Chapter 5

At exactly 4 p.m, I stand in front of the pack house, ready to be evaluated. Yesterday, passed by in a swirl of commotion, there's too much to do and improve. Now that I'm free, I can finally allow myself to think of other aspects of my life that were lacking. 

We discussed long and hard about my education and settled for a private tutor. It would be too humiliating to ingress in a public school when I don't know the basics. Adrian and Natalie taught me all they knew, but there's only so much you can do without the proper resources. 

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear as I wait for my opponent to arrive. My mother put her best efforts into my haircut, trying to make it more presentable; from the result, I'd never say this was her first try. Her gaze was on my tattoo the whole time, and even though she wanted to know more about it, she didn't ask. 

Devin strolls nonchalantly into the clearing dressed in loose grey pants, and a tight white shirt. I hope he feels more comfortable than I do. My mother spent the majority of the afternoon rooming the stores to fill my wardrobe. Even though the black workout leggings were a perfect fit, it was still a strange material, I wasn't used to this. A fluorescent shirt completed the outfit. I felt strong, I was ready.

Alpha Henry hastened to remove my parents from the scene, probably fearing that they would interfere with the test. 

"I promise I'll go easy on you," he smirks.

I can't wait to wipe that smug expression off his face. 

I snort. "So you can have an excuse when you lose?" 

His smile widens as he steps closer. He towers over me by at least three inches, but his height is hardly intimidating. I've been fighting for years. I learned long ago how to use my characteristics to my advantage. 

"I'll test you in hand-to-hand combat, weapons, and physical endurance." He points to the porch where a man stands overlooking us. "Henry will be watching to validate the results." 

I nod. I hadn't thought of that, but I'm grateful. If it was just Devin, they could argue that he was biased in some way, another witness will lower their suspicions. 

"Ready?" His voice is gentle. I examine him for a moment, investigating potential weaknesses.

"Whenever you are," I reply fiercely. 

He grins. "Punch me."

I frown, he cannot be serious. What are we, amateurs? He doesn't move a single inch, doesn't even get into a defensive stance. Well, that's new, most people cower in fear when I approach them. My insides boil as I take offense of his actions. I'm a girl, but I'm not weak, I'm a storm to be feared. 

If this is how he wants to play, then so be it. I spread my legs, letting the left take the lead as I lift my left fist, and aim it at his throat. His hand rushes to block me, but in the second that he takes to defend himself,  my right fist collides with his stomach. 

"Don't worry," I say in his ear. "I'll go easy on you." 

He groans as I step back. His eyes pierce me with intensity as he rushes towards me. He tries to punch me, but I sidestep him with ease and elbow him on his right side. His attempts are feeble in the least, he's not even trying. I grit my teeth. 

"Are you done playing?" Adrian taught me that the best way to unravel a man was to crush his ego. I use that now as I goad him into a fair fight, I deserve nothing else. 

A fire brews in his eyes. "Let's fight," he says in a gruff tone.

Adrenaline courses quickly through my veins, preparing me for the inevitable combat. I relish in its power as it floods me. 

Devin shortens the distance between us in two powerful strides. I shiver in pure anticipation. He tries to punch me, but I raise my forearm and block him. It quickly becomes a dance, a mass of limbs just twirling and twisting with ferocity. 

He's powerful and unrelenting. If I want to win, my only chance is to turn his strengths against him. When his fist sails towards me, I use his momentum and grab his arm, pulling him towards me as my legs sweep him off his feet. I sidestep him as he falls to the cold ground, reeling from the hit he managed to land on my side. 

Before I can restrain him, though, he's on his feet. Again and again, we clash, each blow more forceful than the previous one. I break on sweat as I switch from defense to offense over and over. I've never had an equal opponent, that could match the fatality of my strikes. 

I feel alive as I heave sharp breaths. He manages to trip me, and I lose my balance. With surprising speed, he circles my neck with his arm, not tight enough to hurt, but enough to pass the message. My heart beats frantically inside my chest. 

"Enough of a fight for you?" He whispers in my ear. I notice with satisfaction that his breathing is just as affected as mine. His mistake is believing that this is the end.  

My elbow connects brutally against his abdomen, and his hold slackens. I don't give him time to recover as I stalk him sending blow, after blow, forcing him to step back. I crouch to avoid a punch and eye my opportunity. As I stand up, I kick the back of his knees, and his legs give out. My foot connects with his back, and he sprawls on the floor. 

He moves to stand up, but I quickly climb on top of him. My hands restrain his shoulders, preventing any movement.

He grunts beneath me. "I can do this all day," I say, answering his question. 

A whistle comes from the porch. Henry signals that the fight is over, and I get up, allowing Devin to do the same. Behind Henry, I see two figures beaming at me. I should have known my parents wouldn't miss this. 

Devin assesses me with glazed eyes. He wasn't expecting that at all. 

I can't help the smile that threatens to split my face in two. "Surprised?"

He grins devilishly. "You'll pay for that." His words hold a promise.

I grin back. "Do your worst."

The gratification that I feel surpasses the victory of the battle. I showed how deadly I can be, I earned his respect through my hard work. Most of all, I managed to demonstrate that my gender isn't a weakness, just another characteristic.

The rest of the tests go smoothly. I have to throw knives at a target, fire a gun at tin cans, and run. Devin supervised every last one of them and, even though he wouldn't admit it, I can tell by his expression that he's impressed. 

His imaginative taunts only made me push harder, give more of myself. He doesn't let me see the sheet he'd been scribbling on, and I wonder if I'll ever know the results. 

When he runs out of ways to evaluate me, he stares at me. His eyes bore into mine with a glint that I can't understand. 

"This will certainly shut up the Council," he says in almost awe. He appears dazed, he wasn't expecting anything near my performance. 

I'd almost forgotten why we were doing this, too enthralled by the thrill of fighting. In battle, I know who I am. Everything is so confusing and difficult in the outside world, expect the fights; they're familiar, welcome, a relief from the burning weight of the memories.

Someone clears their throat, and I remember that we're not alone. I whirl on my feet to face Henry. Behind him, stands a petite woman.

He frowns at me. "It will do. If you're ready, nurse Bethany will examine you now."

I curse silently for my distraction. I didn't see her coming, too preoccupied with the tasks to pay attention to my surroundings. I'm being too careless. The hybrids could be lurking in the woods, just waiting for the perfect chance to strike. I shouldn't let down my guard.

I walk hesitantly. I'd rather do the physicals all over again than to suffer through this. I don't want anyone to be looking at my body or the scars that color my back. My eyes are downcast as I march to what I can only describe as my doom. I don't feel the least comfortable. 

My parents follow me dutifully as we step deeper inside the house. Thankfully, Devin and Henry stayed behind; I couldn't bear another set of eyes on me.

We climb the wooden staircase as the steps creak beneath our feet. At the top, several doors await us. She picks one at random and holds it open for me to enter. I pause. 

I become acutely aware of the people standing behind me. I need to have a long conversation about my time in the compound and the punishments I received, but I don't want them to find out here in front of a stranger. They deserve more than that. 

I turn around. For a second, my eyes are drawn to their holding hands. After so long, they still care for each other, a consequence of being mates, I suppose. Wolves mate for life, the person our wolf chooses is our one and only, there is no second option.

I was told that the pull mates feel towards each other is almost impossible to resist, but it's also a treacherous thing. The pull starts even before the wolves mature, and can be felt with all compatible people. The only way to find out the right one is to wait that the wolf ages. I heard stories of people mating with the wrong person because of this unexplainable attraction. It never ended well.

"I'm sorry," I say softly. "Can you wait here?"

They startle. I witness as sadness appears and dominates their features. I want to reach out and assure them that I'll explain soon, but I can't promise that. I can't stay and watch the disappointment that is sure to follow so, I give what I hope is a comforting smile and enter the bedroom.

"Hello, I'm Bethany. Please, sit down." This slender woman stares at me with warmth. Her blond hair is tied in a neat ponytail, highlighting her chubby cheeks. An aura of security seems to radiate from her, and some of the tension seeps right out of me.

She opens a blue gym bag that I hadn't noticed before and prepares the small room. The space is just big enough to contain a bed with an old mattress and a wardrobe. 

The process is slow and nerve-wracking. The sequence seems to progress slowly to what will inevitably stop on my past. She checks my weight, my blood pressure, and asks some general questions about my health. 

She grabs a stethoscope, and my system explodes. "Lift your shirt, please."

She stands in front of me, patiently waiting for me to comply. I close my eyes as I grab the hem of the t-shirt and pull it up until it rests above my sports bra. 

I expect the inflow of questions or the familiar gasp of horror. Fortunately, she does neither. The end of the stethoscope is cool against my skin, a perfect contrast against the boiling blood on my veins. 

She finishes auscultating me, and though the stethoscope lowers, my shirt does not. 

"Some of these look recent. When did it happen?" I appreciate the way she side-steps the words, how she's careful to avoid saying anything that might hurt me in any way.  

My mouth goes dry. "Two weeks ago." I try to conceal how my body shakes, but fail miserably. 

She doesn't reply for a few moments, and the silence only elevates my stress. "Can you take your shirt off? I want to see how they're healing."

My hands tremble as I hesitantly take the article off me. Memories of that day assault me: the fear, the agonizing pain, how I pleaded for my life, and Adrian. As soon as his skinny, smiley face appears behind my eyelids, I reject the thought. The last thing I want is to remember him like that. 

"The good news is most of them are healing well. How is the pain?"

There's no judgment in her voice, only concern. "It's just sore. One more week, and I'm sure it will go away."

The whip has kissed my skin more times than I can count. I learned what to expect and how to treat the wounds with what little I had.

"Some of these should have been stitched." Her hand touches my back, and I flinch. This is the most vulnerable part of me, and having a stranger touch them feels wrong. 

She doesn't comment, but instead, retreats. 

"We can try to diminish the scaring with a few ointments if you'd like."

I nod, grateful that she doesn't push further than I can handle. 

"Are there more?" Her soft voice almost distracts me from the uncomfortable questions.

I shift on the bed in front of her and wait as her eyes drift to my upper abdomen. A scar of a gash cruises half of my gut, the permanent reminder of the blade. It was an accident two or three years ago. The hunter was fighting with blades and, in a moment of insanity, I lost focus. 

"Was it poisoned?" Her mellow eyes hold mine. 

"Yes." 

She nods, examining it more carefully. Her stance changes, her back stiffens, and maybe I wouldn't notice these details if we weren't so close. She wants to say something, but she's not comfortable with it.

"The abuse, was it just physical?" 

The implication in her question isn't lost on me, and I'm quick to assure her that despite mistreating me, they never did more than beat me. And that was a relief. It was one of the first things Natalie asked me when we were alone. Fortunately, they never laid a hand on any prisoner.

She inquires me further for a few moments longer before declaring me fit to go. Bethany indicates some products to help with the scarring. I'm already grabbing the doorknob when her delicate voice stops me.  

A smile stretches her lips. "Whenever you're ready, talk about it. Holding these secrets for too long will only hurt you."

I descend the unsteady steps. My parents are in deep conversation with the Alphas, which ceases as soon as I appear. 

They quickly bid their goodbyes as Devin's eyes catch mine. I see a flicker of emotion in them, but it's gone before I can decode it. 

My mind swims in an ocean of infinite thoughts. It seems I barely have any time to breathe. It's exhausting.

I cower into a corner in my brain and refuse to leave for the rest of the day. Silence haunts my house, filling every space with doubt. 

It's only after dinner that my mother dares to speak. "I can't imagine what you went through." A shiver ripples through her. My father dutifully rests a hand on her shoulder, lending her the support she needs.

When she looks at me, her eyes are determined, but I can see how hard uttering these words is for her. 

"We're here for you," she continues. "We won't leave. You don't have to protect us from the truth."

I wonder how she discovered that my silence was more for their benefit than mine. Perhaps, she can recognize the pain in my eyes, or how desperately I want to scream. I'm terrified.

My father squeezes her shoulder. "We won't rush or force you, just remember that we'll be here if you need anything."

I'm speechless. I stand up slowly, reeling from their words. I debate on my next course of action as my heart speeds to a frantic rhythm. My hands are damp with nervous sweat. I whirl on my feet before I change my mind. 

"Actually," my tone is unsure and wavering. "I need your help with something." 

My mother quickly rushes to her feet to follow me. We climb the stairs quietly. I couldn't talk even if I wanted to. I sit on my bed and grab the small bowel of ointment we picked up on our way home. I pat the seat next to me for her to sit down. 

I stare at the floor. I don't say anything as I divest myself of my shirt. I turn my back on her. No sounds leave her mouth, and I'm scared to observe her reaction. But she deserves to know and right now this is all that I offer her. 

Her shaky hands trace the scars with reverence. I refrain from flinching underneath her touch. I hate how exposed and vulnerable I feel. I start to doubt if this was such a good idea.

She starts applying the pasty ointment with care, almost afraid to inflict me any pain.

I find myself breaking the stillness. "It doesn't hurt." I don't know who I'm trying to reassure her or me. 

"There's so many," she gasps. 

"It's over. It doesn't hurt anymore." I repeat the words, willing them to be true even as my soul shatters within. How will I ever tell them the many ways the hybrids destroyed me? How can I even begin to heal?

I sigh in relief when it's over. My mother's eyes shine with unshed tears. She doesn't say anything just sends a tight smile. She kisses my forehead and leaves. 

I curse my heightened hearing abilities when her sobs reach me from downstairs. I feel my own eyes water for different reasons. I remember the torture, the agony, and the screams. The memories overload me until I feel myself drowning. 

I grab the necklace, hoping that it will give me strength that I don't have. The hybrids plague me, and they won't stop. They will never give up. I'm not safe, and I doubt I'll ever be. It takes me hours to be able to close my eyelids. There's a war coming, and I'm the center of it.