Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ican’t move.
My feet are bound, and my arms are tied behind my back. Rope bites into my skin, drawing blood. I wiggle my wrists, testing my range of motion. There’s not much.
Laughter surrounds me, but I can’t see who it comes from. The room is too dark.
A hand wraps around my ankle. I scream.
More laughter. “She’s a fighter, isn’t she?”
My body grows cold. I know that voice. I know that line.
There are five men. No amount of screaming and begging makes them stop. When they begin tugging off my clothes, I’m suddenly blinded by a bright light.
The masked faces of HPAW’s doctors loom above me. Three of them stand beside my naked body, and a fourth tightens metal restraints around my wrists. Where am I? What are they doing?
They bring a scalpel to my skin. I scream again. Why are they doing this to me? Every cut is pure agony, and tears stream down my cheeks as they speak to a camera about my healing rate.
They joke amongst themselves, but they never once look directly at me.
I don’t heal. I’m not a shifter. The doctors don’t seem to notice or care as they bring out larger and larger blades. Two grab my thigh, holding it steady. Then I notice the saw.
No. No. No.
I scream and slap at the hands on my shoulders, desperate to get away. They’re going to cut off my leg. The room is dark, limiting my sight, but I don’t let it stop me as I crane my neck and bite at the person holding me down.
They move before I make contact.
“Evelyn!”
“No!”
A lamp is turned on. I realize I’m in the guest room bedroom, the sheets tangled around my ankles and the oversized shirt I threw on before bed twisted around my torso.
Caleb is above me, still holding my shoulders. He releases me as the fight leaves my body, my mind finally coming to terms with reality. It was just a dream. I was dreaming about the videos of the young girl and the man the shifters sent to speak with HPAW.
“Fucking hell, Evelyn.”
Caleb runs his hands through his hair. His eyes are bloodshot, no longer holding the glaze of alcohol. They rake down my frame, a quick scan, before returning to my face. He drops into the chair pushed against the wall.
I sit up, taking notice of his current state of undress. He’s naked. I must’ve been making noises in my sleep, enough to cause alarm. He probably ran in here the moment he woke up and heard me.
“I shouldn’t have made you watch those videos,” Caleb says, breaking the silence. “I’m sorry.”
I glance at the bedside clock. It’s two in the morning.
“I wouldn’t have believed it if I didn’t see it for myself,” I admit.
A small part of me would’ve always doubted. It’s hard to accept that everything you’ve been raised to believe is a lie. I’m still processing, but I believe what Caleb says is true.
I was a fool to believe HPAW. I’ve been living among the shifters for weeks, and I saw how kind they were to one another.
I never allowed myself to consider the possibility that the shifters were truly good people, and I over-anchored on the few confusing encounters I saw.
I was searching for reasons to distrust Caleb.
“Are you okay?” Caleb asks.
I nod instinctively, then decide to be truthful and shake my head. Keeping secrets hasn’t gotten me very far.
“I’m far from okay, Caleb,” I admit.
He snorts. “You and me both.”
We make eye contact. It feels…tentative.
“Can we work through this?” My voice cracks. “If I could take it all back, I would. I don’t… Can we start over?”
Caleb shakes his head. “No, Evelyn. It’s too late.”
I refuse to believe it. I climb out of bed, an intoxicating mixture of adrenaline and desperation coursing through my system. Caleb watches through his lashes as I drop to my knees before him, but he doesn’t brush me away as I plant my hands on his thighs and slot myself between them.
“Please,” I plead. “Give me a chance to fix this.”
I don’t beg, but I’ll do it a thousand times over for Caleb.
I’m in the wrong, and I fully acknowledge that.
He’s been nothing but good to me. He’s been a loving mate who’s never asked for more than I was willing to give.
I responded by refusing to give him the benefit of the doubt and slitting his throat.
Caleb’s breath smells of mint, the whiskey gone.
“Please,” I repeat.
I slide my hands up Caleb’s thighs, the muscle tensing beneath my palms. He looks to be in pain, the skin between his eyebrows crinkled and his lips flattened into a straight line. His eyes squeeze shut as I rub my cheek against his thigh.
I doubt he’ll let me rub my cheek against his, and I hope he understands what I’m trying to do. I’m apologizing in the way I know is most meaningful to his kind.
Caleb doesn’t respond the way I’m expecting.
He’s naked, and my face is admittedly close to his privates, but this isn’t an attempt at seduction. Still, his body responds.
I hesitate, my emotions torn. Caleb feels used, and I don’t want to aggravate that further, but he’s aroused about two inches from my face. I make eye contact with Caleb, giving him ample time to stop me, before taking hold of him.
He hisses, his hips jerking.
“I’ve never had a man in my mouth,” I admit.
It’s not something I’ve ever had much interest in. I’m not actively against giving a man oral, but I have a weak gag reflex and I don’t like how submissive the action feels. Caleb peers down at me, his gaze heavy, before gently wrapping a hand around the back of my head.
“You own my mouth, Caleb,” I say. “Take from me. Be selfish. Please.”
Caleb exhales a quiet curse. “Fuck, Evelyn.” He rubs a thumb underneath my eyes, wiping away a stray tear, before sliding the digit to my lips. I open my mouth, letting him ease his thumb between my teeth. He presses down on my tongue.
I breathe evenly through my nose, willing myself not to gag.
Thankfully, Caleb’s thumb tastes like nothing more than clean skin. He must have showered before bed.
“I’m not going to make love to you,” he warns.
My words are muffled as I speak around his thumb. “I don’t expect you to.”
His throat bobs, his expression darkening as he replaces his thumb with his cock. My eyes spring open as he feeds me his length, inch after inch sliding into my mouth.
I gag almost immediately. Caleb doesn’t stop.
He continues until he hits the back of my throat. I try my best to breathe through it, wanting to make this good for him. Judging by his possessive, heady stare, it is. He cups the back of my head again, guiding me up and down.
I dig my fingers into his thighs, trying to take him deeper. I want to make this as good as possible, continuing even when my jaw grows sore and drool begins to run down my chin.
“You’re such a fucking whore for me.” Caleb grunts, pulling out of my mouth. “Say it.”
My face is blazing red as I stare at him with swollen, spit-covered lips. “I’m your whore.”
Caleb shakes his head, his nose crinkling. “You’re not my whore. You’re a whore, for me.”
“I’m both.”
Caleb’s cock twitches, his physical reaction to my words speaking volumes. He can say whatever he wants, but he likes my insistence on being his.
“I’ve imagined how it would feel to have your mouth on me,” he says, his hips jerking. I gasp, choking as he hits the back of my throat. “I just always thought you’d be doing it as my mate.”
His words sting, but I suspect he meant them to.
Caleb’s angry, and I can’t blame him. He curls his fingers into the hair at the base of my neck, holding me captive. My jaw muscles burn, and tears leak from the corners of my eyes as he fucks my mouth.
He finishes with a low moan, his cum filling my mouth in spurts. I swallow around him, taking as much as I can. I feared I wouldn’t like the taste, but it’s not bad.
Caleb releases me, and I wipe my mouth as I sit back on my heels.
“Was that okay?” I ask. My voice is hoarse.
Caleb’s hands twitch by his sides, his fingers tapping rapidly against his thighs.
“Caleb?” I repeat.
His entire body seems to deflate. “I’m tired,” he whispers.
He steps away from me, his movements uncharacteristically clunky.
“This doesn’t change anything, Evelyn. You’re not my mate, and you’re still moving out tomorrow.
I made the arrangements today. I’ll cover your rent and expenses until you’re back on your feet. ”
I’m still processing his words as he leaves, the bedroom door clicking shut quietly behind him. An apartment. Tomorrow. He told me he was planning this, but there was so much else happening that I didn’t have time to really sit with the information.
I’m sure sitting with it now. It rests on my tongue, bitter and impossible to spit out.