CHAPTER 5
1665 Words
LAINEY
The first thing I notice is the sound, a steady rhythmic beeping that drills straight into my skull like someone is tapping on the inside of my brain with a tiny hammer, and it takes several sluggish seconds for me to realize it is not inside my head at all but coming from somewhere beside me.
My eyelids feel glued shut, heavy and resistant, and when I finally manage to force them open, the light makes everything blur and swim until shapes slowly begin to sharpen.
White ceiling. White walls. The faint smell of antiseptic mixed with something metallic.
Hospital.
The word forms slowly, like my thoughts are dragging themselves through thick mud instead of moving freely.
I turn my head a fraction, and the movement sends a dull ache rolling through my skull, not sharp enough to make me cry out but deep enough that I hiss softly through my teeth as my vision steadies.
Mom is sitting in the chair beside my bed, her hair pulled into a messy knot at the back of her head and dark circles shadowing her eyes, and she looks smaller somehow, as if exhaustion has folded her inward and hollowed her out.
When she notices my eyes are open, she freezes for half a second before she is on her feet, and her hands hover over me like she is afraid to touch me too hard and shatter something fragile.
“Lainey,” she breathes, and her voice cracks around my name.
My throat feels dry and thick, and even swallowing takes effort.
“How long,” I croak, because forming a full sentence feels like climbing uphill.
Tears spill down her cheeks instantly, and she does not even try to hide them.
“Three days,” she says, and her voice wobbles even though she is clearly fighting to hold it steady, “you’ve been here for three days.”
My stomach drops hard enough that nausea curls low in my abdomen.
“What,” I whisper, because the idea feels impossible.
“There was severe swelling on your brain,” she continues, and each word seems heavier than the last, “and you were in a coma, sweetheart. The doctor missed it at first when you were brought into emergency.”
The beeping feels louder suddenly, like it is measuring the space between us.
“You could have died,” she says, and then her composure finally fractures as she presses her hand over her mouth to muffle a sob, “I thought I was going to lose you too.”
The word too hits like a physical blow.
Dad.
I reach for her hand automatically, and she grabs onto mine like she needs the contact just as badly as I do, and we sit there clinging to each other while her tears drip onto the blanket and my eyes burn with exhaustion and a flicker of panic that refuses to fully settle.
I am alive.
Barely, apparently.
When Mom finally calms enough to breathe evenly, I shift my gaze past her toward the narrow window that looks out into the hallway, and the sight there makes something cold slide down my spine.
Declan is standing outside the room, rigid and unmoving, his arms crossed and his eyes scanning every person who walks past as if he is cataloguing threats.
He looks like a guard.
No, he looks like my guard.
“I’m in a private room,” I say quietly, because I am only just noticing how large the space is and how there is no second bed and no thin curtain dividing me from a stranger.
Mom nods slowly.
“The Alpha arranged it,” she says.
I let out a weak scoff.
Of course he did.
Mom hesitates, then adds carefully, “I don’t think he’s like his father, Lainey. Not really.”
I turn my head toward her slowly despite the ache.
“If that’s true,” I say, and my voice comes out rougher than I intend, “then why does he keep raising the bills on us and no one else, and why does he keep bleeding us dry.”
She does not have an answer, and the silence between us says more than words could.
“He’s an asshole,” I mutter, because it feels accurate and because I am too tired to soften it.
Memories slide back into place, jagged and unwelcome.
His office. His scent. The bond snapping into place like a trap.
The way he told me I would come when called, and the way he refused to reject me while still making it clear that I would never stand beside him.
I clench my jaw.
I remember everything from the day he essentially rejected me without using the word, and I do not care about him or his explanations or whatever political game he thinks he is playing.
The door opens quietly.
Mom stiffens instantly.
Ezra steps into the room with controlled confidence, and Declan remains exactly where he was in the hallway, visible through the window and watching.
Ezra’s gaze sweeps over the monitors, the IV line, the bruises still staining my skin, and something tightens in his expression before he smooths it away.
“You need rest,” he says to my mother, not unkindly but not inviting argument either, “and you need to get back to work. I’ll give you a break on the bills this month since you’ve been here instead of earning.”
Mom’s eyes widen.
“That’s not necessary,” she says automatically, because pride has always been stitched into her bones.
“It’s done,” he replies evenly.
She looks between us, torn in a way that is painfully obvious, because every instinct in her is screaming not to leave me alone with him.
“I’ll be alright,” I tell her quietly, even though I am not entirely sure that is true, because I cannot let her lose her job over me.
She hesitates, then leans down and presses a gentle kiss to my forehead.
“I’ll come back after my shift,” she whispers.
Then she leaves.
The door clicks shut, and the room feels smaller instantly.
Ezra pulls a chair closer and sits beside my bed, and I hate that my body reacts to his proximity even now, because the bond hums faintly under my skin like it has been waiting.
I refuse to look at him.
“The ones who did this to you are in the dungeon,” he says.
I turn my head sharply despite the ache.
“Why,” I ask.
He frowns slightly.
“Because they attacked you.”
“That’s not what I mean,” I snap, irritation flaring despite my weakness, “why would you do that, because isn’t that just giving it away, letting people know we have some kind of connection if you suddenly start punishing wolves for treating me like crap.”
His jaw tightens.
“How long has this been happening,” he asks instead.
I snort softly.
“Take a guess.”
He studies my face for a moment before he says quietly, “Since your father died.”
“Yeah,” I reply, and my voice turns cold, “since we lost everything, including our status.”
“I didn’t know,” he says.
I let out a short, bitter laugh.
“Of course you didn’t know,” I snap, anger surging through me even as my head throbs, “since my dad died protecting your dad, no one has given a s**t about me or my mother, so why would you be any different.”
“Watch your attitude,” he says, and his voice drops into that Alpha tone that is meant to make people flinch.
I do not flinch.
“What the f**k do you want,” I demand, because I am too tired to pretend anymore, “why are you even here, because you made the rules clear, we don’t tell anyone, we live separate lives, I come when called, and now you’re the one breaking them.”
“I came to check on you,” he says.
I roll my eyes weakly.
“Declan will stay outside your room at all times,” he continues, “and there is nothing you can do about that.”
“Great,” I mutter, “a babysitter.”
He ignores that and leans forward slightly, not looming and not aggressive but close enough that I can see the tension lining his face and close enough that his scent wraps around me again, warm and heavy and infuriating.
His eyes lock onto mine.
“How long have you been f*****g Carter.”
For a second, I genuinely think I misheard him, because the words do not fit in this room with its machines and bruises and IV lines.
Then they sink in.
Rage explodes in my chest so fast it makes my vision swim.
“What,” I snap.
“Answer me,” he says, and there is steel beneath the calm.
“None of your f*****g business,” I shoot back, and my hands curl weakly into fists against the blanket.
His eyes darken.
“You’re mine,” he says quietly.
I laugh, sharper this time despite the pain.
“You don’t get to claim me and hide me at the same time,” I tell him, “and you don’t get to keep me as some secret omega you summon when it suits you and then act jealous when another guy treats me like a human being.”
Silence crashes between us, thick and electric.
My heart is pounding too fast, my head is throbbing, and exhaustion drags at every muscle, but I hold his gaze anyway.
Because I might be hurt, and I might be trapped in a bond I did not choose, but I am not his property.
And I am not done fighting.
- Writer
