As the stone walls of the room closed in on me like the lid of a tomb, that strange fire within me began to sprout once more. I had just stepped out of the shower; the ice-cold water trickling from my hair seemed to hiss and evaporate against my burning skin. Clinging to my thin silk robe, I collapsed in front of the mirror.
My tears mingled with the droplets from my wet hair, leaving tracks across my porcelain skin. I had unburdened my soul to the water, foolishly believing that good news about Chloe would flow to me as easily as the foam washing away beneath my feet.
My knees were trembling. And the worst of it was being condemned to the mercy of a man, trapped behind a monster's locked door.
The door swung open with a violent shudder. Two Omegas entered, carrying copper bowls filled with pungent, boiling herbal potions of unknown origin.
"The Alpha's command, Vespera," one of them said, her voice laced with both fear and a hidden flick of loathing. "You must apply this mixture to your skin. Only this will quench the fire inside you. The Alpha does not want your awakening to unsettle the pack any further."
"Get out!" I screamed, flinging my brush at the mirror. The glass shattered—splintering into a thousand pieces, just like my soul. "I want nothing from him! I won't touch any ointment he orders! He locked me in here like an animal, and now he's trying to 'heal' me as if he owns me? Get out! I'd rather die!"
As the Omegas recoiled, I heard the heavy, rhythmic thud of boots echoing through the corridor—steps that seemed to shake the very foundations of the castle. The Omegas instantly stepped aside, bowing their heads in submission. The shadow that appeared in the doorway swallowed every last bit of light in the room.
Varg was there.
"I'm going to die, Varg! You might as well start picking out a headstone for me on your lands! I'll die here—don't let me out until I rot, eat me alive if you want! But I will not use a single drop of your medicine!"
He looked sickeningly masculine, devastatingly feral. He looked as if he had just emerged from the heart of a siege, smelling of blood and gunpowder. His upper body was bare; the blood seeping from beneath the white bandages that crossed his chest drew fresh maps on his dark skin. His chest had been torn open while he was ripping a vampire snitch apart with his bare hands; the bandages were loose, and his wound was still smoldering. His breathing was labored, and his raw, unrefined aura filled the room like a heavy mist.
Blood leaked from the countless gashes on his chest, yet his only focus, his only fury, was directed at crushing my resistance.
"Out!" Varg said. His voice was as jagged and final as two stones grinding together.
Varg loomed over me with his wounded, massive frame. He picked up the copper bowl from the floor. The scent of fresh blood radiating from his wounds triggered my hybrid awakening, stoking the fire within me.
"I don't want it..." I sobbed. "Don't touch me. Don't you see how alone I am? How terrified? You threw me into a cell, and now you're playing healer?" I pushed his hands away. "Every wound I have belongs to you! You should have let me be a useless Omega, a burden to the pack. I could have been a simple art history student, unemployed... bagging groceries at a market. As long as my friends were alive! They should have graduated, married, had babies... They should have lived their lives, Varg. They would have lived if I weren't here."
Varg knelt before me. He was so immense that even on his knees, he was eye-level with me. He gripped my chin with his rough, calloused hand. His fingers were still stained with the snitch's blood.
"Quiet, freak," Varg said, his voice deeper than ever. "Your howling sobs won't heal my wounds. You will apply this ointment before the fire inside turns you to ash. You are like the sun; you are burning."
"I won't!" I screamed, striking the bowl. The potion spilled, but Varg gathered the last drops onto his fingers. He pulled me harshly toward him; when my wet hair hit his bloody, warm chest, my mind clouded. His hand slid beneath the collar of my robe, touching my searing shoulder. The ointment was ice-cold, but his fingers branded my skin like glowing embers.
"You're hurting me," I whispered. "Why do you hate me so much, Varg? Why imprison me like an enemy instead of claiming me?"
Varg paused. The fire in his eyes died out, replaced by a dark void. "It isn't hate, Vespera. A wolf doesn't want to know how ugly he looks under the light. And the nonsense you're babbling? I already know it."
As he finished and prepared to leave, I clung to his muscular, blood-stained arms. "Don't go... Since you left Chloe in that darkness, at least sleep with me tonight. I'm afraid of this silence, of these walls, of my own light. Just... stay."
Varg froze. He pushed me away gently—as if he were setting aside a sacred relic rather than a woman. "I," Varg said, his voice freezing the air, "do not sleep in any bed but my Luna's. An Alpha does not leave himself vulnerable beside a female he hasn't sealed his soul to."
Those words hurt more than a thousand blows. "Your Luna..." I whimpered. "What was her name, Varg? What was the name of the woman who made you this loyal, that makes you treat me like a mere relic?"
Varg didn't answer. He gripped the door handle until the metal groaned. As he stepped out and the lock clicked, I wailed behind him.
"I am not the ashtray where you stub out your cigarette, Alpha! You cannot collect your burnt-out ends in my heart. If you have set me on fire, you cannot be a casual smoker without breathing me in. You cannot crush me under your feet. My heart is not your ashtray... you cannot spill your ashes there with those blood-stained lip prints."