Chapter Eleven
Jay
Iknow to say my wolf did it sounds like the equivalent of my dog ate my homework, but she did.
She stabbed him, not me.
And I can’t say I blame her.
This environment is triggering for both of us but most of all her. I’m just surprised she did that, considering she wouldn’t bother helping me take him down before I was imprisoned.
I feel terrible. I’m a monster, my wolf whines.
My body is shaking from the aftermath.
I shush her, letting her know it’s okay. No, you’re not. You’re just scared.
My wolf is my first and probably only love, but I don’t have control over her like others seem to. When she gets triggered or scared, there’s no stopping her.
We suffered years of abuse during our time in captivity, but she took the brunt of it—she protected me whenever she could.
I don’t know the extent of what she placed herself in front of to keep me safe.
She won’t talk about it. She says it’s better if I don’t know, and I believe her.
We may share one vessel, but there are some traumatic experiences she’s buried somewhere in my mind that she won’t give me access to.
A vault that only opens when we’re sleeping, and they come in the form of night terrors.
Do you think he could forgive us?
Thinking she made a joke, I laugh, but slowly, my laughter dies. Wait, is this bitch serious?
She lies down and folds one paw over another once she’s found a comfortable spot in my brain, refusing to look at me.
You’re joking, right? I ask her.
To distract herself from the vulnerability of hope, she licks her paw. It could happen. People give second chances all the time.
I want to gesture at everything around us and demand if this looks like a second chance in our future—but instead, I take a gentler approach. After you stabbed him? I’m thinking our chances aren’t looking too good.
I like to see the good in people, she says.
More like you believe he’d be good in you.
She growls, offended that I called her out. But she knows I’m right.
I press into my wound to help stop the bleeding. I know you like him, but you’re going to have to get over this crush. He’s going to be the alpha one day, and I bet the first thing he’ll do as alpha is execute us. Not to mention, we’re the reason for his ascent to leadership. Remember?
My wolf’s ears go back, and she lowers her head.
Besides, even if we hadn’t, we’re a rogue, and he’s an alpha. It would never work. We’re from completely different worlds. Plus, you stabbed him. I don’t see us coming back from that.
My wolf whimpers at our truth.
The creaking of the dungeon’s entrance catches my attention. Caleb descends the concrete stairs carrying a first aid and sewing kit.
On edge, I don’t take my eyes off in case he wants to end things now.
His wound is stitched. Poorly, if I might add.
Caleb stands tall, hiding the pain well. Something I’m sure he’s been conditioned to do. Able to sufficiently regulate his emotions, he’s not quick to anger like some masters I’ve had. His patience tells me I’ll be playing the long game until he finally cracks.
“Are you always violent toward women?” I ask him, not bothering to hide the judgment in my tone.
“Are you always violent toward men?” he claps back. “Male, female, big, small, if someone’s trying to stab me, I’m going to defend myself. Don’t like that? Then don’t attempt homicide.”
I consider his words and suggestion of a double standard. His boundary is reasonable. But why is he so calm? I did just stab him.
“Look, do you want the first aid kit or not?”
I nod.
Caleb pulls out a key from his pocket and fiddles with the lock on my cell.
I step back. “What’re you doing?”
“I’m trying to open a portal,” he says sarcastically. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Why?” I never thought I’d wish the cage door would stay closed. “I don’t want you in here.”
Caleb stops fiddling with the lock and pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s had enough of me. “Then, tell me. How else am I supposed to help stitch you up?”
“You? With a needle? No thanks. I’ll do it myself.” I hold out my palm upturned.
“And hand you a weapon? I’ll pass.” He inserts the key into the hole.
A subtle click followed by the creaking of the door echoes throughout the dungeon. Caleb reaches for the chair he dragged down the other day and brings it in behind him. The legs scrape against the floor. He locks the cage with himself inside, stuffing the key in his pocket.
I’m trapped with the devil.
The silence is deafening. Two souls glaring at one another, neither trusting and both wishing death of the other.
Caleb’s eyes capture his character perfectly.
Like staring at the ocean from land, the blue draws you in.
On the surface, it’s a beautiful landscape, but once you’re in, you find out the dangers lie beneath.
Caleb is just like that. Inviting on the surface, dangerous beneath—and with the way he’s glaring at me, he’s just as unforgiving.
It makes me question why he hasn’t killed me yet.
I’ve fought against his current, and it didn’t deter him.
But something tells me I could drown in him just as easily.
“Take off your shirt,” he says.
Feeling exposed by his command alone, my cheeks get hot. “What?”
He shakes the first aid kit.
I shake my head, trying to get myself together. “Oh, right.”
Reaching for the hem of the shirt, I peel it up and over my head. I spread the article across my chest to cover my breasts as much as I can without blocking access to my wound.
Caleb scans my body. His eyes flash gold, revealing the apex predator that lurks in the water. He swallows and makes a come-hither motion with his fingers.
Slowly, I make my way toward him, stopping until I’m standing between his spread legs.
My heart races with the growing discomfort of our proximity.
“I don’t know why you’re covering yourself. It’s not like there’s much to see.”
My wolf whimpers, but the insult rolls off me.
He adjusts his balls, re-situating himself on the stool.
I raise my brow. Seems like what he’s seeing is enough.
Despite his hatred of me, he’s not immune to a female’s body.
Just like a male. Weak.
I narrow my eyes. “Probably for the same reason you keep pawing at yourself as if you have balls.”
His only response is a spine-chilling glare. He yanks an alcohol wipe from the first aid kit, rips the packet open with his teeth. The act is shockingly primal.
As if my wolf heard my thoughts, she asks, are we going to pretend that wasn’t hot?
I search the room for anything to distract me from imagining it was a condom wrapper. And said distraction comes in the cool sting of the alcohol wipe on my wound.
I hiss, then groan. The pain is not at all unwelcome. Psychological pain has been my vice as of late, but there’s something grounding about physical endorphins.
He peers up at me. “Does that hurt?”
“Yes.”
He nods his approval. “Good.”
Bastard.
He enjoys seeing me in pain, but I’m too busy soaking in the familiar sensation. So much so, that I don’t care. This is the comfort I need right now.
Caleb runs the wipe slowly down my wound, and I exhale pleasure.
Tingles spread over my skin. My head lulls back, and my lips part slightly getting lost in the feeling of my own pain. I could fall asleep this way. Remembering where I am, I quickly recover and catch Caleb watching me closely.
He averts his eyes, clears his throat and discards the wipe.
Great, now he probably thinks I’m a freak. I can’t help but feel ashamed.
Gently, Caleb places his hand on the skin around my wound, inspecting it further. “I’m going to have to stitch you up.”
“Give it to me. I’ll do it.”
“No. You’ve lost your sharp object privileges,” he mutters. “Just hold still. I’ve done this a hundred times.”
His arrogance is exhausting. He doesn’t know as much as he thinks he does.
“Only a hundred?” I raise a brow.
“I’ve had plenty of training, and it’s a simple stitch,” he says.
“Yeah, right,” I scoff. “Training,” I mock, using one hand to create air quotes before tucking it back with the other across my chest. “Tell me. Out of all the times you’ve made stitches, how many of those were stab wounds?”
“I’ve done a few,” he says proudly.
Smirking, I lean my neck toward him. “Try a thousand. I’ve probably stitched up more wounds in a month than you have in your entire life.” I shake my head. “No. I’ll do it. I’d like to minimize the scarring. You’ll just mess it up, and I’ll have to redo it anyway.”
Clutching the shirt to my chest, I picture my skin. Jagged lines and rough texture strips away any sense of my femininity. “I don’t need any more unseemly scars,” I mutter.
But really, what I mean is, I don’t need another hit to my practically non-existent self-confidence.
I move to retreat further from him. I barely make it a step before Caleb grabs my arm and pulls me even closer.
Caleb’s voice deepens to one of seriousness. “What do you mean, more?”
He’s probably never experienced a true hardship in his cushy life. “Do you think you’re the first person to see a stray dog and think they can own and domesticate it for themselves? You’re not.”
His nostrils flare. You would’ve thought I stripped him of innocence. I can’t help but chuckle at the irony. He’s so appalled by the behavior of those before him, yet he’s doing the exact same thing.
“What? Don’t like that your pet had other owners before you?” I scoff.
After tucking the shirt under my armpits to free my hands, I bend down to snatch the sewing kit.
Needle in one hand, I moisten the end of the thread with my mouth. Once I’ve woven the thread through the needle, I begin weaving it through my skin and piercing the other fold.
Caleb doesn’t protest. Instead, he watches me intently. He runs a hand through his hair. He squirms uncomfortably. And I hate him even more.
“You don’t get to do that, you know,” I say.
“Do what?”
“Be uncomfortable with what you’ve done to me. You made a decision. Own it.”
“I’m not uncomfortable with what I did.”
Then it must be my story. “You also don’t get to pretend you’re uncomfortable hearing about my past when you’re the reason I’m reliving it now.”
He lowers his eyes to the floor. “What’d they do to you?”
“It doesn’t matter. You’re all the same.” I glance at him. “You may not be the first, but don’t worry, it sounds like you’ll get to be the last.”
Any sign of pity disappears from his face. His jaw flexes. “So what? You think you’re absolved of wrongdoing?”
I return my focus to making another stitch.
Caleb crosses his arms defensively. “How many people have you killed?”
I freeze. There were plenty of reasons I didn’t like myself, but the guilt of taking people’s lives is the part I most struggled to carry.
I don’t need him making me feel guiltier than I already do, and I don’t need to explain myself to him.
He’s already decided who I am. So instead of explaining myself, I shrug like it doesn’t bother me.
“However many you need to tell yourself to feel better about what you’re doing. ”
“My father being one of them,” he bites out.
I swallow hard. In truth, his father’s death is the one that haunts me the most. Even though I could tell him that, it wouldn’t matter to him that I struggle to live with myself knowing what I’ve done.
That sleep evades me and depression has cornered me since.
It’s my burden to carry. And I understand why I did it, but understanding and accepting are two different things.
If I’m struggling to accept it, how could he?
“If you knew I killed your father, why keep me alive? Why keep it a secret? Why patch me up?”
He says nothing.
I ask another question. “How long are you going to keep me down here?”
Caleb leans against the wall with his arms crossed. “You lack the understanding of what you’ve done because you don’t care about anyone but yourself. Just like the rest of them.”
“You don’t know anything about us,” I sneer. “To you, we’re nothing but savages.”
“You’re face-to-face with the son of the man you killed, and you have, yet to apologize. Come to think of it, you’re acting pretty nonchalant about it. Tell me: Does that not sound like a savage to you?”
“We both know you won’t accept it so why bother?”
“I wouldn’t accept it because you’re not actually sorry.” His jaw twitches. “But you will be.”
His words send chills down my spine.