Getting too close wasn't something I wanted — not when I had no idea what this man was capable of or what he intended. It made me second-guess every move, mate or not. The whole idea of a mate felt like a cage closing in, even if he looked and smelled like something carved out of a dream.
Still, exhaustion had worn me down to nothing, and I gave in, motioning for him to turn away. He didn't move. I growled, unwilling to let him see the wreck my skin had become. He threw one right back at me — sharp, impatient — but turned around all the same.
With a whine, I pushed my shift forward. It wasn't as brutal as the first time, but jagged pain still tore through my ribs and spine. I hit my knees, gasping, and reached blindly for the t-shirt as the pins and needles swarmed in. My skin was filthy and damp. My hair was a knotted, matted mess, plastered against my face and neck. I gripped the shirt in my fist and swallowed down the nausea threatening to rise.
I was just starting to push myself upright when a growl stopped me cold.
"What is this?"
My eyes flew open. He was already moving toward me, and I scrambled to drag the oversized white shirt over myself — but my body wouldn't cooperate, the pain pulling tight against every movement.
"W-w-wha—"
"Don't." His nostrils flared. He was barely a step away, and his hand was on the shirt too.
My wolf practically melted, but panic was louder. I crossed my arms over myself and stood there — bare, filthy, exposed as the day I entered the world.
"Alph—"
"Phoenix." He muttered it through his teeth, shutting his eyes briefly. "I told you. Now — what are these?"
He grabbed my arm. I yelped and shot my other hand downward to guard what little dignity I had left, which was essentially none. My chest was uncovered, though my hair fell long enough to help. It didn't seem to matter to him. His gaze didn't roam. It didn't go hazy the way other men's did — the ones who used to watch me run, who followed me with their eyes and their words like I was something to be consumed.
His eyes were fixed on the discolouration. The cuts. The newer ones, still raw from yesterday.
"Nova…"
My name in his mouth made me flinch inward. "Y-yes?"
"Who?" Just a whisper.
I let my head fall. "Too many."
He growled and released my arm, then his eyes locked onto my face instead. I tensed when his fingers pushed the hair back from it, his other hand tipping my chin up gently. He studied me, and I could see plainly that he didn't like what he found. When his fingertip grazed the bruise swelling around my eye, I winced — a small, involuntary sound slipped out. I had forgotten entirely that the lake would have stripped away every trace of makeup.
I looked awful. The way he was looking at me confirmed it.
"P-please—"
He didn't let me finish. He pulled the shirt down over my head in one motion. I flailed trying to get my arms through, barely managing it before he swept me up — one arm under my knees, one at my back — and started walking. He covered the last stretch to the packhouse in silence. We passed straight through the training grounds, emptied out now, and it was only then I noticed the sun bleeding low on the horizon. How many hours had I been out there?
Inside, I found myself staring at him — the tan of his skin, the smoothness of it broken only by faint old scars. His shoulders carried me without effort. The Alpha mark sat on his upper left chest, right where it always was, except his bore the royal crest. I was about to ask to be taken to my room, but he was already moving down the corridor.
I didn't understand how he knew which room was mine — until I did. My scent. My sharpened senses pieced it together. I also registered how completely he filled the doorway when we entered, how the room barely seemed to hold him. And then I registered the room itself.
It had been destroyed.
I slid out of his arms the moment I saw it, my whole body trembling as I stood and stared. The bed had been hurled aside — the sheets and mattress shredded open with claws, the stuffing spilling out. The metal frame had survived, just barely. The desk hadn't. The wood was caved in on one side, my supplies snapped apart and scattered. Paper everywhere. My entire art corner — the one thing that was wholly mine — dismantled and strewn across the floor.
Tears pressed behind my eyes as I crossed to what remained of the desk and lifted one of my drawings from the wreckage. The last wolf in the forest. Crumpled. Torn. And beneath it, half-buried under sawdust and splinters, a word gouged into the wood:
USELESS.
Why. Why me.
You are not useless. My wolf held me from the inside.
I pressed my lips together and refused to break down completely. I already knew who had done it — I didn't even need to look hard. Her scent was woven through everything. Vanilla, unmistakable.
I clutched what remained of my art folder against my chest, turned, and looked at the bed. I blinked through the tears I wasn't letting fall, set the folder down, and grabbed the bed frame. Trying to right it alone was a losing effort — then a tanned arm reached past me and flipped it back onto its legs without any strain at all. I startled at how close he was, which earned a low rumble from him.
The scrape of metal made me wince — my hearing still hadn't found its footing in this new world. I exhaled slowly and dragged the mattress back onto the frame.
Honestly, I just wanted to sit and feel sorry for myself. So I did. I sank down and looked at the scattered ruins of my artwork without saying anything.
I didn't sit long before I felt him — still there.
Phoenix cleared his throat. I looked up and dragged a hand across my face.
"Alph—"
"Why would they do this?" His fists were drawn tight at his sides, shaking.
I looked away and lifted a shoulder. I didn't have the energy for words.
"Three females were in this room. Are they the ones who hurt you?" His voice stayed level, controlled.
I wiped my cheek and gave a reluctant nod. "S-some of them."
He snarled — loud and sudden — and my heart nearly launched itself out of my chest. If this man was going to be my mate and he was this volatile, I was going to be in cardiac arrest before the week was out.
"You're coming with me." He bit it out.
Before I could say a word, I was in the air again. "H-hey!"
His eyes had gone black — his wolf looking out through them — and the sight made me shudder and tip my chin back instinctively, baring my throat. He rumbled but looked away, and the tension in me eased slightly. I fought the pull to tuck my face into the warmth of his bare chest. I lost that quietly, so I just crossed my arms over myself instead, held onto what remained of my dignity, and let his wolf lead wherever it was going.
Even as it terrified me down to my core.