Chapter Six
Three days of pure hell. Arrow had spent three days locked in the sawmill, and every minute of every hour felt like torture.
Not because of physical pain - Devon had fed him well enough, bringing him grilled meat sandwiches and bottles of water.
Not because of the conditions - the sawmill was dry and spacious, partially filled with gleaming cars that were clearly Python’s pride and joy, as well as an adequate workspace for woodwork, and a small side partition that was apparently used by Wren to design and modify his own clothes.
So no, the conditions weren’t torturous in themselves, the torture came from Pax, who apparently didn’t have an off switch.
The pixie had appointed himself as Arrow’s personal tormentor, zipping in and out of the sawmill, while delivering a comprehensive list of every way Arrow had screwed up.
Wren, the chameleon shifter who turned out to be even smaller than Flint, had joined in with equal enthusiasm.
“You know what Flint did after he left you in that bar?” Pax had demanded on the first day, glaring at him as if defying Arrow to look away.
“He finished the job, took the shot. Another perfect kill at over a thousand yards, while you were probably patting yourself on the back for being such a stud.”
“He cried,” Wren had added softly, his voice somehow more devastating than Pax’s fury. “In the greenhouse. Pax saw him. He cried for hours.”
Arrow’s wolf had whined at that, a sound of pure misery.
The bigger shifters - Storm, Levi, Calvin, and Devon - hadn’t said much. They’d just watched him with the kind of cold assessment that promised violence if Arrow stepped out of line. But their silence was its own kind of judgment.
By the third day, Arrow’s wolf had taken over just so he could lie down without looking weak.
The human side of him ached with shame and if onlys, but his wolf was suffering from not being near his mate.
He was depressed, heartbroken, and utterly defeated.
But no matter what form he took, the mating pull gnawed at Arrow constantly, a physical ache that made his bones hurt and his skin feel too tight.
He’d never felt so awful in his whole life.
The sawmill housed Python’s car collection - seven immaculate and expensive vehicles that gleamed under the overhead lights.
Arrow was reduced to counting the visible knobs on the tires at one point, trying to distract himself from the constant loop of you fucked up, you fucked up, you fucked up running through his head.
Python had arrived before dawn that morning, pulling out his Maserati with a smirk that told Arrow absolutely nothing. The demon hadn’t said a word, just drove off into the pre-dawn darkness.
Was he going to the airport - was Flint coming home?
Arrow had no idea. But as the minutes crawled by, he couldn’t stop the whining that escaped his wolf’s throat. Yes, Pax was right. It was pathetic. He was pathetic.
The Maserati returned just after sunrise. Arrow’s ears pricked forward. Two car doors opened and closed softly. Two sets of footsteps approached the sawmill, one heavy and confident - Python - and one lighter and more hesitant.
Flint. It had to be. Arrow’s wolf surged to his feet, tail low, ears back. Every instinct screamed to run to his mate, to press close and beg forgiveness, but the sawmill door was still closed, and the other shifters were moving.
Storm appeared first, his massive frame blocking the doorway. “Stay,” he ordered, pointing at Arrow. “Don’t even think about shifting back yet.”
Arrow whined but obeyed. It’s not like he had any idea of what he could say when he saw his mate again. But then he just about swallowed his tongue when Flint stepped into the sawmill.
He looked nothing like the twink Arrow had dismissed in that bar.
Exhaustion painted shadows under his eyes, and his clothes hung loose on his small frame as though he’d lost weight.
His hair was messy, not artfully arranged, and his skin was pale beneath the overhead lights.
He looked weighed down and hollowed out - a bit like how Arrow felt.
Arrow’s wolf whimpered, ears flattening completely.
“Flint!” Pax zipped over immediately. “You’re back! Are you okay? Did you eat on the plane? I kept your strawberries watered even though you didn’t ask.”
“Thanks, Pax.” Flint’s voice was hoarse, rough around the edges.
Devon stepped forward, holding out a thick sandwich wrapped in foil. “Fresh off the grill. Levi made extra.”
“You need to eat something substantial,” Wren added, appearing at Flint’s elbow with a thermos. “Hot chocolate. With extra marshmallows.”
Storm crossed his arms. “Job go alright?”
“Got it done.” Flint accepted the sandwich and thermos, cradling them close. “It took longer than expected. The safe house was a shithole, and the wards didn’t drop when they were supposed to. I ended up having to wait an extra day.”
“But you’re home now.” Pax patted Flint’s shoulder. “And you don’t have to deal with that asshole if you don’t want to.”
Arrow’s chest tightened. He wanted to shift, to speak, and to finally explain, but Storm’s warning glare kept him frozen in wolf form.
Flint’s gaze swept the sawmill, taking in the cars, the makeshift seating area someone had set up, and the small portable heater Devon must have brought in. Finally, his eyes landed on Arrow’s wolf. Arrow couldn’t read his expression. Exhaustion, yes. But underneath? Anger? Hurt? Nothing at all?
His wolf whined again, pressing low to the ground in submission.
“How long has he been like this?” Flint asked.
“He shifted about an hour ago,” Levi rumbled from where he leaned against one of the cars. “Been whining ever since.”
“Before that, Pax lectured him for approximately six hours straight,” Python added, smirking. “I’m pretty sure he knows every single way he screwed up by now.”
“Fair enough.” Flint unwrapped the sandwich, took a bite, and chewed mechanically. He looked at Arrow for a long moment, and Arrow’s wolf trembled under that stare.
Finally, Flint swallowed. “I need to finish this food, have a shower, and grab a nap.” His voice was flat, matter-of-fact.
“You have a choice, Arrow. You can leave now, and we’ll never see each other again.
Or my friends will let you come to my house in two hours, and you can say whatever it is you wanted to say when you sneaked in here. ”
Arrow shifted without thinking, his human form stumbling forward. “Flint, please, I…”
“Two hours.” Flint cut him off, his expression hardening. “Or never. The choice is yours.”
“I’ll wait.” The words tumbled out. “I’ll wait. Please.”
Flint nodded once, then turned to Python. “Thanks for the pickup.”
“Anytime, killer.” Python’s smirk softened into something almost gentle. “Get some rest. We’ll make sure the puppy behaves himself.”
Flint left without looking at Arrow again.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Arrow stood naked in the middle of the sawmill, shaking, his wolf howling inside his chest. He had two hours to figure out what to say, how to apologize, how to make Flint understand that he hadn’t meant…
“Sit down before you fall down,” Levi said, his voice surprisingly calm. He tossed Arrow a towel. “Cover yourself up. You look like shit.”
Arrow wrapped the towel around his waist and sank onto one of the chairs someone had brought in. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Storm grabbed another sandwich from a cooler and thrust it at Arrow. “Eat.”
“I’m not…”
“You’re about to go and talk to Flint, and you look like you haven’t eaten in three days.” Storm’s tone left no room for argument. “You want to pass out in front of him? Eat the damn sandwich.”
Arrow took it. The bread was soft, the meat perfectly grilled, although it tasted like ash in his mouth. But he forced it down anyway because Storm was right. It took a strong man to apologize, and he had to be that man.
“There’s a shower in the back,” Devon said, his voice gentle despite his size. “You need to clean up. Storm’s got clothes that’ll fit you well enough.”
“Why are you helping me?” The question burst out before Arrow could stop it. “After what I did to him?”
Devon’s expression didn’t change. “Because Flint deserves better than a mate who shows up filthy and desperate. If you’re going to grovel - and you’re going to be the best damn groveler the world has ever seen - you’re going to do it properly.”
“And if you screw this up again,” Pax added, “I’ll curse your dick so hard you won’t be able to piss straight for a decade. Clear?”
“Crystal.” Arrow’s voice cracked.
Wren materialized on the other side, his eyes sympathetic but firm. “Flint is the best person I know. He’s kind, patient, and talented, and you made him cry. You made him think he wasn’t good enough.”
Guilt crashed over Arrow like a wave. “I know. I know I did, and I…”
“So fix it.” Wren’s voice was soft but unyielding. “If you can’t, then leave. He doesn’t need someone who sees him as a pretty face and a convenient hole. He deserves to be seen for who he truly is.”
Arrow flinched. Hearing his own words thrown back at him made him physically sick.
“Shower’s through that door.” Levi pointed. “You’ve got ninety minutes before we take you to his house. Don’t waste them.”
Arrow stood on shaking legs and walked toward the workshop. Behind him, he heard Pax mutter, “If he screws this up, I’m doing the fire ants. I don’t care what Devon says.”
The shower was small but functional, tucked into a corner of the workshop. Arrow stripped off the towel and stepped under the spray, turning the water as hot as he could stand.
He’d spent three days thinking about what he’d say to Flint, rehearsing apologies in his head. But now that the moment was approaching, every word felt inadequate.
I’m sorry, didn’t cover it.
I was wrong, was obvious and didn’t need stating.
Please forgive me, sounded pathetic, and yet Arrow wanted that forgiveness more than anything else.
Arrow scrubbed himself raw, doing his best to wash away three days of captivity and a lifetime of arrogance.
The water ran down the drain, and he wished his mistakes could disappear as easily.
When he finally shut off the water, Storm was waiting outside with clothes - jeans that were slightly too long, and a dark blue Henley. “They’ll do,” Storm said simply.
Arrow dressed in silence. The clothes smelled clean, nothing like his expensive suits or designer labels. He looked like an ordinary person - he was dressed like the men in the Alley, and maybe that was the point, but Arrow didn’t know for sure.
“You’ve still got plenty of time left,” Calvin said when Arrow emerged. The bull shifter was carving something from a piece of wood, his massive hands surprisingly delicate. “Have you worked out what you’re going to say?”
“No.” Arrow’s voice was barely a whisper. “How do I apologize for all I said or implied?”
Calvin’s knife stilled. “You can start by meaning anything that comes out of your mouth. You wolves think you have the monopoly on being able to pick up emotions through scent, but I’ll stake my truck that Flint’s snake is better. He’ll smell a lie from a mile away.”
“I do mean it.” Arrow’s throat burned. “I was an asshole. I was arrogant and dismissive, and I treated him like he was nothing. But he’s not nothing. He’s…”
“The next word out of your mouth had better be ‘everything’,” Storm finished, his expression firm. “That’s what a mate is, and it’s about damn time. It took you long enough to figure that out.”
Arrow slumped into a chair, burying his face in his hands. His wolf paced inside him, anxious and miserable. The mating pull throbbed like an open wound, and knowing Flint was so close - just a few hundred yards away - made it almost unbearable.
But he’d waited this long, he could wait one more hour.
Python appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame. “Clock’s ticking, puppy. You ready?”
“No.”
“Good answer.” Python’s smile was sharp. “If you’d said yes, I’d have called you a liar. But come on. Flint couldn’t nap knowing you’re here. He’s told me you can come early.”
Arrow stood. His legs felt weak, and his hands were clammy.
He still didn’t have a clue what he was going to say, but he followed Python out of the sawmill, into the brightness of another crisp, clear day, toward the small house with the greenhouse.
Flint’s house - holding the only chance he had left. Don’t fuck it up.