Page 22 of Malcolm

“The sickness from losing your mate is inevitable One of your fathers greatest fears was that he’d just drop dead after your mother left, and apparently, it came sooner than he thought it would; when I came back to fill in for him, I looked into your mother, and as I suspected, she’d died the same day.”

Malcolm breathed harshly through his nose as he narrowed his eyes on his lap. A part of him should feel sad; he should wish that his father had lived, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt, at how little he felt at his father’s passing. The resentment and hate he’d always had against his father had been fostered by more than just his betrayal all those years ago.

First, his mother had packed her bags and walked out, leaving him and his sister in his father’s hands. To this day, he couldn’t truly ever understand what made her leave; despite the bite mark on her neck, his mother had turned her back on her heritage and her husband. His father had turned to drinking and playing ass kisser to the other elders.

Going so far as to drug his own son so that he couldn’t participate in thea-sgeithefestival, where he’d fight for the right to lead the wolves in their territory. He could still feel the prickle unease in his soul when he recalled waking later than the others to find he’d not only missed the challenge but that the Alpha had been chosen. It was the single man who’d made it clear he’d make his life miserable if he ever became their people leader.

His sister.

He squeezed his eyes closed. “Where is he buried?”

“He was buried next to your Mother; her body was brought here,” Robert answered easily. “It’s a shame, really. I used to think your father would be different from our own father, but it looks like family curses are hard to break.”

“But you did,” Malcolm said, looking out of the window at the passing scenery.

Eliza

She felt weird listening in on Malcolm’s conversation with hisuncle. So, she focused on watching the passing scenery, and soon, she could barely hear what they said. She found herself falling into its beauty.

When she’d first awoken, she had been disoriented and could barely remember her own name, but as more and more time passed, she could remember more of her past experiences. The disturbing sensation of her hand hitting something fleshy and the sound of cheers around her.

She closed her eyes, mentally seeing the flashing lights. She shivered, remembering the times she’d felt her soul slipping through her fingers as she wrestled with keeping it tight to her chest.

The voice in her head often sounded like someone else, but sometimes, she just thought she was crazy. What if she was just insane, and when the curtain dropped, she’d be curled up in the corner of a cell, watching people being dragged to their doom?

She pressed her hand to her chest and felt the warm buzz of her heart. The Magic that rolled through her always felt like an eager child, shy at first but eventually becoming eager to escape its confines.

She pressed a hand to her cheek; her skin felt warm. The body stitched together like a ragtag doll was still warm. She could only be grateful she still had her face, and they hadn’t swapped her head out for being inadequate.

She exhaled and forced her eyes open in time to see the high gates of the compound. Something about the white picket fence made her nervousness settle. She had some time to breathe and readjust, and then she’d start her plan on gaining revenge for those who couldn’t fight now and had been silenced by death.

The urge to act now hit her hard, but the reality of her current situation was that she should take her time and recover bit by bit, even if she was no longer really herself. She looked at her hand, which was brown before it flickered and turned pale.

To be torn apart and put back together like a doll for a man’s pleasure. There was something poetic in his destruction of her. A very, very fucked up poeticism.

She would never forget the look in his eyes as he walked around her poking and prodding, his expression so pleased as he smiled at her before he frowned and said. “I wonder how much Magic energy it would take to improve her IQ?”

She’d felt a visceral fear that he’d carve out her brain, along with what was left of her identity. She flexed her palm; this was her hand, and yet not.

The familiar sense of panic hit her, the feeling of being a stranger in her skin. Her throat tightened, causing her to have a shortness of breath.

Who was she?

The hand before her, in her mind’s eye, briefly altered to a clawed weapon, blood slid down her arm to the pool of it at her feet as she stared numbly at another specimen who’d been altered and yet still couldn’t defeat her. Her ears were filled with the choking sounds of her enemy as they attempted to breathe through the tear in their throat.

“Eliza?”

She abruptly dropped her hand and looked up, meeting troubled green eyes. She hadn’t realized how much she’d come to rely on them and the person who owned them. How he looked at her was far more intense than anyone had ever done before, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable; it made her feel like he sincerely saw her.

“Yes?” She shifted in the seat; the part of her who’d always feared being truly seen felt a weary comfort from it.

He turned a bit to face her more and reached a handout toward her, placing it on her knee. “Are you okay?”

She glanced down at where his hand landed on her knee and felt the heat radiating off him. His hand was broad andstrong with fingers that were long and well-proportioned with pronounced knuckles. She looked at him and offered him a small smile. Malcolm's gentle touch reminded her that he was not only a Jackal but that he’d taken a risk bringing her with him.

“Yes, just got lost in thought.” She leaned forward, looking ahead. “Is that the place?”

He nodded, turning to face forward and removing his hand from her knee. She wanted to sigh in relief, her heart in her throat. The way she came alive when he touched her, she couldn’t get used to it. She needed to focus.

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