Chapter 22
The first thing I notice is a hand rubbing my hair back. I let out a soft sigh, my lips curling into a smile.
“Go back to sleep, sweetheart. You need to be careful you don’t burn yourself out.” Mom’s face is filled with worry lines while she sits at the edge of my bed. I’m getting better at healing myself; I want to try to heal them next.
The hand keeps stroking down my hair as I drift back into a dreamless sleep.
I’m not sure how long it’s been when I wake again. I stretch out, testing my back’s movement, and hum to myself. It worked. I know I can rely on it, but magic use has its risks and its own rules. I only learn by trial and error.
A warm hand cups mine and blue eyes stare down at me. “You’ve been asleep for a day.”
“It’s normal,” I say, arching my sensitive back across the bed.
“I can’t agree with you on that. Can I get you something?”
I yawn and roll back over. “Just more sleep.”
Darkness cloaks most of the space when I next wake up, and I sit up at the edge of the bed, partially wrapped in a sheet.
Stark sits in the chair he brought in with a book under the glow of a small bedside lamp.
He looks up, then right back down to the open pages.
I glance down at my bare legs, the sheet not holding many secrets.
Sometimes, the sleep after healing is intense.
“I can’t have you leave the room. You should be out for weeks,” he says.
“It’s okay.” I pull the sheet off the bed with me and head to the mirror in the bathroom.
There are twelve purple lines cross-hatched from the top of my back to the bottom.
A few longer strokes wrap further around to my side.
I didn’t anticipate physical punishment.
Maybe a bit of anger at the risk aspect of it and ignoring the rules, but nothing physical.
They didn’t listen to a thing I wanted to say.
My mom always told me horror stories about the Elders, but I always thought she was elaborating to scare me and make me want to keep my secret. Now I know—they wouldn’t even blink to kill me. They’re intimidated by Stark, and he’s one of them.
I slip into a new robe I find at the back of the bathroom door—ruby red like my own hair. My stomach sinks. If only.
I swoop the brunette waves back over my shoulders. “Where did this come from?” I ask, playing with the silk knot.
“I didn’t need you cutting curtains down again if clothes hurt to put on.” He smirks.
I tap my lips and cover my smile. “I guess I can read a few books. What does everyone think?”
Stark looks up, that calm mask gone. “That you’re drugged on human pain pills”—he shakes a bottle next to him—“and healing. Everyone is still here, working in shifts, so I can’t send them home.”
I tilt my head to read the cover of the book resting on the arm of the chair—Unique Werewolf Abilities. My breath stops, and I move over to the smaller chair. I shouldn’t have let him in. This puts him in danger. I can’t tell him the truth.
“I, um . . . You didn’t tell anyone?”
He shakes his head and groans. “What am I supposed to tell them? The girl they think is human magically healed cuts as deep as bone by sitting in a bathtub?”
“I guess when you put it that way . . .”
“I won’t tell anyone if you tell me how you do it.”
I hike my legs up under me and watch my new unsolicited roommate. The one I kissed . . . that I shouldn’t be thinking about. But I find myself thinking about how he stormed into the Elders’ Chambers . . . threatening them all.
His dark hair is longer again, wisping around the back of his neck. The short-sleeve shirt exposes the muscles that run from his neck down. He fills the large chair with ease, resting his fingers across the book. There’s nothing in that one. I’ve read it before.
“No,” I say.
“No?”
Those eyes glower at me. I get why he wants to know, but there’s too much that could go wrong. I don’t want to imagine what else the Elders’ Council is capable of.
“You didn’t tell anyone, and I’m grateful, but you can leave me alone now. I’m not going anywhere, and no, I’m not telling you.”
“Did Pratt know?”
My face drops for a second before I bite the inside of my cheek. “Yes.”
He leans onto his arms. “Well, he trusted you with me. Do you trust me?”
“I don’t.”
Do I? I’m not sure of anything. My whole plan’s gone to shit.
Those arctic eyes don’t meet mine anymore. He stands. “I’ll be back, and . . .”
“Don’t leave the room. Got it.”
The door clicks shut behind him, and I bring my legs all the way up to my chest and hug them tight. There’s so much I haven’t told them about my time with the Uprising. I wonder what Gretch is up to right now.
Stark returns with his arms full and heads over to the dresser. He places a bowl to the side, then lowers a huge box to the floor. He carries the bowl to me, and I find that it’s filled with a salad.
“Thanks.” My stomach growls at the first bite. A few days is a bit long without food, even for me. I eat, and he drags his chair close. If I kicked out my legs, I’d reach his.
“So can we go over what I learned when I left?” I ask.
“No, we’ll do that when you can leave this room.”
I scrunch my face at him but nod anyway. Intrigued, I have to ask, “What’s in the box?”
“I’ll show you when you’re done.”
I love being treated like a child.
I finish the rest of the salad, then Stark brings the box over. He places it between the two of us and I lower my feet onto the rug to lean in. When he unfolds the flaps, old books are lined up—some leather bound, a few with wood and string.
“Since you’re stuck in here, I thought you might want to read through these.” He gestures for me to look.
I start flipping over covers. They’re all about werewolf legends and magic. I swallow and look up at him. My body temperature rockets, and Stark looks at me with wonder.
“If you’re going to keep doing that, I’m going to have to start dressing like you.”
I laugh, blowing out all the air in my lungs to cool myself. “It’s not exactly in my control.”
“Wow.” I eye him as he smirks, his blue eyes dark in the low light of the room. “You told me something.”
I stick my tongue out and go back to the collection. “Where were these?” I looked everywhere in this house for books like these.
He shrugs, a smile on his face. “I get secrets too.”
“Fine. Thank you.”
He pulls out a book.
“Have you read them all?”
“I’ve read pretty much every book in this house.”
No drooling. This man has books and loves them. But he’s mated and is being nice because now he thinks I’m a freak who could hurt him.
I flip over another cover, careful not to damage it.
“What one are you going to start with?”
I pull them all out, but pause to move into the bathroom to throw on shorts and a T-shirt. Not that Stark hasn’t seen everything . . . Carrying my exhausted naked body to bed wouldn’t have been sexy.
He’s mated. Mated. Just a nice Alpha who brings me books and food. No big deal. It’s an obligation thing, nothing more.
There are eighteen books in total, some maybe close to 700 pages, while others are thin, more story retellings. I study each one and sort them into stacks. Stark’s attention stays on me the entire time, like he’s not even breathing.
I finally pick up a thinner brown leather-wrapped book with a string tied around it. “This one,” I say, moving into the chair beside him.
“Why?”
“Just cause.” I untie the small stringed bow.
He goes to take it away, but I swat his hand.
“I gave you my private collection of books. Let’s hear a real answer.”
“Shouldn’t you be out patrolling?”
He keeps his eyes on me.
I sigh, giving in . . . sort of. “It’s the one of the few, that.
um . . .” I rub my fingers over the title—Scarlett’s Diary.
“This is a firsthand account. Everything else I’ve read are stories, retellings, or misshapen versions.
This, I’ve just . . . never seen anything like it.
So again, thank you. I know you didn’t need to share these with me. ”
“If it’s mine, it’s yours, okay? And the borders are being covered.”
“Okay.” I give him a quizzical look, then I can’t wait any longer. I open the first pages to handwritten ink, some of it so faded even so I can barely read the words.
Stark reaches out and grabs a book from the stack, then settles in to read. Every few pages, I catch his gaze from the corner of my eye, though I don’t address it, or think about why I keep looking. Something about a man with a book in his lap.
1914 September 15th
Father is taking me away today. The rumors about me have started to reach packs a day or two away, and there’s word they’re traveling this way.
Father says it will be an adventure. I caught Mother crying while she packed our things into bags.
I sit here knowing it’s because of me. I told Matthew, who I thought would be my mate. It’s all my fault. I wish I wasn’t red.
A wet mark forms on the page as tingles travel up my knee. “Red?”
I look up from the pages, my tears dripping onto my bare thighs.
“You in pain?”
“No. Um, not that sort of pain.” I force a small half-smile.
Stark brings his hand up and wipes the tears away, leaving traces of tingles across my cheeks. “If you weren’t here, what would you be doing?”
I want to tell him the truth, at least part of it. “Running, somewhere in the woods.”
He nods. “Pratt let you do a lot . . .”
“Yes and no. It was always safe in the trees until I came here . . .” I look away. “Did you always want to be an Alpha?”
“I did. I like taking care of others, knowing that they are safe—something that can look different to everyone. The thought of you out in the woods with the way many pack members feel, with no defenses . . .” He stops himself. “Not that I know of,” he adds. “I’m not as relaxed as your brother was.”
“I have learned,” I say, my voice playful. He’s being honest with me, and I appreciate it.
“Why did you leave school? Did you know you wouldn’t turn?” All his attention is on me with his book closed on his thigh.
I don’t know how to answer that question. I turned a bit later than some, but not so late that it made sense when I left. I missed out on so much.
“That would have been a question for my mom. I’m, um, going to keep reading,” I say, shutting him out.
“Of course. I have to step out, but I’ll be in the house.”
I nod, then wait until he’s gone before reading again. A few more tears fall.