Page 210

The last two nights, I spent hours staring at the wall, letting my mind wander. I try over and over to send any strength I have to Caelan, but that stupid wall is always there.

Sometimes, half the night passes while I mentally wrap myself in our Bond. I blink, and the moon is high in the sky, and I have no memory of anything.

I’m losing time. Passing out while awake.

Earlier this morning, I pulled strands of my hair out while I was braiding it back. I looked down to see clumps of silver hair wrapped around my fingers. A terrifying weight in my hand that shouldn’t be there. I can feel myself deteriorating, and I don’t even think that if I told anyone, they would care.

Is it happening because they’re keeping me from my Mate? Or is it the lack of proper food, water, and comfort items my Omega needs to feel secure?

I simply don’t know. And I don’t have anyone to ask.

The worst part—worse than the fear, the hunger, the pain—is how desperately I miss Caelan.

My heart feels heavy without him. I know he’s here somewhere, but I don’t know where. The wall he put up also prevents me from feeling where he was.

Yet another way I’ve been ‘proven’ a liar.

Vaelenor and Silas think it is very convenient that I have a Bond that told me exactly where my Mate was the night he got hurt, but I can’t even pinpoint the direction of his room now.

I want to scream. Tell them I don’t even care about proving anything to them—I just want my Mate. I want to be with him and feel his arms around me. My body feels like it’s going through withdrawal without him.

“Your job is to go through everything in this room and categorize it. Clean it, place it in the specified piles, and write their description in this ledger.”

Cage tosses a yellow legal pad to the floor near my feet, his voice pulling me out of my spiral.

Okay, so… this is busy work.

Sighing, I crouch down to grab the paper and the pen he tossed next to it. Because he couldn’t have possibly just handed them to me.

“Is there any specific place I should start?”

“Why don’t you use your fucking brain, Omega. Start with the things that look heaviest, so you don’t have to move ‘em again later.”

That’s the least efficient way to do this.

“That… is certainly one way to start. I think one of our staff at home once said it’s easiest to clear a space before piling things into it, maybe….”

Cage rounds on me, backing me into a stack of wood crates. He wraps a fist in my shirt and yanks me into his snarling face. I hold my breath, so I don’t get a hit of his pheromones. I want to grab onto his arms to keep myself from falling into him, but I also don’t want to touch him.

My arms fly out to steady myself, but he pulls me up higher, until my toes barely touch the floor.

“You think you’re fucking smart, don’t you?” he snarls.

I don’t answer. This is one of those times where it’s better to keep my mouth shut and hope it’s over quickly.

I hate that I’ve let myself be turned into a girl who doesn’t fight back.

“If you think you know how to do it better, then shut up and get started. Clear a space, don’t clear a space, I don’t give a shit. Just get it done.”

When he lets go, he shoves me. My feet tangle, and I trip, flying into a stack of boxes. The corner of a crate catches me in the stomach. A sharp stab of pain starts in my abdomen, then punches up through my lungs.

I hear a crack right before I feel something give.

Then I’m on the ground, my legs refusing to hold me. My fingers dig for purchase on the smooth concrete of the floor.

The pain is all-consuming. I can barely breathe through the bright, sharp waves of it. My hand flies to my stomach, where I can already feel a bruise forming under the fabric of my shirt, one I know from experience will continue to swell before turning the color of the night sky.

A sharp whine of pain echoes around the room, which only makes the Alpha angrier.