Chapter 22 Mona #2
I remember Andrea's accusations through her fists—that I was working with the witches. My chest constricts, each breath harder than the last.
"Is that what you think?" I whisper, my voice breaking.
I was just starting to get used to this place. To feel at home somewhere again. To feel welcomed. Wanted.
He flinches, face twisting with something like regret before hardening again.
Then he sighs and shakes his head. "I don't know, Mona.
I don't know what to think. Dozens of shifters across the country have vanished, and Kendrick insists the witches are responsible.
Then one of our own disappears, and suddenly you appear.
Out of nowhere. I am happy to have a mate.
I want to believe this is real. But there are so many questions surrounding you, the timing, and now, this thing between you and your wolf—"
Each word out of his mouth feels like a blow. I can feel my neck heating, my heart racing. "Is that all I am to you? Just some puppet the witches sent to spy on you or whatever? Did you mean anything you said the other night about mates and destiny and all that other bullshit?"
"Of course I did," he snarls.
"You told me we had no choice. But you made it sound like it was something you wanted." My heart is beating erratically. It feels as if my chest is an untenable cage, and the stupid organ is going to pop out and run away. Or burst.
"It is," he grits. "But the witches—"
"I don't even know any witches! I didn't even know they were real!"
"That's exactly what worries me. What if they're using you? What if they've spelled you and you don't even realize it? Doc, the blood samples—"
"Grayson." Orion's voice slices through the room as he positions himself between us. "Shut. The. Fuck. Up."
Grayson snarls, his alpha energy pulsing out, suffocating the air around us. It's so strong, so intense, but Orion stands his ground. It's the second time he's had to shield me from Grayson, and I don't know what that's supposed to mean for us. For our supposed future.
God, I'm such an idiot.
Mates.
What a joke. What a fucking lie.
Tears threaten to spill over, but I open my eyes wide, begging them to dry out, to disappear. I'm not sad. I got my hopes up for a second, but that was dumb.
This is fine. I don't need mates.
I peek over at Doc, and his sad smile somehow makes it all worse.
I thought Doc, of all people, had my back.
He shakes his head and says, "I will call Kendrick and see if there's any news or information about late-blooming shifters.
Grayson, I suggest you come with me. If there is a spell on Mona, her blood will tell us everything we need to know. "
Grayson's eyes track the tears spilling down my cheek. I can't help it. I open my eyes wider to hold them in, but they keep spilling, and he can't look away. Then he lets out an alpha roar. It tears through the cabin, so primal and bone-shaking, it makes Doc flinch and bare his neck in submission.
He roars again, this time picking up a small vase and tossing it across the room. It smashes into a hundred pieces, the wildflower I put in there yesterday lying limp in the debris.
Volatile. That's what he is.
My limbs are still shaking, but I climb off the couch and force myself to face Grayson. Indecision wars on his face. He looks at me, and for a split second, I see the Alpha leader—pleading, desperate—and I see the weight crushing him, the responsibility for every shifter under his protection.
But the hollow ache in my chest still burns. We're supposed to be divinely fated, goddess-blessed, and even that certainty isn't enough to make him believe me.
To want me.
He was the one trying to convince me to accept this mate business. I'd only just started coming around to it. Thinking it was real, something I could have.
Maybe have a home, and people I could call mine.
Doc waves a tired goodbye. Grayson stares like he wants to say something. His lips twist, like he's in agony. I wait. In the end, he says nothing, just lets out a grunt, turns and storms off.
I expect nothing else.
Everything went so wrong, so fast. I thought I could push Grayson's buttons and flirt and pretend to be a regular woman again without the drama of being a sick human, or a new wolf, or an omega.
We sit in loaded silence for a few minutes. When Orion finally reaches for me, I'm ashamed at how desperately I want his touch. But that's fleeting, too. Nothing lasts. No one stays.
I pull away and head upstairs, trying not to rush, even though I am running away. Leaving before he can leave me.
Orion calls after me. When I get to my room, I close the door, careful not to slam it, blinking through the tears.
Back in this room, where I spent most of yesterday browsing the books, ignoring the worried alphas, it feels safe again. Small and safe.
Not so worried anymore, are they? They think I'm making this all up. Or that our connection isn't real. That I hired witches to fake this whole mate business.
We should practice, Beep says, changing the subject. I sniff and wipe the tears away.
"What?"
Our mates will appreciate us being battle-ready. We should practice shifting. We are too slow.
I can't. Even.
"Not our mates, Beep. Or weren't you listening? He thinks we're freaks. And that the witches spelled me so I'd smell like their mate. Our connection isn't even real." That's not exactly what Grayson said, but it's what he implied.
It's only been a few days, how can this hurt so much?
I look around the room, at all the things I've acquired. Should I start packing now?
They are our mates. I know this to be true. Let them do their tests, then they will know, too.
"And that doesn't bother you? That we're just supposed to accept everything they tell us, but when the tables are turned, they don't believe me or you? I'm not alone in this mess, you know. You're the one he called an aberration."
Beep's quiet at first. And then, Yes. It bothers me. But he will worship your feet when he learns the truth.
"I don't think that's the expression," I laugh through the tears.
There is plenty of room to practice shifting. It is time. It's been too many days.
She's right. We haven't shifted since before we came here, though it feels like it's been months, not days. And shifting will get my mind off Grayson.
We've got our shift time down to five minutes, but I know it's not what it should be, especially after watching Grayson shift so fast back in the hospital. I was half-drugged and still screaming, but I remember the fluid ease of it, the speed.
His shift is quick because he is connected to his wolf. He is stronger than us. He is the perfect mate.
Ugh, kill me now. "Just because he's a fast shifter doesn't mean he's perfect. In fact, he's kind of an asshole."
He is a leader and has many responsibilities. He's torn between duty and desire.
"That does not give him the right to be a dick to me."
As I said, he will worship your feet. You can make him pay when the time comes. But he smells like home. And he is the strongest of our kind. Orion as well. Perfect mates.
"I'd like very much for him to just not be a dick in the first place."
Shifters are missing. The witches are slowly infiltrating. He should trust in our connection, but he does not know us and has honest concerns. If he knew us, I would be more upset. Be patient.
"So what am I supposed to do? Just forgive him for being an asshole? For making me believe he actually cared about me and then changing his mind and deciding his feelings aren't real and I'm the enemy?"
Beep doesn't respond. She's focused on shifting, and I get the impression as much as I want to shit-talk Grayson, she's having none of it, and it's putting a dent in my righteous anger.
So, I get undressed and attempt to meditate, naked on the rug at the foot of the bed.
It's the only place I'm not worried about ripping anything up once she takes control. She's a little messy.
I am not messy. You are messy. The lack of control when we shift is your fault.
I roll my eyes. "Riiiight. I'm not the one with the claws. Last time you took control, you flopped around like a dead fish."
I sense Beep's embarrassment, then feel a flash of regret.
She hates that she doesn't have control.
Worse, that I notice. Though she senses my apology, it only spurs her on to practice.
Together, we focus. We struggle to connect.
I don't know how to hand over the reins, and I flinch every time I feel her try to grab it from me.
Eventually, though, I feel the familiar buzzing beneath my skin and relinquish control.
There's a balance, a point where I'm in charge then Beep takes over.
I let go in a way that scares the shit out of me, but I trust her with my life.
That thought boosts her confidence, and suddenly I release, my human flesh giving way to auburn fur.
It sprouts along my arms, and it's the last thing my human vision catches before my body reshapes.
Once the process starts, it's impossible to stop, an urge that must be met.
I stare up at the room from this lower position, my eyes now wide, vision polarized. I haven't met a ton of wolves, but I know my Beep is small.
She chuffs at my observation, then shakes out her fur, coming to a stand, the new perspective of the world disorienting.
Beep trots around the room. She looks up at the door, which I left shut. She nudges her snout against the handle, but I locked it.
In a rare moment of vulnerability, Beep tells me, One of these days, we're both going to need me to be faster and stronger. You can't hide me away forever.
I'm not hiding you, Beep. I may tease her that she fumbles like a toddler, but the truth is, although she has gotten us out of trouble in the past, we're still slow.
And I don't want to face Orion and have him and Grayson learn yet another bad thing about us.
That we're not fast enough or strong enough. It's safe in here, I add.
The safest place for me to practice my speed and strength is out there. With our mates.
I try to argue, but she cuts me off. Our mates will protect us while we practice. You will tell them tomorrow, so we can improve.
I don't bother responding, or reminding her that one of them is currently off with Doc trying to prove we're a plant sent by the witches.
Maybe she's right, though. If I don't stay in Silent Peak—the thought of leaving makes my heart wrench violently in my chest, but I have to face reality, that none of this is permanent—if we leave, other alphas could still hunt us.
Rogues. Witches, too, since apparently they're a threat.
I could ask Orion, at least, how wolves practice getting stronger and shifting faster.
Tomorrow's problem. For now, I let her take us around the small room. She sniffs everything, practicing picking up traces beneath every surface she can reach.
She trots to the end of the hall, and I have a strange urge to help her open the mystery door so she can strut around and scent-mark that weird room with the gigantic bed and all those pillows. Eventually, she wanders back to the bedroom.
We make it a few hours before she loses control, but it's better than nothing. Beep seems satisfied, and that's enough for now.
I read for a while, and hours later, when Grayson's scent—that infuriatingly comforting mix of cinnamon and campfire—grows strong outside my door, followed by a now familiar pounding, his fist closed and urgent, I curl myself onto the bed, under the covers, and ignore him.
I'm not in the mood for his worthless apologies, no matter what he begs and pleads through the heavy wood.
Let him feel a fraction of what I felt, what I feel, every time someone I think I can trust hollows me out.