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Suffice it to say, I’ve lost my stomach for this story, but I’m the North Star Alpha.
I don’t run from unpleasant stories. Even when I’d like to.
“I was cleared to join the ceremony and we all went out into the ballroom to take our places,” Willow continues, crossing her arms more tightly over her chest. “There, lights were low and there were pillows on the floor, candles everywhere. It was pretty, I guess, but I was too nervous to appreciate it. I had a bad feeling about the whole thing, like a part of me just knew I was going to get paired up with the last person I wanted to spend my life with.” Her lips twist in a humorless grin. “And sure enough, Pax and I were…number four, I think. Maybe five. Things got blurry right around then.”
“Were you drinking?” Hermione asks. “Or on some other controlled substance?”
Willow exhales a soft laugh. “No, I was just trying not to cry. It takes a lot more effort than I remembered. Pax used to make me cry all the time when we were younger. I got better at fighting tears as time went on, but I haven’t seen much of him since I started grad school. I was…out of practice, I guess.” She sniffs. “But I refused to cry in front of everyone. The looks Pax was shooting me from his side of the room made it clear he intended to make me cry later, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of falling apart in front of Victor and the rest of them.”
My second-in-command sighs. “Would you like a break? We can take ten, go grab a cappuccino or something from the atrium café? Take a breather before we finish up?”
“No, that’s okay.” Willow sits forward, dragging a hand through her hair before bracing her forearms on the table. “I’d rather get it all out at once, if that’s okay. Easier that way.”
Hermione nods. “Okay. But let me know if you change your mind and want to stop. And take the rest at your own pace; I’ll save any follow up questions until you’re finished.”
“Okay,” Willow says, swallowing hard. “There’s not that much to tell, actually. We did the binding chants with the rest of the couples, drank from the pack chalice, and signed our names in the record book. Then Pax took me upstairs. He still lives with his dad, so we didn’t have very far to go.”
She swallows again, with seemingly more difficulty this time. “But he has the entire fourth floor to himself, so we had…privacy. The second we stepped off the elevator, he told me to take my clothes off. When I refused, and said I wanted to talk, he grabbed the front of my dress and ripped it. Right down the middle.”
Inside my shadowy room, I grit my jaw hard enough to make my teeth grind together.
That worthless piece of shit. I’ve always hated Pax Darius—at best he’s a spoiled little sociopath, at worst a malignant narcissist with the same cruel streak as his father—but Willow’s story is adding a fresh layer of red-hot loathing.
How dare he treat a member of his pack that way?
Let alone his mate?
She’s half his size for fuck’s sake. She must have been terrified.
And then she came running to you for help and you treated her like a criminal. Good work, asshat.
I remind the inner voice that this could all be a lie, a cover story to win our trust and sympathy so she can infiltrate our pack and send intelligence back to her people, but even I’m not buying it.
The pain on Willow’s face as she finishes her story is too real.
“My bra and panties were next,” she continues in a soft, haunted voice. “I tried to fight him, to run away, but he forced me down on the floor.” She gulps in air. “At first, he was too drunk to get hard and I thought it might be okay, but then he…did.”
She lets out a shuddery breath and my hands ball into fists, desperate to unleash punishment on her worthless excuse for a mate.
“After, he went to get a drink of water,” she continues. “And I ran up behind him and hit him over the head with the entryway statue. I hit him hard, but I was still expecting more of a fight.” She shakes her head. “But he just…fell to the ground and stayed there. For a second I thought I’d killed him, but he still had a pulse. A strong one. A part of me wanted to finish what I’d started but…” She winces. “I couldn’t. Not even him. I knew if I killed him, then I’d be like him and I never want to have anything in common with that man. So, I tied him up, stashed him in his closet, and got out of there. Luckily, his ex-girlfriend had left some clothes at his place, so I had something to wear.”
She turns her hands over on the table, palms up. “And then I ran and jumped into the portal and you know everything from there.”
“I’m so sorry that happened to you, Willow,” Hermione says, the compassion in her voice reminding me why she’s the best second I could ask for.
She’s good at being human; I’m good at being wolf.
Together, we serve all the needs of our people.
Still, I know I can’t play the wolf card in this situation. My own human side demands I make amends, even if it’s only in some small way. Amends are different than apologies; amends can actually make a difference in someone’s life.
“Thank you,” Willow finally whispers, her shoulders hunched. “I’m sorry you have to deal with me. I just…truly didn’t know where else to go. All the packs in The Parallel are loyal to Victor. Even the kindest of them would have turned me over to him to protect their own. You guys are the only ones with the strength to stand up to the bullies.”
“Don’t apologize,” Hermione says, reaching across the table to take Willow’s hand. “I get it. You didn’t have a lot of options, and wolves should be able to count on each other when times get hard.”
I frown and lean forward in my chair, wondering if Hermione’s forgotten that I’m back here. Surely, she wouldn’t dare preach to me about being an Alpha “wolves can count on” after what happened with my father?
But sure enough, she adds, “I’ll talk to Maxim for you. See if he can’t be swayed. I, for one, believe we can protect our pack, while also showing mercy to strangers in need.” She stands, shooting a pointed look toward the glass—and me—before motioning to the door. “Come on, let’s go get a cappuccino. My treat.”
