Ava
“So, this is the special recovery unit. There are fifteen wolves here at the moment. Their injuries range from mild in
B-wing,” Mary points to a door we pass on the right, “and more severe in A-wing. We offer physical and mental
rehabilitation services, and once they feel strong enough, they integrate into a pack. Anyone they choose, even this
one.”
We are currently walking down a long passage in a building on the other side of the pack house.
After kissing Braiden last night, as chaste as it was, I bolted out of sheer embarrassment. I couldn’t believe I had
been so bold. But after I saw the room he pr epared for me, all the effort he went to, it just happened. I didn’t know
how to thank him and did the next best thing.
Even though the kiss was tame, I could still feel his lips against mine.
Every time our skin touches, I feel like I am being burnt. Branded. Invaded by Braiden. And it’s scaring me. He is
getting under my skin.
After a restless night’s sle ep, thanks to him infiltrating my dreams, I finally mustered the courage to face him.
When I went downstairs and found Mary waiting for me in the kitchen, I didn’t feel relieved at the prospect of
avoiding him; instead, I felt the opposite. I wanted to see him and wondered where he was.
“Here. This is the expression room. A space where trauma can be worked through using art. Some find drawing and
painting what they have endured
a release.” Mary pushes open a large door as she talks, holding it open for me to pass through.
Apparently, Braiden had assigned her to show me around. Specifically this section of the pack. She seemed okay
with me, so perhaps the news about what happened last night with Braiden’s parents hasn’t made the rounds. Or
maybe it has, and she is just being nice to me. Forced for fear of being ousted.
“Ava, I want you to meet John. He runs this section. He studied fine art at Harvard, so he knows a thing or two
about drawing,” Mary says proudly as we approach a good-looking guy in his thirties.
“John, this is Ava,” Mary introduces us.
John's light blue eyes, blond hair, and big smile remind me of the last time I went to the beach when Nick and I
were drooling over the lifeguards.
John looked like he belonged at the beach, not in an art studio.
“Welcome. I heard from My King that you are a very talented artist. We would love to have you join us.” John’s
words surprise me and make me blush.
“The King has exaggerated my talent. May I?” I ask, pointing to the paintings adorning one wall.
“Of course,” John says, dipping his head and swe eping his hand as if beckoning me in.
It is a collage of different works. Some drawn. Some painted. Some both.
Some d epict torture scenes, while others d epict dark figures or abstract feelings of fear and dejection—what one
would imagine that to look like. In between, there are small origami flowers, some painted in one color, others
painted in every color.
Towards the end of the wall, a small hand-drawn symbol catches my attention. The triangle with three dots around
it and a swirl in the middle feels familiar.
“Adam drew that,” John says as my finger reaches out to trace the symbol.
“It was a mark he remembers from the place he was held. A facility in an unknown location that apparently homes
over two thousand captive werewolves. They are experimenting on them. Just like they did on Adam and most of
the wolves that pass through this wing. It’s d eplorable. My King is working tirelessly with the government to track
this location down,
but until now, there has been no solid lead.” John’s voice is soft, but there is anger and disgust underneath.
I felt the same. Not being part of this world for so long meant I wasn’t aware this was happening. I thought my
instance of having silver implanted under my skin was unique. But now I fear I am just one of many. Being abused
because people don’t understand us or fear us. Probably both.
“I need to go check on the little ones. Will you be okay here?” Mary asks with a smile.
“She will be fine. Go. I will ke ep an eye on her.” John waggles his brows and then winks at Mary before she leaves.
“Here, this spot is empty. And this is a safe space. Go mad. Use any medium you like. Paint. Pencil. We even have
clay over there if that takes your fancy. This space is about creating, so just be free.” John leads me over to a
section with a skylight overhead, the mid-morning light perfect.
Hours go by, and during that time, a quiet girl named Sally arrives, taking up the space next to me, and a young
man named Pierce who sits at a clay spinning wheel on the other side of the room.
By the time the afternoon has rolled by, I feel like I have known John, Pierce, and Sally my whole life. Strange,
considering I have known others, even my adopted parents, for years but have felt less camaraderie than in this
room. No one shares their sordid past, and I couldn’t even if I wanted to, but each can sense one lies in the d epths
of the other, even with John.
It is close to afternoon, and John is standing next to me, leaning over my shoulder while he animatedly explains a
different technique I can use to get a more natural-looking shading using a different pencil.
For a while, thoughts of Braiden are pushed to the back of my mind.
Until they aren’t.
I scent him before I hear him, his presence almost instantly overpowering the room. The unease I didn’t realize was
swimming in my belly releases, and instead, a flutter forms. The low, warning growl has three heads turning to
look at him while I continue drawing. I don’t want him to know his impact on me, which he will see if I look at him
as the blush heats my cheeks.
“My King, is everything okay?” John asks, dipping his head in submission and slightly baring his neck.
Geezus, at this rate, everyone would know I was the King's mate. If they didn’t already.
Braiden's scent still lingered on me. This mate bond made it so intense that it took ages to fade. His scent from
where our lips had touched had been tormenting me all day, ke eping me on edge. Reminding me of how it got
there. Even now, the memory of our virginal kiss floats through my mind, making it more embarrassing. I was
inexperienced when it came to physical intimacy. I had no game. I wasn’t sexy. I was just awkward.
“John, I need the room for a moment. I need to speak with Ava.
Privately.” Braiden's voice is low and angry.
“Of course, My King. Come, everyone. Let's go for a walk outside.” John rushes everyone out of the room before
Braiden enters and closes the door behind him.
I continue drawing, knowing why he is angry. It’s irrational.
Braiden approaches me slowly, his gaze trailing my side profile. My heart rate gives my calm exterior away as it
beats frantically in my chest, and I gulp, trying to get in some much-needed air.
Braiden stands behind me and leans forward like John had just moments before. But, whereas John k ept a
respectful distance, Braiden leans closer, his mouth inches from my ear.
“Why is another man invading my space?” His breath as he speaks tickles my ear, and goosebumps erupt all over
my skin, even on the side of my face.
“Your space?” I ask, hoping my question comes out cocky. Epic fail. It comes out breathy instead. Dammit.
“My space, Ava. You are mine. Which means this space,” his finger trails down my arm slowly, causing an ache to
form in my core, “is mine.”
His head dips into my neck, and of its own volition, mine arches to the other side, a small chuckle falling from his
lips as he breathes in de eply— traitorous body.
“Even your body knows this to be true, Ava. It's just your mind that needs to catch up. Now,” he says, pulling away
abruptly as I pull in a de ep breath, the fact that I was holding it only registering afterward. Dam, I was screwed. He
was stealing my breath, and I wasn’t even aware—oxygen thief.
“We need to get ready. We are attending an event tonight, and you are my date.”
My stomach drops, and I finally turn in my seat, meeting his gaze as apprehension overrides the desire coursing
through my veins.
“What event?” Oh god, what if it's some pack event? I don’t know if I can do that so soon after what happened with
his parents.
His following words, however, make that adage of being careful what you wish for more true than ever. And
suddenly, I wish it was a pack event instead.
“It’s nothing much. Just a gala event being held at The Madison Hotel.”
Oh god, save me.