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Despite the anger flaring in my chest, I don’t complain. Hours of quiet obedience now lie scattered across the floor, and I can’t even summon the energy to speak up.
I lower my eyes so he can’t see the loathing reflected there.
“Where’s that dagger?” He asks, grabbing the satchel and peering inside.
“It’s the one with the bone hilt,” I murmur.
Gods, is that thin, reedy sound my voice?
“What else was in here?” He shakes the satchel, sliding the dagger into the back pocket of his jeans.
An odd sense of melancholy washes over me when I see him take the weapon for himself.
Why does it feel like I just lost something I never truly had to begin with?
And, is this sense of loss because of the dagger… Or Daxen?
A tear tracks down my cheek. I let it fall, too tired to wipe it away.
“That leather journal.” I point to it, lying among a bunch of old, creased photos of Redwood trees. He snatches it from the floor and tucks it under his arm. When his gaze returns to me, I lift my chin, trying to claw back even a tiny bit of dignity.
I hate that I’m crying. Hate that I’m in pain. Hate how he ignores me and makes me feel so worthless. Most of all, I hate that, even now, some broken part of me aches for him to wrap me in his arms and tell me everything will be alright. Even if it’s a lie.
With one last glance in my direction, he walks out.
The generator must have kicked on because as I follow his strong body with my eyes, I can see Cage hovering just outside the door. The light illuminates his cruel expression aimed straight at me over Dax’s shoulder.
Dax turns around. His eyes narrow on Cage.
Oh gods, he wasn’t fast enough to wipe the smile off his face before Dax noticed. Dax’s eyes drift back to me. They flick to my lap, where I’m still rubbing the hem of my shirt between my fingers with quiet desperation.
I stop the movement, shamefully aware of what I’m doing. Embarrassment burns in my cheeks. I snatch my hands away from the cotton, praying he won’t add another layer of humiliation to this day by pointing it out with a taunting comment.
He stands there for so long, I think I missed his exit, but when I glance up, he’s still in the doorway, looking at me thoughtfully.
His eyes soften just a fraction. For that brief second, he doesn’t look at me with hatred. He looks at me like he’s worried I might be unraveling quicker than either of us expected.
A split second later, he straightens his spine. The hard lines of his face reappear so quickly, I think I imagined the softness.
A trainee I’ve never seen passes. Daxen reaches out and snags him by the shirt ordering, “Take her to her room.”
He leaves, boots echoing on the concrete.
I exhale sharply, catching myself before I thank him, even though he wouldn’t hear me.
The only thing that matters now is getting back to the attic.
And away from every Alpha in this place.
Chapter 29
Vaelenor
We stopped meeting in the War Room.
With half our number gone or decommissioned, it just feels wrong. Makes me feel raw, like I’m scraping my nerve endings against glass.
Tonight, we gather in the sitting room of our pack’s wing at HQ. My personal favorite room. It’s spacious, with leather couches big enough to seat eight Alphas comfortably, a fully stocked booze and snack bar, a seventy-inch Ultra 8K TV that I never get to fucking watch, and the best part of the entire house—a vintage PacMan arcade game.
