It’s empty. No one comes here. We have food and a place where we can hang out and watch the sunset for a couple of days.”

A part of me wants to ask sarcastically if he really thinks we are safe, but another part is just thrilled to have somewhere to hide where we can relax. Trust them.

I do trust them, I think to myself.

Then why am I trying to run?

I didn’t run, though. I wanted to, but I didn’t. To everyone’s surprise but mostly mine, I’m still here. I’ve killed people who tried to stop me, driven cars off roads, ran off into woods and a desert once. If I’d have wanted to run, they couldn’t have stopped me. No one is hurt, and I’m here with them.

I choose to stay. Subconsciously, but I did choose to stay.

Pix and Blaze bring us food and drink, and they sit in the dark with us and talk in low voices about all sorts of things, but nothing threatening.

King shifts me into the bed and tucks a blanket up around my chin, while Rolly comes and curls around me.

He kisses my shoulder and then starts combing his fingers through my hair.

“I cut the brakes on the doctor’s car.”

I stiffen.

“I know, ridiculous, right? To be fair, he took a bribe from my dad and took a great deal of joy from drugging me and beating the shit out of me. He hurt me a lot. Medication is a very effective way of stealing someone’s ability to fight back, and he enjoyed his prey helpless. So, one day, I got out with the help of a friend, and I went and I cut the brakes on his car. It was a wet, windy night with the promise of a storm. He just…plowed right into a tree.”

I sit up and stare at him.

“I am crazy; I have a long history of diagnosis’. But,” he murmurs and brushes my hair, combing it back with long fingers.

My heart is beating hard.

“But I’m your crazy alpha, and nothing will change that. Ever. Even if you’re scared, even if you run. I’ll be yours.”

My breath comes out long and slow, and with it, the last of the tension.

I curl into the alpha, my crazy alpha, and think maybe there is such a thing as soulmates.

It takes a while before I can convince Kestrel to find the information and see what the problem was.

Over and over, we go over it, trying to find the rest of the memory. We had to have seen his face, at least once. We remember it.

But do we?

Our memory can’t be trusted. I clench my hands so tightly that my nails cut into my palms. We forget things, we remember things that didn’t happen. Can we trust our memory? What if it was all a fever dream? What if it was all a desperate imagining to make him seem less scary?