Chapter 10 - Amelia
“No, Jackson!” I yell out at the top of my lungs, rushing forward and grabbing a tuft of slimy fur as I tug with all the force I can find within me. “Leave him alone!”
I don’t know why I’m trying to get in the way of my brother’s attack on Jackson, except that I can’t stand idly by while he hurts the man he’d forced me to marry.
The marriage means nothing. The mark on my neck means nothing. But Dorian, the werewolf man, means something to me, even if I can’t put a name to it.
Jackson growls sinisterly, snapping a disfigured wolf face at me with enough force to knock me against the metal structure of the cage. The wind is knocked from my gut, and it takes me a moment to regain my breath and press a hand at the back of my head where something warm and thick oozes between the strands of my hair.
My vision begins to glaze over with clouds, blurring the scene in front of me when all I can see is Dorian’s figure racing toward Jackson’s twisted wolf. A series of growls and bellowing shouts fill the air, but I can’t seem to focus on any specific one as my mind becomes an empty void and my vision blackens.
***
I stir awake with a disconcerted groan, a nagging pain at the back of my head stretching to my temples and pounding my brain. It’s an effort to open my eyes, but I finally do when I feel the safety and warmth of a blanket covering my legs.
“Oh, my Goddess! You’re awake!” Dorian breathes with a relieved sigh, prompting me to turn my head to find him crouched beside the bed.
“You’re always pointing that out…” I croak flatly, mentally amused but gripped with too much pain to make the effort of chuckling. “What’s the moon goddess?” I ask, suddenly able to use my brain after blanking out. I blink a few times to steady my vision, noticing that we’re back in the silver, metal cage. But there’s something else I realize.
I gasp when I see the deep gash that slices like a thunderbolt across his face, extending from his left eye and down his cheek where a droplet of rich, ruby blood trickles between his beard. Instinctively reaching out toward his face, he lowers his eyes as if ashamed of his condition.
“He hurt you so bad…” I whisper in disbelief, making the final stretch with my arm until I can gently and carefully lay a hand on his cheek without touching the actual cut.
Dorian grimaces wryly with a brisk nod. “The only reason I’m alive is ‘cause he still needs me.” His face contorts when he shifts uncomfortably, and my attention is drawn to the side where blood pools on the flat rug beside the bed. There’s way too much blood to be from his cheek, and with a frown, I follow the trail until I see where the source of all that blood is.
“Your arm, Dorian!” I exclaim, pushing through my own pain as I clamber to the edge of the bed and kick my legs off. A bout of dizziness threatens to send me down, but I grab a piece of Dorian’s torn t-shirt to steady myself.
“Woah! Amelia, you’ve been hurt too,” he warns, steadying a hand on my shoulder as he stares up with worry in his eyes. “You should lay back down.”
I shake my head as far as the thumping pain will allow. “No. I’m fine.” I press a hand to my temple and then blink a few times, adjusting my eyes on his arm where an even deeper cut exposes bone. Sucking in a breath through my teeth, a shiver runs through my spine as I imagine how much pain he must be in.
Instead, he hides his arm behind his back, sliding his arm from my shoulder to the back of my head.
“Look…” He pulls out his fingers to show me, glistening with my blood. “You’re still bleeding.”
“I’ll be fine,” I assure him, pressing a hand to the back of my head. “Nothing’s broken or cracked. It must be just a surface cut.” I point at his arm. “We need to put stitches on that.”
He removes his arm from behind him, wincing and grunting at the movement as he lays it on his lap.
“We don’t have medical supplies,” he points out.
I purse my lips, mentally calculating what we can use as substitutes while taking a look around the cage. I need something antibacterial to protect him from picking up an infection that might lead to something much worse.
Struggling to my feet, Dorian helps me with his good arm until I’m able to stand on my own.
“Thanks,” I murmured. “I’m gonna need you to sit here. Don’t move around. You can’t afford to pick up an infection,” I warn in a stern tone.
Dorian nods tentatively but returns to the bed. While the pain in my head isn't as mild as I'd hoped, I'm at least able to get to the kitchenette and turn on the kettle before taking out the small container of herbs and spices. I grab an empty bowl and throw in some salt, turmeric, and oregano, then tear off the corners of four herbal tea bags and empty out the tea leaves into the mix. Once the kettle is done boiling, I pour out enough water to form a paste with the ingredients in the bowl.
I grab a new t-shirt from the steel cupboard and take the kettle along with me when I crouch in front of Dorian as he sticks out his arm for me to inspect.
Huffing, I glance up at him. “We don’t have tools to stitch you up, but we’re gonna have to tie it up real tight. I’m gonna need your help.”
He concedes with a nod as I begin tearing pieces of the t-shirt into long strips. I soak one with boiling water and use it to clean up the blood crusted around the wound, noticing how Dorian tenses up with every swipe.
For a werewolf man, he’s definitely taking his injuries like a champ. A human would have passed out the moment they saw their arm filleted like a fish. Despite my thumping headache and the dull ache behind my head, my mind seems strong enough not to just appreciate the way he gallantly holds his chin up, but also marvel at how ruggedly attractive he is right now with cuts and bruises.
Reeling back my thoughts, I can only wish that he wasn’t so beguiling and that I wasn’t so attracted to him.
I shouldn’t be having these thoughts—not at a time like this.
When I’m done cleaning up the open wound, I lift the bowl with its concoction of herbs and tea leaves, then scoop some of the mixture with my fingers.
“What is that?” Dorian asks with a speculative frown.
“It’s something I threw together to disinfect your wound,” I shrug nonchalantly. “That's all we have.”
Dorian lifts surprised, appreciative eyes at me. “What are you? A witch?” he chuckles bemusedly before sucking in an excruciating breath through his teeth when I apply the mixture to his arm. His face contorts with the sensations of the herbs as if they’re magically taking effect.
At least, I’m hoping they are. Jackson threw us back in here without a drop of medicine that could heal us, yet he expects us to produce a hybrid child for him. As I tie strips of the t-shirt around Dorian’s arm and he helps me tighten them, I frown as I lament over my brother’s cruel actions.
For the first time, I saw what he’s become. A monster—not just mentally, but physically too. Huffing and puffing as I try to release the brother I knew and see him for what he’s become, I pull the last knot tightly enough to draw out a reaction from Dorian.
“Ow!” he winces, and I’m quickly snapped from my resentful thoughts to quickly apologize.
“I’m sorry, Dorian,” I murmur with a weary pout.
A frown flits past his face and he stares at me silently. Sighing with a heavy heart, I avert my eyes and lean on my heels.
“What happened out there?” I ask tentatively, shaking my head. “I saw what he’s become. I—”
Dorian reaches out and gently takes my hand on his lap with his good arm. He takes a deep breath while holding my hand as if to prepare me for the recounting of the earlier events when Jackson attacked him, while he carefully uses what’s left of the ointment on his face.
“... At least we know he won’t kill us. He won’t kill me. I’m the only Alpha he has, and the others will be on high alert by now.”
“But he can’t keep taking your blood, Dorian,” I whine as if pleading with the werewolf man.
He nods slowly, his eyes full of remorse. “He’s only getting stronger every time he has an infusion of my blood.” Dorian sighs discontentedly. “The only way out was if I could regain my strength. The bottle I gave you was our ticket out of here. It was the antidote for the poison he’s been feeding me that keeps me restricted and too weak to fight him.”
Realization dawns on me in that moment, winding through the hammering pain in my head.
“May I?” Dorian asks as he scoops up the last bit of the ointment and holds out his hand, gesturing to my head. I nod briskly then pull my hair to the side so he can rub ointment on the spot that tingles.
I open my mouth to say something, but the words I want to say are left dangling on the tip of my tongue, silenced when I notice how careful he’s being, so gentle as he nurses my injury. So close, it’s impossible to ignore the nagging warmth that lingers around his space, wishing I could be enveloped by him.
It’s an immoral wish, considering that one arm is badly injured. Still, I let my imagination run wild for as long as it takes for him to nurse my wound, allowing myself the liberty of picturing his plump lips on mine, even while they’re battered from the fight. I’d let my tongue skim the cut on his bottom lip and—
“There you go,” Dorian sighs, gesturing at his arm in our makeshift cast. “Thanks for this. I would have healed if—”
“You had your wolf abilities,” I interject, my lips spreading into a smile. “It’s a good thing I still have it, then.”
Dorian frowns even though his lips tremble as if he wants to rejoice. “You do?”
I nod eagerly, reaching into the top of my blouse and pulling out the vial from where I tucked it between my breasts earlier. Dorian watches each movement of my hand, and a blush creeps onto my cheeks when I imagine he’d seen the top peaks of my mounds.
“Here…” I stick out my hand where the vial rests on my palm. “It didn’t break. I knew it must be something important, so I hid it somewhere safe before Jackson struck.”
Dorian stares at me in awe, blinking as if he’s in disbelief when he takes the vial from my hand.
“I thought it was gone…” he breathes dubiously, a stupified frown gripping his brows as he lowers his eyes on the vial that’s in his hand now. “Do you realize that this is our ticket out of here?”
His hopeful tone has hope igniting in my chest, but the flickering spark is quickly extinguished when I mentally register that getting out of here also means that I’ll probably never see Dorian again. That’s when dread drops my heart to my stomach and the smile slips off my face. Believing that I’m the only one feeling disappointed, I lift my eyes only to find Dorian staring at me despondently, his brows furrowed as if in deep thought. He opens his mouth to say something, hesitates with a gulp, then drops his gaze.
“Thank you for saving this,” he murmurs softly, his voice dropping an octave lower as he lifts hooded eyes and gazes into mine. My breath hitches in my throat, restricted by the intensity of the stare that seems to find my soul within the depths of my eyes.
“... And thank you for saving me,” he adds in a husky, solemn tone that charges the air between us with tension that seems to draw him forward. As he leans in, my mind empties into a voided chasm that only has me reacting to the werewolf man’s presence, and the natural scent of him permeating from his pores and consuming my airways as if I’ve just downed the strongest drink at a bar. The storm of attraction compels me to close my eyes, my lips parting on an exhale as every bone in my body relaxes.
Gone is the smarting pain at the back of my head the moment I feel Dorian’s warm breath fan my face. The calmness that washes over me falls from my lips like a contented sigh, just as Dorian’s hand hooks beneath my chin to coerce me to open my eyes again.
My eyelids flutter open with soft, serene flaps like the wings of the butterflies that are present in the pit of my belly and escalate my heartbeat. I see myself reflected in his eyes, glossed over with a heady sense of desire.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks, causing my rapidly racing heart to skip a beat. When it resumes, my heartbeat takes on a gallop so graceful that it feels like it’s being carried by fall winds.
A sound escapes my lips, but it’s too unintelligible to be heard, so I nod slowly while my eyes remain fixed on his.
While we’d been locked away in this cage, time didn’t seem to matter when we lost the construct of it. But right now, time seems to stand still altogether as he draws in closer, closing the distance between our faces. With anticipation fluttering my heartbeat and threatening for my heart to beat out of my chest, I surrender to my body’s natural reaction to his heady scent and hot, intoxicating, and placating breath.
The moment I let go of control, our lips crash and our worlds collide. The kiss is as desperate as the moan that erupts from my chest and as passionate as the arousal that drops between my thighs. He folds a hand around my nape, pulling me closer and tilting his face to deepen the ravenous kiss.
I can barely tell where I end or begin, but all I do know is that the kiss feels right. So right, that when he pulls away, I mewl in protest, my eyes flying open with accusation.
Why did he stop?
Right. We both needed to breathe, I realize as my breath turns into a series of hot, uncontrollable pants when he leans his forehead against mine and searches my eyes.
All I can do is giggle lightly when I finally catch my breath. I don’t want to use my mouth for anything except to feel his lips on mine, so I slide a hand over his cheek and meet his lips again. It’s everything I could have imagined whenever I fantasized about his kisses, and for right now, I don’t want to imagine a world where we’re not locked in a cage together, forced to be close like this.