47. Weak at my hands.
The guard shoves me into the room hard enough that I stumble, catching myself on the edge of a chair.
"Watch it," I snap, turning to face him.
He steps closer, his face cold. "You don't give orders here, human." He looks me up and down with open disgust. "You're lucky you're still breathing."
"So I've been told."
"If it were up to me, you wouldn't be."
I hold his stare, not letting him think for one moment that his words have any impact on me, even if they do. I mean, after everything I've been through, I should be able to handle a wolf that doesn't like me.
Fuck, nowadays it doesn't matter if it's humans or wolves—everyone wants to kill me.
I think it's time to develop that thick skin my aunt always told me about—should've started that years ago.
Oh.
My aunt.
Sadness washes over me before I can stop myself, but I do my best not to let any of it show.
"This door will be supervised around the clock. There's nowhere to go, and no one who would help you."
For a second I think he might hit me. But he just turns and slams the door behind him.
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
The room is dim, like every other space I've been in.I scan my surroundings, and my heart nearly stops when I spot an open door leading to a bathroom.
A shower.
Finally.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and have to look away. My hair is matted and greasy. Dirt caked under my fingernails, smudged across my face. I can smell myself—stale sweat and days of fear soaked into my pores.
I peel off my clothes and kick them into the corner. Never want to see them again.Not even caring whether the wardrobe in the room has any new clothes for me.
When the first warm drops hit my skin, I almost cry. The water runs brown at first, then grey, swirling down the drain. I watch it disappear and something in my chest loosens.
I scrub every inch of my body until my skin is raw. Shampoo my hair three times. Press my forehead against the cool stone wall and let the water pound against my back.
He's alive.
He doesn't remember you.
But he's alive.
I don't know how long I stand there. Long enough for the water to cool. But eventually I turn off the tap.
I wipe the steam from the mirror. Deep shadows under my eyes. Cheekbones sharper than I remember. But at least I am clean.
A voice keeps repeating in my head: "What if he never remembers you?"
I take a deep breath. If he doesn't believe me, fine. Add him to the list.But believing their lies?
That would actually make things worse, which is impressive given my current situation.
I wrap the towel around myself and walk back into the main room. My body knows before my mind does.
I stop mid-step.
He's sitting on the edge of the bed. Elbows on his knees, hands clasped. Completely still.
Only his eyes move—tracking me like I'm prey he's deciding whether to chase.
Waiting.
Something cold runs down my spine. Not fear. Not exactly.
His gaze flicks down my body—quick, almost involuntary—before snapping back to my face. Then his face hardens, and I can't tell what he's thinking.
He looks stronger again—nothing like he did when he first woke up. And he looks exactly as he did the first time I met him: strong, powerful, intimidating.
Nothing of the warmth I'd grown used to is there anymore.
It's gone completely.
Where is it?
What's left is a cold, hard stare... with maybe the faintest spark of interest.
"Sit." He nods toward a chair across from him.
I don't move.
"I'd rather stand."
His fingers flex against his knees.
"Fine."
The word is measured, but I can feel the tension beneath it, coiled and waiting.
I step behind the chair, fingers curling around the wood.
He observes me. His gaze flicks to my fingers curling around the chair, then back to my face.
I feel it—his attention—and, without thinking, I brush through my still-wet hair, trying to make it look presentable.
The silence stretches. He doesn't look away.
I drop my fingers to the chair, suddenly aware of how exposed I am. I tug the towel tighter and force myself to stand a little straighter.
"You worked for Miller," he says. "You were his Communicator."
"Are we going to do this while I'm in a towel?"
No answer.
I guess that means yes.
"You worked for Miller," he repeats.
"I was."
"And now I'm supposed to believe you switched sides?"
"I was never on his side."
He laughs without humor. "You worked for him. You expect me to believe you had nothing to do with this?"
"I didn't know what he was doing."
"And I'm supposed to believe that?"
"Believe what you want. I don't care."
That makes him pause.
A shiver runs through me—whether from cold or adrenaline, I can't tell. I wrap my arms around myself, one hand settling at the base of my neck.
His attention drops there immediately.
His eyes unfocus for just a second, and when they refocus, they're fixed on my throat—on the pulse I can't seem to control.
His expression shifts, something like recognition flickering across his features.
He inhales slowly, but then confusion clouds his face again.
He studies me, jaw working like he's biting back words.
My body betrays me before I even notice, warmth crawling up my neck.
"Ask me."I don't know where the confidence comes from.
Maybe it's the way he's been watching me since the moment I entered the room. He might not remember, but he feels something. I can only hope that will be enough.
"Ask you what?"
I move around the chair and sit down across from him. Cross my legs. The towel shifts.
His eyes drop. Just for a second. Then back to my face.
"Ask me."
We stare at each other. He leans back slowly and crosses his arms over his chest—putting distance between us even while sitting still.
"Did you trick Mera into believing we—" He stops.
"Mated," I finish.
His jaw tightens at my words.
"I didn't trick anyone. We mated. You don't remember, but that doesn't mean it didn't happen."
Something dark crosses his face. "Anyone could say that." He looks at me like I'm something disgusting he found on his shoe. "A human. Mated to me."
I watch him for a long moment. He's disgusted—I can see it written across his face—but his gaze won't leave mine. Can't seem to.
I unfold my arms and stand, closing the space between us in two steps until I'm right in front of him.
His breath catches. Barely. But I hear it.
"Yes. A human mated to you." I lean forward. "Still can't believe it myself."
He leans back instinctively, hands flattening against the mattress behind him for balance. The disgust falters, replaced by something uncertain—confusion, maybe, at his own reaction.
"I get it," I continue softly. "How could you possibly believe that you—out of every wolf—wanted a human?"
I step closer. He goes completely still, frozen under my attention.
Before I can second-guess myself, I brace my hands on either side of him—caging him in. My face hovers inches from his, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin.
"You, the great leader." My voice drops lower. "Weak at my hands. Wanting to protect me."
His breath comes faster now. I can see his pulse hammering at his throat.
"You know what you told me?" I tilt my head slightly, letting the words hang between us. "That I'd always have a home with you. That I could always come to you. That you wanted me by your side."
For one suspended moment, neither of us moves.