Ivy
The edge of the damage I glimpsed before in the loft with Wraith, when his mask slipped, was just the beginning.
A shadow compared to the reality.
Wraith's lower face is… gone.
No lips or cheeks. The muscles of his jaw are visible, with no skin over them, only scars and a sliver of jawbone and even more scars where grafts didn't take, the scar over his right eye that tears at his lower lid slicing all the way down to his gumline, and a cut that appears to be from a glancing blade on the bridge of his nose.
An unfairly beautiful, masculine nose, considering all he has left of his lower face otherwise are…
Teeth.
All of them exposed, all sharpened to vicious points in a permanent scarred rictus grin that has my stupid feral omega hindbrain melting down.
PREDATOR, SUBMIT, BARE YOUR THROAT, it shrieks, like it doesn't realize this is our fucking scent match.
The one alpha I trust completely.
My mate.
Officially, too, as of that beautiful, perfect moment under the cherry trees where he asked me to be his girl with uncertain, slightly shaking hands.
He's already turning his head down and away, a slow, defeated movement, giving me space to run, as if there's a chance in hell that's what I want to do right now.
His hands drop to his sides, fingers curling into loose fists, and I physically see him fighting to keep from reaching up to cover his face again.
A bright pink cherry blossom petal catches on the exposed muscle of his jaw. It flutters with each of his shallow breaths.
His eyes—those beautiful blue eyes that are still completely his—slide back up to track across my face with desperate intensity even as he lowers his head.
He's memorizing me. The way you memorize a photograph before burning it.
"I'm not going anywhere," I promise him, forcing my voice to stay steady. I stroke my fingers along the one part of his jaw that isn't completely scarred and damaged, trying to turn his face back toward mine.
I might as well be trying to move a statue.
My fingers come away sticky with blood from the wound over his eye where Claire's nails tore the scar open. The cuts aren't as bad as they looked initially. Ragged, but not deep. More damage was done to his psyche than his flesh.
"Can I clean up the blood?" I ask as gently as I can.
More silent staring. Not that he can speak, and I'm fully understanding why he can't speak now. His face and throat are so badly scarred.
As I dab the blood away with my sleeve, his massive frame goes slack, and before I can react, he slumps forward with a broken growl, his head pressing into my shoulder like he's trying to disappear into me.
Or say goodbye.
"Hey," I murmur, my hands automatically coming up to cradle his head, running my fingers through his dark hair. "It's okay. You took care of me. Remember? I've got you this time."
I shift away from him slightly, pulling the cream scarf from around my neck. The silk is soft, perfect for this. When I gently push him back against the tree, he lets me, without resisting.
Or reacting at all, really, even when I carefully loop my cream scarf around the lower half of his face.
"Adorable," I tell him, managing a smile, and it’s the truth. "Like a giant goth warrior who raided my closet."
No response.
Not even a huff of that growling laugh I love so much. He's gone somewhere too deep inside himself.
Somewhere I can't follow.
Somehow, I manage to get us both standing. Not because I have any chance of even lifting his arm when he's dead weight like this, but because he moves when I guide him.
There's nobody home. It's like maneuvering a massive, compliant zombie, if zombies had beautiful blue eyes full of nothing but static.
"Come on, big guy," I say softly, steering him toward the passenger’s side of his blacked-out SUV. "Let's get you home. Or… back to the motel, at least."
He doesn't seem to register it when I take the keys from his pocket. Just folds himself into the seat and sits there, staring at nothing while my scarf hangs loose around his lower face. Some of the sharp teeth showing through his torn cheek are visible above the edge.
I reach out to try to fix it, knowing that’s what he would want, and he doesn’t seem to register that, either.
He doesn't even lean into my touch like he usually would.
Oh, gods…
I pull out my phone before starting the engine.
IVY
Hey. I'm coming back with Wraith. It didn't go well. He's in shock.
Thane's response is immediate.
THANE
Fuck. Is he okay?
IVY
I don't know. He seems like he’s in some kind of dissociative state.
THANE
Be careful. Alphas aren’t safe when we go feral.
I look over at Wraith, slumped against the window with those blue eyes staring off at nothing, and almost laugh.
IVY
I'm fine. He won't hurt me. Besides, I'm pretty fucking feral myself.
THANE
Just... be safe. Text me when you're close.
I start driving—which isn't easy, considering Wraith apparently got the biggest SUV ever made, and my head barely reaches his fucking chest when we're standing—trying to remember the route back to the motel.
My phone signal is spotty, to say the least, and the offline map I manage to get working isn't up-to-date.
We're almost back to the motel, things finally starting to look familiar again, just in time for dark clouds to start gathering ahead. I stop at an intersection on an empty stretch of road, checking both ways for traffic.
Wraith opens the door and gets out.
"Fuck!" I pull onto the side of the road, throw the SUV in park and kill the engine, and scramble out after him. He's walking toward the treeline like he's being pulled by an invisible string. "Wraith! Where are you going?"
I catch his arm just as he reaches the woods.
He stops but doesn't turn, just stands there staring into the shadows between the trees. A low growl rumbles from his chest, the growl of a wounded animal that doesn't want to be touched.
"Okay," I say softly, releasing his arm. "We're going into the woods. With a storm coming. That's fine. That's... totally normal and not terrifying at all."
He starts walking again, and I have no choice but to follow him.
My alpha is disappearing into the dark, and wherever he's going, I'm going too.
IVY
HI THANE so Wraith's walking into the woods.
I'm following him.
THANE
WHAT
Where are you??
IVY
I don't know.
Some intersection. There's trees.
That's all I got.
THANE
Are you on your way back from seeing Claire?
IVY
Yeah, but to be totally honest, I may have taken a wrong turn.
THANE
FUCK
I'll find you. Keep your phone on. It's going to be cold tonight. There’s emergency camping shit in the back of the SUV. Maybe even a flare gun. Grab the green duffel.
IVY
Thanks.
I jog back to the SUV, grabbing the green bag from the back.
Thank fuck, when I unzip it to check the contents, it has a tent and some basic camping supplies.
I don't see a flare gun, but I don't have time to keep searching, and I'm actually pretty damn sure a flare gun would set Wraith off in this state anyway.
I don't believe for a second he would hurt me, no matter what omega critter brain thinks.
But he might hurt himself.
While I’m at it, I grab the snacks and drinks from our road trip and stuff them in the bag, too. If we're doing an impromptu wilderness adventure, at least we won't starve.
By the time I catch up to Wraith, we're deep enough into the woods that I can barely see the road. The trees are thick here, blocking out most of the late afternoon sun, which is already disappearing behind the gathering storm clouds.
My omega instincts are having a fucking field day.
Apparently, going into the woods with a dissociating feral alpha who is objectively... spooky is a trigger for omega hindbrain.
Every crack of a twig has me jumping and ready to claw and bite.
Every shadow could be a threat.
And Wraith just keeps walking, pulled by some internal compass toward a destination only he knows. He lets me take his hand, at least, even though he’s too out of it to hold mine in return.
Finally, maybe thirty minutes in, he stops in a small clearing and just... stands there.
“Are we stopping here?” I ask him, adjusting the bag strap on my shoulder.
No answer.
Not sure what I was expecting. I know for a fact he's far gone or he'd be insisting on carrying the bag for me.
I set the bag down and unzip it.
Setting up a tent when you've never actually done it before, in the middle of nowhere, while a massive dissociating feral alpha watches you from the shadows?
Not exactly covered in the "How to Survive Your Psycho Ex" handbook I've been mentally writing all this time.
The tent instructions might as well be in ancient Sumerian for all the sense they make. Every pole goes in the wrong place, only for me to realize I had it right the first damn time.
But after twenty minutes of cursing and fumbling, I manage to get something vaguely tent-shaped erected, and throw the wool camp blanket inside.
Thunder rumbles overhead.
Of fucking course.
"Great," I mutter, checking my phone. No signal. The little bars mock me with their absence, along with a cute little satellite icon that says SOS. "Just fantastic."
What am I going to do? Call emergency services and get my mate hurt or worse?
Even feral alphas that look normal are treated like monsters. And when they're perceived to be a threat, which doesn't take much, they're killed.
Some people believe feral alphas shouldn't even be in public. That they should be locked up, imprisoned and sedated, in cells.
Not only are Wraith's teeth even sharper than the ferals I've seen, they're all permanently visible, even at a distance.
He's the most obviously feral alpha ever.
The first drops of rain start falling just when I start trying to get a fire going with the waterproof matches from the camping kit.
Wraith hasn't moved from his spot at the edge of the clearing, just standing there in the growing darkness with my scarf slowly sliding off his face, his sharp teeth glinting in the struggling flames I'm coaxing to life.