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Dax is an idiot, but surely he didn’t mean that the way it sounded, right? I mean… we’re all worried. Sleep-deprived.
Caelan leaps across the room, reaching Dax in three purposeful strides. He clamps a hand on his shoulder, spins him around, and clocks him in the face so hard his head snaps back with an audible crack.
Daxen stumbles, thrusting out a hand to steady himself on the back of the couch. He turns to Caelan with raw, unblinking bewilderment.
“What the fuck—”
Caelan slams into him like a feral dog finally unleashed. Fisting the fabric of Daxen’s shirt, he throws him to the ground where his head smacks against the stone floor with a painful thud.
Caelan straddles him and, with a savage snarl, wraps both hands around his neck.
“You think my Mate being broken when you took her was some kind of fucking blessing, you piece of shit?”
Caelan’s fingers flex as he squeezes, but Dax doesn't even try to fight back. Even when his grip tightens and his forearms bulge, Dax doesn’t make a move against him.
Right as I’m starting to worry he might actually crush his windpipe, Caelan releases him. He’s fighting for breath, panting and sweating and shaking from his position on top of our Packmate.
Dax lifts a hand to his neck and prods at the tender flesh. His bruises are already starting to fade, but his voice is raspy when he smirks and says, “You’ve been in a coma too long. You’re losing strength in your forearms.”
Caelan pulls back his fist and drives it forward with all the momentum of a stampeding bull, clocking Daxen right in the face.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Not once does Daxen make a move to stop him. Not even when Caelan starts wailing at him, fists flying as wildly as his words. Accusations and curses and threats fall from his lips, landing harder than the physical blows.
“You let her starve!”
Punch.
“You let her get so fucking sick her hair fell out!”
Punch.
“You failed her! She was hurt and traumatized, and all she ever wanted was to feel safe, and you stole that from her!”
Another punch.
“I promised her! When we were surrounded, and her father had a gun to her head, I told her that when my Pack got to us, we would be SAFE! I believed with my whole heart that I could trust you—”
Another.
“—And when I needed you most, you failed me!”
Another.
By now, Caelan's knuckles have split and healed four or five times, leaving smears of blood across Daxen’s cheeks and lips.
My chest feels somehow hollow and tight at once. And as my Pack implodes right before my eyes, I finally understand just how drastically our actions have affected what used to be an unbreakable Bond.
That thought shakes me out of my shock and makes me move to stop this. I lurch forward, but Riven throws his arm out and holds me back with a hand to my chest.
“Don’t interfere,” he warns. “This needs to happen. Dax has been drowning to death in his own guilt for days. Like suffering silently instead of facing what he’s done is somehow better.”
I wrinkle my nose, and his eyes flick to me and narrow. “Don’t give me that look. Your time’s coming. Don’t think you’re going to walk away from this disaster without some scars of your own, kid.”
