Chapter 8
Light fills the room, and a small table is set up beside the bed, containing a breakfast spread of fruit and water. I did say sunrise. I sit up and take a sip from the glass and look at my arms.
Shit.
I slink off the bed and grab the bandages to wrap the bruises.
I can hide the bruises on both forearms and my waist if I throw on a T-shirt, and my knee will be easy to cover too.
I don’t bother with my head, hoping no one remembers what it looked like.
A huge bruise remains above my eye, and my lip has the faint line of a cut still.
I need to think more, be smart about my actions. The act of wrapping fatigues my limbs, which are too heavy to hold up for long, so I go back to sleep.
Later, I wake to a different spread of food next to me and the lingering smell of wolf and pine. I don’t bother with it and drift again.
The next day, I think of leaving the room, but anyone else would be bedbound. I accept my current position and go back to sleep.
On the third day, when I find breakfast waiting for me, I’m not surprised.
Later, during dinner, I can hear voices in the house.
“Two funerals in a week.”
“There will be no funeral,” Stark says.
Probably be better if there was. Who needs her? I think the thoughts are from Nikki, but I’m not sure. It’s definitely a woman, though.
“Get out.”
I hear a few gasps.
“What?” A woman’s voice louder than the man’s.
“Stark.” That’s Otis.
“It’s my house. If you want to argue with me, we can take it outside.” The threat of an Alpha is never supposed to be taken as a joke.
“Maybe it’s best you go home, Nikki. We’ll see you tomorrow for dinner.”
A door slams, and I get tired of listening. I grab a book from the overstuffed shelves and bring it to bed, but sleep finds me before the pages do.
A week goes by before I leave my bedroom. It’s the middle of the day and no one should be here. I need something other than these four walls to look at, and my body is filled with a strong desire to find some real air for a few minutes before anyone comes back.
I pull the door open slowly and step out,
“Aloka, you’re awake.” Stark jumps up off the floor. Those eyes are open, combing over me. Why is he here?
“Uh, yeah. I thought you’d be gone.” So much for fresh air. If he’s here, I can’t go walking around like I’m not hurt. I head right back into my room and close the door.
In seconds, it opens. Guess the version of Stark with boundaries only exists when he thinks I’m dying in a bed.
“Aloka, you’re walking.” Is that surprise in his voice? Right—humans heal slowly.
He comes extra close and looks at my arms, but I wrap them in protection around me. I took the annoying white bandages off yesterday to shower. Figured with me sleeping in the dark, he couldn’t see much anyway, and the cuts would have healed by now.
Stark reaches out and brushes his hand over my forehead, clearing the hair out of the way. My breath stops as tingles form across my face. He drops his hand and steps back.
“Can I go back to sleep now?” I ask.
“You were going somewhere. Where?”
I shift my weight and slide my feet back, nearing the bed. “Nowhere.”
Stark takes a step toward me. “Tell me.” A low growl is at the bottom of his voice.
My knees almost go weak. Well, that’s another annoying response. Couldn’t Pratt have picked an ugly prison guard for me?
“Outside, okay? I wanted to get out of this damn house.”
He scoops me up like he did that day in Faira and Otis’s home.
“Have you ever heard of personal space?”
He ignores me as he ducks out of the room into the hallway.
This time, being more alive, I’m able to notice the long distance to the ground below.
Damn it. He goes straight through the main space, not pausing or answering me until we get out the back door and onto a huge deck.
With grace, he places me down onto my feet.
I shift back, the tingling sensation this time wrapping my whole body.
I wonder if he feels it, too, but he gives no signs.
“I didn’t want you to have to walk so far.”
Shit. I should be hurt still.
“Oh yeah. Um, thanks.” I move to lean against the railing at the far end of the deck.
It’s snowed a bit more, but in another month or two, it’ll melt away into lush green.
The air fills my lungs like a well-needed hug.
I still need to get away from this place.
Ever since Pratt’s death, I haven’t been careful enough, leaving too many hints about what I am.
Not that anyone is looking for a secret, it’s still a risk.
Stark’s heat swells off him beside me and his fingers drum on the railing.
“Just say it.” I tilt my head up at him. His dark hair is a bit longer, edging the point of being able tuck it behind his ears. I let go of the railing and halt my hand between the two of us. What am I doing?
“I wanted to ask you how you are.”
“Bored.”
“I meant your physical self. When I realized you’d left, I should’ve abandoned the food and gone after you.
It was quick, I thought I’d catch you before you made it to the truck.
I scanned the parking lot before we went in, but you looked so at ease in the store it threw me off.
Fuck, I didn’t react like I know too, and I’m sorry you got hurt. ”
So, it wasn’t planned, I don’t know why I thought it was. Being attacked did a number on my thoughts.
“I’m fine. Like I said, you don’t have to worry about me. I can handle myself. I might be stuck in this house of yours but that doesn’t make you in charge of keeping me safe.”
“Handle yourself? You might believe that, but you were on the ground being railed by two guys.”
“I don’t know if I would have wanted you to interrupt if I was being railed.” A laugh erupts from my chest, and I wince, acting like there’s pain in my ribs.
Stark’s eyes threaten to glow as his jaw ticks.
“Sorry, yes, I know it probably wasn’t a pretty sight, but I’m good now. How are you? Why are you even home?”
He rotates and leans his side against the railing, crossing those solid arms, thick veins climbing them like vines.
“What? I can ask questions too.”
“You just don’t usually unless it’s some type of snarky comment or a request to leave.”
“Well?”
“I’m fine. I stopped in to grab something. Get some fresh air. Don’t leave the deck. I’ll know if you do.” With that, he walks away.
I stay outside until dinnertime approaches. Stark might have seen me, but a week isn’t long enough not to raise questions if they thought I’d need a damn funeral. Ridiculous how weak I am to them.
I spend the next week reading various books from Stark’s collection. I’m learning that Pratt sure sucked at finding books. I found a few myself, but he went into other territories. Even then, this collection puts anything I’ve read to shame.
I’m scanning the stacks when Stark knocks his routine two hits. Every time. He doesn’t wait for me to answer before he comes in and crouches down beside me. “Looking for something in particular?”
“Nope.” I stand up and step away from the section. It’s filled with various history books on werewolves.
“I have to go to town for a meeting and Jocko is going to stay with you.”
I imagine Jocko’s light-brown fur defending me, and laughter chokes out.
Stark misses the humor to the situation and glares back at me.
“I don’t need a babysitter. Seriously, I told you days ago you didn’t need to stay home.”
His hand slides into his pocket. “Home?”
“This is your home?”
He nods. “I’ll be back for dinner, and you are expected to join.”
“Yes, Alpha.” I give him a mini drill-sergeant-type wave, and he leans in closer.
That deep smell fills the space around me, a mystery mixed with pine.
His breath catches, and I lean back into the books to avoid his chest touching me.
The shelves threaten to dig into my spine.
Stark’s eyes are slits, and I drop mine to his lips, parted and kissable.
My legs close on instinct. No . . . I am not this attracted to the innkeeper.
I watch his Adam’s apple rise and fall, and a small growl comes from the back of it.
I will hurt her.
“Um,” I say.
He leaps back and straightens. Of course, it wasn’t attraction leading him to pin me—it was rage. He wants to kill me himself.
“Dress nice.”
The door closes behind him.
Rude much?
It’s early, and talking to Jocko might be a nice change. Having people want me dead is old news. I exit the bedroom and find Jocko standing in the kitchen, scouring the fridge.
“Hi,” I say.
“Aloka, I’m so happy to see you moving. The rumors must have been worse than reality.”
I shrug. “Yeah, must have been. Sorry you’re stuck here on babysitting duty.” He’s the cohort’s second-in-command, like Pratt, and this is his job today.
“Oh, no, it’s no problem. Stark will be gone for a few hours and then we have dinner tonight. You’ll see.”
“Where’s he going anyway?”
“Don’t worry about it. Just pack business.”
We take seats in the pit, and Jocko pulls out a checkerboard hidden from within the coffee table.
From my position, I can barely reach the pieces, and the second he notices, he drags the table closer.
We play a few rounds, taking turns winning.
I jump my dark wooden piece over his and do a mini victory dance in my seat, sticking out my tongue.
As Jocko’s laugh fills the house, his knee bumps the table, sending pieces to the ground.
I hop down to collect the few that rolled under the couch.
“I thought you had brown hair?” Jocko’s voice raises in question.
“I do?” No, this isn’t good. My hands tense, dropping the small rounds to the floor.
“It’s red. Look in the light at the top.” He points to my roots.
“Weird. It’s definitely not red.” Think quick. “How about we do something else?”
“Anything you want.” He slides the chair he moved away from the coffee table.
“Could you drive me to my house?” This isn’t safe. I need to leave.
“No way,” he says, close to a shout. “Stark will have my head if I let you leave the property.”
“It’s not like you won’t be with me; you can protect me.” I put on my best pouting face and look up at him.
“I’m serious. Stark is not one to mess with.”
“He won’t care if I die. His life will just get easier. Plus, nothing will happen. I haven’t got all my stuff yet and really need to grab a few things.” I’m desperate. “Please,” I beg.
Jocko shakes his head. “If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t be where he is.”
Nothing like being put against twelve Elders.
My stomach drops like a dead weight at Jocko’s thoughts. Abandoning the scattered pieces, I sink to the cold wooden floor, soothing under my bare legs, and lean my head against the couch.
“Where’s that?” I ask. The weight turns, and every instinct in me braces for something I don’t want to hear.
“You can’t tell him I told you.”
“Secrets are safe with me, remember?” My smile is soft, welcoming.
He looks straight into my eyes; a few curls hang loose around the sides of his face. It clicks. I don’t have anyone to share things with.
“He just ignored orders for the past two weeks to stay here. Don’t worry about it.”
Be lucky if he can walk when he gets back. The Elders’ Council is pissed.
My face falls, and my chest constricts. My vision blurs, narrowing until I can only see the rug. My chest won’t rise, won’t move, and the sound of Jocko’s voice is just static somewhere far away. His hand rubs across my back, I get up and away from him. The room spins and he catches my arm.
“It’s fine, Aloka. He can handle it.”
Imagine what she’d do if she knew the truth.
I’m too hot, I need space.
“Take a breath, you’re panicking.”
Right. I cup my hands over my face take a few slow breaths, and the heat subsides.
“Sorry, that was weird. I think I’m going to go rest.”
Jocko doesn’t argue with me. I head back to my room.
There’s nothing I can do, but I just want to barge in and scream at the stupid council. Why didn’t he follow orders? Two weeks? He’s been here the whole time since I got attacked. There was no reason for him to be. Was he supposed to just let me die in the parking lot?
The need to see him in one piece stretches across me. Hatred for Pratt’s decisions fills my mind. He should have left me at home.
I head into the bathroom and turn the tap ice cold.
Splashing water on my face, the mirror’s reflection reminds me why Jocko thought I had red hair—burgundy red peeks out at my roots.
I lift a piece, and underneath is a little less noticeable.
Somehow, I must make it home or into the human cities.
Both seem impossible unless I escape. The windows in my room are large enough and close to shoulder height.
Next time Stark leaves, I’ll have enough time.
He can’t ignore orders forever and there won’t always be someone keeping watch.
Dinner is in a few hours, and I need to figure something out for Stark’s dress nice request. I grab the bag my clothes are in.
Unpacking only makes sense if you’re planning to stay.
I tear out everything until leggings, shorts, and various shirts lay across the bed, and I slump onto the clothes, defeated.
There’s nothing to cover my hair, and I didn’t bring anything close to nice.
What the hell am I going to wear to this fancy dinner?
If I want to get out of the house, it’s best if I show up and know what’s going on.
Or should I accept my fate and skip dinner? Who will be here anyway?
I roll onto my stomach and stare out the window I plan to jump out of tomorrow.
I will come back so Stark doesn’t get in trouble with the Elders again and so I don’t as well.
I might want to be alone, but I don’t want anyone to ever get hurt.
The window is framed with large ruby-red curtains, same as the one on the other side of the bed.
This might just work and add to Stark’s disgust of me, which is fine—then he won’t make such dumb decisions and be at the wrath of the Elders’ Council.
Searching through the bandage box Stark never took away, I find everything I need.