Page 39 of The Rust in Her Hair

Something flickers across the alpha's face when Owen says "friend." It’s there and gone so fast.

Sadness, maybe, or something close to it.

I'm not sure.

It doesn’t matter.

Owen tightens his arm around my waist, trying to guide me forward, but my feet stay planted.

"Wait." I grab at the hem of my skirt, tugging it down as far as it'll go, which isn't nearly far enough. "I don't want anyone to see me like this," I whisper.

Owen's face pinches, conflicted. He glances past Adrian like he's trying to figure out a path where there will be no staff or students.

"I guess we can…" Owen trails off, but then Adrian moves.

I flinch the second his hands lift, jerking back toward the shelving before I can stop it.

Adrian goes still immediately, then takes a slow step back, putting a little more distance between us. He holds my gaze for a second, like he's making sure I’m okay, then he reaches up and starts working the buttons of his flannel loose, one after another. Finally, he pulls it off his shoulders to reveal a plain undershirt stretched thin over a massive chest. He holds the flannel open toward me, slow, careful, like he's approaching something easily spooked.

"Can I put this on you?" His voice comes out low, and shockingly gentle for a man his size.

And I find myself nodding before I've fully decided.

Owen helps guide my arms into the sleeves, and Adrian settles it over my shoulders. The fabric swallows me whole, sleeves hanging well past my hands, hem falling to my mid-thigh. It smells so good. Like lush pine and clean laundry.

Adrian works the buttons closed, his big hands moving quickly, his knuckles never once brushing my skin.

It shocks me that someone built like a wall can be so gentle and careful.

Once I'm covered, Owen slips his arm back around me, steering me carefully past Adrian. We move through one long hallway after another, dark wood giving way to more dark wood, until we reach the law library.

A handful of people sit hunched over thick leather volumes, nobody sparing us so much as a glance.

Owen stops in front of an old brass elevator, pressing the call button, and we ride up one floor in silence. The cage rattles faintly the whole way while my mind races.

Do my parents know I'm gone?

Did they call the police?

Have they been looking for me?

The doors open onto a quiet corridor, and before I know it we're stepping into a small office tucked behind a row of file cabinets.

Owen guides me toward a small couch pushed against the far wall, one hand steady at my elbow, while Adrian shuts the door behind us with a quiet click. He reaches for the switch, and the overhead light snaps on. It’s so bright and harsh, I squint against it, my eyes watering until they adjust.

Owen kneels in front of me and reaches for my hands. I let him take them, but I can't look at him while he does it. I already know what he's looking at. I've had all night to stare at the bruises on my body, but somehow him seeing them is worse than anything Crispin did. My whole body wants to fold inward, tuck my wrists out of sight, disappear into the cushions.

"It looks worse than it feels," I hear myself say. My voice comes out flat and far off, like it belongs to some calmer girl.

The beta doesn't answer, but his thumb moves over the back of my hand, so light I barely feel it.

"Who did this to you?" Adrian asks from across the room, his voice instantly deep.

The name climbs my throat and lodges there. If I say it out loud it becomes real, and if it becomes real I have to feel it. I shake my head and stare at a crooked diploma on the wall until the burn behind my eyes recedes.

Thankfully, Owen doesn't push. But Adrian shifts by the door, and I feel him change his mind before he says it.

"She needs to go to a hospital," Adrian says.