Quillan’s angry gaze fell on me but now wasn’t the time to figure out why. I focussed on making sure I could see no dirt and any signs of healing. They didn’t look as raw as they had when I’d first seen them but there was so much dried blood crusting over his skin it was hard to tell.
“Who did this to you, Glenn?” I asked, lifting my head to check his eyes for any signs of concussion.
Glenn hissed, his face scrunching up in pain. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you, princess. I didn’t get a good look at the wolf. Damn thing was feral.”
I froze, then cast an accusing glare at Quillan. Was that wolf the thing that made Quillan’s hackles raise? Was that the secret that Cathwulf had kept from me, that there was a feral Wulver roaming around? Quillan’s head dropped, avoiding my gaze as I tried to figure out why they wouldn’t have just told me so if that were the case.
“Out of my way, please!” Sam’s voice echoed through the house followed by excessive sniffling.
I was glad she had arrived when she did, I didn’t want to do anything further and cause more damage instead of helping. Sam appraised us all as she entered the room and she looked worse for wear. Her nose was bright red and dry, and her skin was even paler than it had been this morning. It distracted me from the information I had just learned.
“Good girl, Oria. You cleaned the wounds?” she asked, eyeing the bloody bandages on the bed.
I nodded and she stepped closer, moving herself between Quillan and I to check the wounds herself. She hummed, pressing around his stomach while he grit his teeth then stepped back.
“You’ll live, Glenn, but they are going to need stitches, I’m afraid,” she concluded, her eyes on me. “How are your sewing skills?”
I balked and quickly shook my head. “No, I can’t.”
She sighed and grabbed a pair of rubber gloves, mumbling about how Glenn would face the risk of catching the cold while he was so weak. I watched her work, eager to learn all I could and made mental notes that I would write down later if I could find paper. Roarke and Quillan stepped outside where they spoke in hushed voices. I didn’t think anything of it until Roarke uncharacteristically raised his voice. Curious, I moved a little closer to the door so I could hear.
“He got past our patrol, Quillan. I know he seems feral but he must still hold some part of his skin side’s ability to think. We know why he’s here. We know who he’s been following,” Roarke whispered harshly.
“I’ll catch him, Alpha. I gave Cathwulf my word that I would protect her. That male will never lay a hand on her again,” Quillan vowed, his voice grave and strong.
But his words made the world tip and spin. I wobbled on my feet, reaching out for something to steady myself. It was Sam who grabbed my hand, stopping me from falling as his words rang in my head.
“Oria, are you all right?”
I nodded, taking a step towards the door and mumbling, “Yes, I have to wash the blood off me.”
Running, skidding around the corner, I ignored the calls of my name. A tight band crushed my chest as I barrelled into the bathroom, making every breath a challenge. My hand shook as I flicked the light on and my reflection in the mirror was of a pale female, a frightened pup with wide blue eyes drenched in fear. They had to have been talking about me, and if they were talking about me, they could only be referring to the one male who had ever touched me.
My father had fled the pack when it came to light what he’d been doing to me and he’d avoided any punishment. Alpha Everett had sent out scouts to find him but he’d disappeared without a trace, a fact that haunted me. I still struggled with the knowledge that he was out there, but knowing he was somewhere close…
My eyes flicked down to the blood on my hands and I turned the taps on, scrubbing roughly. My vision blurred with hot tears and a frustrated sob left me when the blood refused to come off easily. I was covered in it. My jeans were soaked in places, the white shirt and cardigan I wore stained a ghastly red. Another flash of memory, standing in a different bathroom covered in my own blood. Turning, not really able to create a thought, my fingers fumbled with the shower until cold water rushed out. I didn’t care about the temperature, I stepped in fully clothed and gasped at the icy water that stung my face.
He couldn’t be back. He had no reason to return. There was nothing for him here. Except me. Was that why he had come? Or maybe it wasn’t him but another wolf. Perhaps I’d jumped to the wrong conclusion about who they were talking about. It was a comforting lie, one that made less and less sense the more I thought about it. If it wasn’t my father, why would everyone work so hard to make sure I knew nothing about what was going on? He really was here.
Black blotches spotted my vision, my body giving in to the panic attack that I’d kept at bay. My breaths came in uneven pants and I slid down the wet shower wall to sit beneath the spray of water. Sobs echoed off the tiles, dulled only by the sound of the shower. Tearing the blood stained and now soaking cardigan from me, my nails began to rake at bare skin until it was raw.
I just needed to breathe, but the crushing weight on my shoulders and chest made even that simple action impossible. The stinging of my skin as my nails dug in was the only thing keeping me aware. A shudder wracked through my very soul as betrayal began to sink in.
My father was here and they hadn’t said a word. Part of me was glad, ignorance is bliss, the other part of me was screaming in terror. He could have been watching me, he could have been following me when I took my midnight hunts, he could have caught me.
The ease to which I’d given in to my panic hurt. I wished I could have been braver like Cathwulf, who had stood up to those that threatened her and her pack, or like Flidais, who laughed at any insult thrown her way. But I could hear my father’s voice in my head, telling me that I was useless, too weak to be Wulver, stupid, ugly. Bones that he had broken in my childhood began to ache as if still injured, my muscles began to cramp from my curled up position and yet I couldn’t find the will to move. Fear forced me still. I couldn’t go through that again and I couldn’t bear to see others suffer at his hands.
Drops of water mingled with the tears that streamed down my face, wet hair clinging to my shoulders and down my back. Wrapping my arms tightly around my legs, I made a vow to myself; I would never let him lay another hand on me. Never.
I would die before I let him hurt me again.
The door burst, slamming loudly against the wall and I slipped trying to push myself up. The shower curtain was yanked back to reveal a panic-stricken Quillan, who relaxed only a little when he saw me. I curled up tighter, wishing that the ground would open up and swallow me whole. He crouched next to me and I had to force myself to not breathe his scent in deeply, to get lost in him.
“I was shouting for you,” he said.
“I didn’t hear,” I croaked in reply, keeping my face turned away from him, unable to face him when I must have looked so pitiful.
He stayed quiet for a moment but I could feel his eyes on me, I could feel his wolf pushing forward to try and coax mine out but she was too busy growling her rage in my head. She wanted out. She wanted to taste blood, even if it was the blood of her father. It unsettled me. It wasn’t in my nature to want to cause harm, to fight, it was something that made me unlike most wolves, who thrived in sparring and rough housing. Glumly, I realised that my father had probably beaten any want to fight out of me many many years ago.
Without saying a word, Quillan stood and I almost grabbed for him, not wanting to be left alone. I was surprised when he dropped his shirt to the floor and I only allowed myself a glimpse before tearing my eyes away. He stepped into the bath behind me and sat, his jeans already soaking from the spray of the shower.
I could almost have laughed at the sight. The big bad wolf in a space far too small for two people, barely big enough for him alone. He looked like a giant; one of the mighty Formorians of Celtic myth. The runes tattooed down his side made me change my mind. He was more like Fenrir. A wolf believed
to be dangerous and deadly. Although Quillan did his best to keep his fury and need for vengeance inside.
So there we both sat, clothes drenched, hair soaked, with only the sound of the rushing water. It wasn’t uncomfortable, I didn’t mind the quiet, but I wondered what Quillan must have thought of me curled up as I was. Raising my head just a little, I dared to peek over at him. His head was resting back against the wall, his eyes closed and face relaxed. He didn’t look so scary like this. The crease from the frown that seemed to almost always be on his face was gone, making him look younger, long inky black hair almost fell over his eyes and I wondered if he’d get it cut soon before he wasn’t able to see.
My fingers twitched with a need to see if his hair was as raven feather soft as it looked. He could have been a god. Even relaxed as he was, I could feel his power coiled around him as if it was just waiting to spring. Quillan struggled with his own demons, I knew that, I saw my own soul reflected in his eyes; lost, alone, struggling, hurting.
“Cathwulf should have told you,” he finally sighed, lifting his head and opening his eyes.
His words brought everything rushing back
“Yes,” I snapped. “She should have. But you could have too.”
“I can’t go against the orders of my Alphas, Oria.” His voice held the barest rumble of a growl, a warning.
Quillan wasn’t here to be my punching bag. My head dropped in shame at having snapped at him and when I tilted it to bear my neck in apology, the growl that left his lips was one that shook something in my very core. It piqued the interest of my fur. We were silent again for a little while, as if he were waiting for me to calm down again. Could he hear the way my heart hammered as old fears rose?
“Do you want to talk about it? I don’t mind just sitting here and listening to you,” he offered.
I shook my head, feeling mentally and physically exhausted all of a sudden. My head fell back against the damp wall and I closed my eyes again. “I can’t face it today. I don’t want to think about why he might be here or what he wants. I don’t want to think about the danger I could be in if he’s lost himself to his wolf, but thanks.”
“Do you want me to leave then?”
Blushing, I shook my head again and he chuckled before relaxing back against the wall. “Very well then, Lighiche Beag, we can just sit in silence.”
My heart skipped a beat, this time from an emotion I couldn’t name. Quillan must have known a little of what I was feeling and I was glad he wasn’t going to leave. I shuffled forward a little, ducking back under the now warm water. The blood was gone from my hands but still stained my clothes. They’d have to be binned and I would definitely need to find time to get more clothes now. I sighed softly and Quillan shifted behind me, making me tense up believing he was going to leave until he relaxed again. I wasn’t scared right now, I felt safe with the big bad wolf watching over me and my body seemed to sense that. My eyes became heavy, and I was falling asleep before I could really stop myself.
The water was turned off but it wasn’t enough for me to try and open my eyes again. Even as strong arms slid under my legs and I was lifted against a warm chest, I didn’t have the energy to protest. The alarm bells went off in my head at being touched by a male but my wolf was rumbling contentedly and I trusted her instincts. My head fell against a shoulder and the smell of fire hit my nose. Comforting and intoxicating.
“I’m still mad at you for lying to me,” I mumbled sleepily, cuddling into the bed I was laid on.
“Then I hope you can forgive me but my task is to protect you and sometimes I think you need to be protected from yourself,” Quillan replied roughly.
I hummed. That statement was truer than I would have liked to admit but I’d never tell anyone about the vow I had made to myself in the shower. Steps sounded back towards the bedroom door but hesitated.
“Are you safe, Oria?”
His words were full of an underlying meaning and concern that I didn’t miss. Cathwulf had often asked me that question when I was first saved from my father and brought to her home. Trying to keep myself awake enough to answer, I wasn’t sure if my words made it out before I succumbed to sleep.
“For now.”
Chapter 7
Light
Darkness encompassed me in its familiar blanket, swallowing me up in a welcoming promise of hiding me from the world. I didn’t know what time it was, what day it was, or how long I’d been lying here but I’d long since stopped caring. Keeping track of time passing no longer mattered to me, I slept when I was tired and I tortured myself with memories while awake. Sometimes hunger pains would get so bad I’d curl up in a ball and muffle screams against my pillow until I passed out from exhaustion again.
I wished I could say I fought harder not to fall into old ways but it was rather easy to decide to stay in bed instead of going to Sam’s, or visiting Nennie, or eating and bathing. My hair was in a tangled knot at the top of my head and my nightgown was needing a wash as much as I was, but this oblivion was just so easy. I still hadn’t found the one I’d lost the night I went on a run, it had been my favourite and the one I wore now was itchy and too short. I did my best to tug it down past my knees, hoping the fabric would swallow me up and make me disappear.
If my father was out there, then I would remain in here and Gods, I wished I could say I fought harder.
But I was no fighter, I never had been. If Cathwulf hadn’t run into me in the woods one day and seen my battered and bruised body, I never would have told anyone what my father was doing. It was a possibility that I might have died by his fists as his violence had been ever increasing, his eyes becoming wilder in the weeks before I was taken away.
Sometimes he would look at me and see my mother instead, calling me her name until he remembered that I had killed her. I may have looked like her but my father made sure that I knew I wasn’t beautiful, not like she had been. I was a nightmarish reflection of her.
So yes, it was nice to lay in the dark, uncaring of my fate, drifting through the days in my self-created limbo. I was ashamed and disgusted with myself, yet at the same time I didn’t care and those conflicted emotions drove me insane.
Rolling over and dragging the duvet over my head, I closed my eyes in an attempt to fall back to sleep. Dark thoughts of my mother had been plaguing me since I woke up. I’d dreamt of her screaming my name only for the life to drain from her eyes as blood poured down her legs before she collapsed dead on the floor. I couldn’t take it anymore and could only hope my dreams would be of something else.
The clatter of cutlery drifted up alongside the chatter of voices from the dining room, stopping any chance of me being able to relax enough to sleep again. My stomach growled at the smell of food, my body begging me to eat something. Glenn’s laughter shattered my illusion of not existing, but a small smile crept onto my face anyway. He’d healed up well and that was a relief to everyone in the pack, including myself. On the third day of my seclusion, he’d come in to thank me for saving him but I’d pointed out that I hadn’t really done anything that any other wolf wouldn’t have thought to do, despite my protests at the time that I had to help. He’d tried to coax me out with gentle words and I’d lied, saying I would see him downstairs just to get him to leave.
After that it had been Cathwulf, who I ignored completely as she spoke of needing me to help her through her pregnancy. She didn’t need my help, nobody did.
Then it was Sam who had come to see me. I was sure she was sent by my Alphas to check on me. I’d spoken to her a little, giving short answers so I wouldn’t think too much. I was sure she’d been subtly checking on my health as well when her fingers brushed over my wrists and she’d studied my eyes. After that she’d left to go North to tend to the wounded warrior Roarke had mentioned. With her gone, I should have been tending to the clinic. But I didn’t, which proved most right; I wasn’t capable of being the pack healer.
Footsteps thumped up the stairs and my panic flared at the thought tha
t someone was coming this way. A knock on the door, the aroma of homemade lentil soup reaching my nose and I was almost tempted to let them in. My stomach growled angrily again, screaming for food that I hadn’t had since I’d holed myself up.
“Please, Oria,” Cathwulf begged, opening the door slowly.
My eyes burned and squeezed tightly shut as light filtered in from the hall. Again my stomach growled, louder this time as Cathwulf took slow steps towards me as if scared she would frighten me.
“You need to eat something, you’ll make yourself ill, and the healer will be arriving in a few days to start teaching you,” she said, placing the bowl of soup on the bedside table before sitting on the bed. “You’ll need your strength.”
“Tell her not to come,” I muttered, the first words I’d spoken in days.
My voice was hoarse and the need to cough crept up but I swallowed it down. Cathwulf sighed and reached out to squeeze my shoulder, but her touch had me flinching away and she pulled her hand back as if I’d burned her. Her face furrowed, her eyes shining with hurt. It had been a long time since even Cathwulf’s touch sparked my flight response. Butterflies fluttered wildly in my stomach and the spot she’d touched me tingled with awareness.
“I won’t do that because I know you’ll regret not taking this chance in the future and I can’t allow that. Just take a few little steps, Oria, like you did last time. Have some soup, regain some energy, then go for a shower and put some clean clothes on. You know you’ll feel better once you do,” she urged, giving me a pleading look.
Of course she was right but those little steps felt like mountains to me right now. Besides, what was the point? I wouldn’t be a good healer even if I learnt all I needed to know. A healer had to be strong, confident, dominant. They had to have the ability to calm down powerful wolves so they could tend to them, they had to be able to give orders and have them respected and obeyed. Nobody would respect or obey the orders of an omega, especially one like me.
Way Of The Wolf: Endeavour (The Wulvers Series Book 3) Page 8
