Chapter 8 – Carina
Eight
CARINA
Ryder is gone for a while and given how late it is and how oddly comfortable the chair is, my eyelids grow heavy. Sleep will be nothing like it is at home. Positioned upright with my arm above head sounds like a fate worse than death.
Hopefully he’ll pity me.
Pulling my legs onto the chair, I position myself as best I can for warmth.
My eyes shut but I refuse to sleep. Instead, my mind drifts back to this morning; to how my sneaky trips down the mountain ended with this.
It can’t be a coincidence the same day he saw me is the day he made me the annual request.
There are too many unknowns.
Why would he waste the pack’s annual boon on me?
Where’d he get the potion that suppressed my magick?
When does this end?
What even is this?
Most importantly: will he kill me?
He claims he won’t hurt me, but it may not even be the truth.
By now, I imagine Mom going nuts between planning a fight and respecting my choices. Jasper and his parents will cool her down. It’s generally how things work in our family. For now, she needs to trust me to remain alive.
Step one: figure out what is going on.
Step two: let Mom know, no matter what it is.
She’ll understand. As High Priestess, choices must be made and I’ve made mine, even if it’s not the one she would have.
My skin pebbles, exhaustion making me even colder. I pull the cloak around me and curl my body tighter, only to be struck with the most unfortunate realization.
I need to pee.
Glancing around the room, I realize at this point, I’ll accept a bucket, but there’s not even one of those. Ryder better return soon or else I won’t be liable for these chairs.
As though my hopes were answered by Hecate Herself, the door is pushed open and Ryder’s imposing form shoulders inside. His gaze finds me and when I’m expecting hatred, anger, or whatever numerous possible emotions that could indicate why I’m here, something else flashes.
Dismay.
He slowly crosses the room. His attention moves from me to the bed-thing and back, dismay slipping into almost physical pain. As if it’s his arm’s dangling from the ceiling and going numb.
Getting his attention from whatever weird breakdown he’s having, I shake my limb. “If you could free me, that’d be great.”
His expression cools into something recognizable—distaste. Shockingly and without argument, he undoes the rope from the ceiling. It falls to our feet, the other end still tied around my wrist.
He remains close, his presence another zap like the one felt this morning when he first touched me. Maybe it’s the little voice in my head reminding me of potential danger because that’s all Ryder is—danger in physical form.
Gambling on my next request being granted as well, I tip my head up to the imposing form of the Alpha, wondering if he’s practiced his glare in the mirror. It seems too perfect to not have been, right down to the curl of his lip and the rigidness of his jaw.
Would it be rude to ask if they even have mirrors?
“I need to pee.”
He blinks down at me, body jerking as though surprised to hear me speak, but before I can make a snarky comment about being a prisoner, he bends for the rope and loops it around his hand.
He’s leashed me. Charming. If I didn’t have to pee so badly, I’d bitch. Of all the fights we’ll probably have, this isn’t the one to focus on. Not when he’s holding all the power over my bladder.
Ryder leads me outside and around the side of his cabin. The camp appears dead to the world. Good, because the less people to witness my humiliation, the better.
Shivering in the cool, low temperatures, I bring my cloak closer, thankful for its presence. In comparison, my wolfy captor remains shirtless, suggesting at least one thing Mom taught me is the truth: that they run warmer than us and humans.
Ryder leads me through the forest, the rope slack. When reaching a seemingly unmarked area, he stops and gestures ahead. “I’ll wait here.”
Wonderful. Peeing in the forest was not on my bucket list.
“I ever tell you I despise camping?”
“No, but good to know.” He throws me a derisive smirk before turning his back.
At least he’s respectful.
If I had my magick, I’d conjure myself a toilet. Hell, I’d create bathrooms inside every cabin as a sign of faith because no woman or kid, shifter or otherwise, deserves to pee on the ground.
With a resigned sigh, I tug at the ribbon around my neck to undo the cloak so it’s one less thing to deal with. I walk the couple paces until reaching Ryder and hand him the material. “Hold this please.”
He takes it after a considerable long stare that makes me wonder if he has hearing difficulties before returning his gaze to the moon above.
Using a tree as support, I piss out my dignity, thankful for Mom’s dress code—and thus the dress that made all this easier. One small miracle.
When I’m back beside Ryder, I find him glaring at my cloak. Enemy territory and all that, I guess. Wordlessly, he shoves it into my arms and turns deeper into the woods, the rope around my wrist pulling taut before I follow.
“Careful. The ground slopes.”
After a few more steps, it dips exactly where he said. Coupled with the obscurity and chill, the ground feels slippery, and when my foot makes an audible noise, his arm jerks behind to catch me.
I don’t take his assistance, but I smile to myself nonetheless. “Thanks.” If he’s playing nice, I will too.
He leads me to a small creek, the water bubbling quietly. It’s only about two feet wide and without an invitation, I drop to my knees and sink my hands into the icy water, sighing loudly and dramatically for no reason but to make a point.
“Is this where you bathe?” I eye his form and then the small stream.
“No.”
Without my magick, my palms have felt so unnaturally warm, but this small bit of water is therapeutic. Cooling. A hug from an old friend, except that friend shouldn’t be old; it should be here, running through my veins still.
“Did you know,” I begin conversationally, “all witches have elemental powers. Mine’s water, which makes this feel fucking amazing.
My mother and cousin’s is air—most of the coven’s is actually.
We used to have a lot of fire power; air and fire count one another out and it’s how the coven was designed.
My friend, Harlow, is the only remaining one of us whom still uses primarily fire magick. ”
It’s all pointless information, but telling him humanizes myself, so he understands why stealing my magick was a dick move.
If only the dislike I definitely feel wasn’t known weeks ago, when an unknown forced urged me to stalk him.
Perhaps in my time here, I’ll figure out the answer to that as well.
“How did you suppress my magick?”
“A potion.”
“Yeah, duh. Where did you get a potion?”
“A witch.”
Man of many words. “You know what I mean.”
“It doesn’t matter. It’ll last twenty-four hours. I had to.”
“So I don’t fight. If you tell me why I’m here, maybe I won’t.”
He rolls his jaw and stares in the direction of the camp. “I’d prefer to show you, but tomorrow. It’s late and there’s nothing more that can be done tonight. Let’s head back.”
After a final splash of water up my arms, I unwillingly trail behind him, thinking about the most recent conversation. Not what he said, but how he said it. It was almost apologetic that he admitted to the potion.
Ryder hasn’t been outwardly mean since we met. Nowhere close to friendly, but not cruel. He’s hiding something that’ll answer my questions. Hopefully afterwards, he becomes nicer.
Tomorrow, apparently.
“Why do you live in the woods?”
“Never had a reason to leave. Wolves do best amongst their own kind. Being around humans is annoying.”
Back at his cabin, he pushes open the door and steps aside for me to enter.
He follows close enough the rope never reaches its end, and I reclaim the same chair as earlier.
Ryder tosses the rope to the side, apparently not planning on re-tying me up, and heads for the fireplace.
He grabs a long stick propped beside it to poke at the logs and adjust as needed.
The fire grows quickly and the cabin heats more until there’s the tiniest fraction of content running through me.
“Thank you.”