Chapter 83

Kayla

Nicholas and Mason rolled across the sandy floor of the sparring ring in a flurry of kicks and punches. If it weren’t for the blood gushing from my leg, I might have paused to marvel at the intensity of the fight, just like the other wolves who had come running at the sound of the scuffle.

But it was all over so fast that I hardly even had time to register what was happening.

In an instant, Nicholas had Mason pinned to the ground. Nicholas’s shirt had gotten ripped during the fight, revealing taut muscles glistening with sweat, dirt, and blood that wasn’t his.

“Anyone else care to challenge me?!” Nicholas bellowed, pinning Mason face-down in the dirt with one knee pressed into his back. Mason tried to writhe free, but quickly realized, with a yelp of pain when Nicholas twisted his arm, that continuing to fight would only make things worse for him.

The assembled wolves murmured amongst themselves, but none stepped forward to support Mason. Nicholas, satisfied, released Mason just as the guards came rushing over.

“Imprison him,” he said before quickly moving over to me. Before I could protest, not that I had the strength to, he scooped me up against his bare chest and held me close. And then, without a word, he whisked me away—past the guards hauling Mason to his feet, past the group of onlookers, past the training yard and straight back to the house.

When we burst inside, Ava was standing in the foyer in her apron, her eyes wide.

“Lay her down on the table!” she said, although Nicholas was already moving toward it. In one big swipe with his arm he sent everything—including all the food Ava had worked so hard to make—crashing to the floor, to which I grit my teeth in horror.

“Guys, I’m really fine—”

“Nonsense,” Ava said as she rushed into the kitchen to retrieve hot water and clean bandages. “You’ll need stitches!”

I clenched my jaw at that, but the pain in my leg was too great to protest as Ava returned with a kit containing sutures and threads. All I could do was lay there, horrified, as she began to work with deft fingers. Years of her work as a pack nurse came in handy sometimes, I supposed wryly.

Nicholas remained by my side as Ava worked, his eyes never leaving my wounded leg. He laced his fingers with mine, and oddly enough, his touch soothed me. I could feel the mate bond humming to life against my neck, but instead of making me kiss him, it… calmed me. Eased my pain.

It eased the pain so much, in fact, that I hardly felt it as Ava sewed up my wound. I hardly even noticed anything else around me, even when Henry came bursting into the house like a bat out of hell, his knuckles bruised and bloody from beating the shit out of Mason.

When Ava was finished, Nicholas helped me sit up. Only then did the pain hit me in a dizzying wave, and I nearly fell back down again. My cheeks flushed as Nicholas lifted me from the table with ease, then laid me down on the sofa.

“There,” he said gently as he sat me down. “All better.”

I pursed my lips as I stared down at my bandaged leg. Ava had done a damn good job of cleaning me up, but the wound was still hot and throbbing.

“How long until I heal?” I asked, glancing over his shoulder at Ava.

She wrung her hands, opening her mouth and then closing it again as if afraid to say the words out loud. That was all the answer I needed, and I looked away with yet another clench of my jaw.

“If I wasn’t wolfless, I’d be nearly healed by now.”

The room fell silent at my words. Even the fire seemed to crackle less merrily, and Henry ceased his endless pacing in the hallway.

Ava and Henry knew my struggles particularly well; they had held my hand on many nights in the past, comforting me when I was left out of friend groups, passed over in sports, ignored in school.

But Nicholas…

I tried not to show him just how much being wolfless hurt me. Just how… ashamed I was of it. And I quickly regretted showing it now.

He waved his hand toward Ava and Henry, who left us alone. I kept staring down at my lap, my fingers curling around the dirty hem of my shirt—still covered in sand and blood. Nicholas, for his part, was still shirtless. Although I didn’t have the strength to focus on that.

“Hey.” He touched my arm again, sending another jolt through me. I lifted my gaze to meet his, and his amber eyes were surprisingly softer than I expected.

“You would have won a fight against a fully-fledged male wolf,” he said with a wry little curl of his lip. “He only won because he used dirty tricks.”

I couldn’t help but scoff. “You’re just saying that.”

Nicholas shook his head. “I saw the whole thing—I was watching the fight before he…” He shook his head, and his eyes burned brightly for a moment before he quickly blinked and calmed himself again. “You nearly had him on his ass within the first thirty seconds. Even without a wolf of your own.”

I opened my mouth to say something snarky in response, but no words would come out. Part of me wanted to believe Nicholas, but another part, the same part that had spent too many years hating the fact that I didn’t have a wolf and likely never would have one, knew that he was just trying to make me feel better.

Just like everyone else.

Because at the end of the day, without a wolf, I was still far weaker than men like Mason. Maybe if I had my wolf, I would have seen that blade coming before it punctured my leg.

Or maybe there never would have been a knife, because I wouldn’t have had to fight for my position in this pack every day.

…

Later that night, I couldn’t sleep from a combination of the pain in my leg and my mind whirling around the events of the day. I knew it wouldn’t help much to be on my feet, but I felt like I needed to move around, so I slipped out of bed and slowly limped down the hall.

With some effort, I made my way to the bathroom and refilled my glass of water from the bathroom sink. The room was dark, save for the streaks of moonlight washing across the tiles. I drank the entire glass in one go, savoring the cold water as it slipped down my throat.

When I was finished, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and turned, spotting my parents’ bedroom across the hall.

I almost blocked the sight of that untouched door out of my mind and went back to my room, just as I always did.

But for some reason, I felt compelled to go inside. So I shuffled across the hall and pushed it open with a creak.

The bedroom was just as dark and quiet as I had left it two years ago. The only thing that was different was that the air smelled mustier now, and I wrinkled my nose as I stepped inside.

It had been two years since I had set foot in this room. When my father went into his coma, I basically sealed the room up and never looked back. I guess I figured he would come back soon enough, but the longer he went without waking up, the more I saw the room as a black pit of memories that I didn’t want to delve into.

I wasn’t sure why I felt compelled to step into that room tonight, or why I bothered to open the heavy curtains to let moonlight spill across the untouched bed and dusty shelves.

Across the room, I spotted the dresser, my father’s watch still laid out neatly on top. I shuffled over and ran my thumb across the watch’s face. My finger came away black with dust, and of course, the watch wasn’t even working.

“Why am I even in here?” I muttered, shaking my head. I turned on my heel to leave, but that was when I spotted it: my mother’s jewelry box.

It was still in the exact same place it always was, sitting on the back right corner of the dresser. The ornate wooden top was covered in a layer of dust, but it was still the same.

I hadn’t touched this room since my father had gone into his coma. And he hadn’t touched this box since she had died.

Taking a deep breath, I carefully opened the lid and peered inside. Of course, all of the pieces I recognized my mother wearing when I was little were still there: her pearl earrings, silver moonstone necklace, a few handmade rings that she picked up at antique shops.

But there was something else in there, too; something I hadn’t seen her wear before.

A small golden charm bracelet with one charm on it.

I frowned, holding it up to see it better in the light. Upon closer inspection, the charm was actually a tiny compass; and it was functional.

Sort of.

When I held the charm flat on my palm and turned, the little needle said I was facing North, but I knew I wasn’t. I was facing east.

“Useless,” I muttered, running my finger across the charm. Still, it was really pretty… And I knew my mom wouldn’t have minded if I wore her jewelry.

So I slipped it onto my wrist, admiring it for a moment longer before shutting the box and leaving the room otherwise untouched.