Page 135 of Rot In Knotty Pieces

Five years ago

Merle

The wound has healed, not fully, but it’s not bleeding anymore. I’m so hot, though, my skin sizzling. My lips are cracked, and I don’t remember the last time I drank anything. There’s a tiny little spread of light. It’s not much, and it takes forever for me to become aware of it, but once I do, I can’t stop looking.

I know that we should die, but I want to live, and I want to be away from him.

I pull myself to my feet and stumble, crawl towards it. It takes me a couple of goes, but I manage to climb the boxes, tearing open wounds on my knees and hands, but I ignore them. What’s a little bit more pain now?

Then I’m pressed against a pane of glass. Cold, slippery, smells of dust, and the acrid stench of my dehydrated urine that pervades the room.

Glass means I can break it, my sluggish mind supplies. I snap my hand out and bang on it, but nothing happens. And then I see the latch. I shift it, and to my surprise, the window almost falls open.

I blink, trying to make sense of it. Can it really be that easy?

It takes me a long time to crawl up into that small hole and even longer to get to the point where I’m tilted, hanging on the side, and then all of a sudden, I’m falling. I lay there in the outside, staring up at the grey sky. Nothing really rouses me until it starts to rain. I lick the water from my parched lips, and it brings me to life.

I drink from scraps and puddles, and then I stumble away.

Dove

The smells of food draw me to a crowd, and a random person hands me a hot roll. I devour it, then feel sick because it hurts my stomach, but I force myself to keep it down. When I look up, there’s a person staring at me, but kindly, and they hold out another one. Wariness wars with hunger, but hunger wins. I take it.

“I think you’ve been through it.” The male beta starts talking, speaking fast and with this happiness that is strange, but I ignore them, chewing slowly on this roll, relishing the taste of the butter and cheese. “Come on. Let’s get you more food.”

He takes me to the police station. I don’t like this at all.

They ask who I am. I don’t know. I don’t have a name, so I don’t speak. They ask about my family? What family? I can’t speak.

They ask me about Father, about who hurt me. I shut my mouth and sink into myself, realising how much trouble I’m in.

I’m not stupid. I’ve seen what father does to snitches.

Then a big alpha comes in, and he feels different. Even from across the room, I watch him, knowing he’s special. I like him, and I don’t know why. I trust him, and I shouldn’t. When they shove me at him, he’s all I can see. I shouldn’t, but when he crouches in front of me and tells me I’m safe now, I believe him.

“My name is Aaron Roseland, but you can call me Rose. Who are you? What’s your name?”

For the time, I clear my throat, and I speak.

“I’m Dove.”

Raven

Roseland walks into his apartment and turns the light on. He doesn’t notice me right away, though he should. He’s exhausted, I can tell by the way his shoulder’s droop. In the way he dumps his food, uneaten, on the counter, ignoring it. His eyes have bags, and his face has stubble.

He looks like someone stole his best friend.

“Hello,” I say quietly.

He startles and turns. “Dove? How did you get in here?”

I laugh, but not loudly. No, there’s something Dove didn’t know and that I can see clear as day.

This alpha is our scent match. He’s mine.

No wonder she loves him.

“No, Rose, I’m not Dove,” I say gently, my eyes roving over him in wonder.