Word Count: 2186

~Aesira

I am in so. Much. Pain.

I walk a tight line between consciousness and unconsciousness, fading in and out. The closer to the living I get, the more pain that presses down upon me.

It's everywhere, in my leg, in my wrist, in my head. It aches, it stings. It makes me want to scream, but where I search for control over my body, I find nothing but the ability to slowly blink my eyes open.

My vision swims, colours and shapes undulating around each other, forming the outline of a room, furniture and a person in a chair facing me.

A couple more blinks and I see I'm in my room. A single strip of light passes through the partially closed curtain, telling me it's day. I'm in bed, lying prone, pinned by my injuries.

I was attacked, but I'm alive...I think.

Everin sits in the chair to the side of the bed, the picture of perfectly restrained tension. His head is bowed forward, his hair restricting my view of his face. He appears to be concentrating, not noticing me as I attempt to open my mouth to speak.

Nothing comes out. My throat feels brittle and dry.

Right, I was strangled...it's a miracle I'm alive. Who knows if I'll ever be able to speak after that male crushed my windpipe beneath his palms.

The door thrums open suddenly and Maven strolls in. Everin looks up at her, fatigue weighing his movements.

"Alpha," she greets sturdily.

"Any news?"

"One has been apprehended," she tells him gravelly. "He was a guard at the front gate."

I want so desperately to speak, to tell them what I know. My mind swims with the memory of that night, nausea gripping me, but I want to share the details. Those scum who got away need to be dealt with.

"Name?" Everin doesn't just sound angry, he sounds wrathful.

"Chase Price, sir."

Everin's ire isn't hot and unrestrained. It's quiet and cold, likes its been stewing for days. He's vengeful, calculating.

It's...surprising. I thought he would use this opportunity to do away with me once and for all.

"I want to speak to him, and then I want him executed immediately," he commands coolly. "No trial."

Maven's eyes widen. "Are you certain?"

No trial? That shocks even me. I know as Alpha, Everin has the ability to make such demands, but no trial feels especially harsh. It's not as if they successfully killed me, although by the feel of my body, they got close.

"Of course I'm fucking certain, Maven," he snaps.

She flinches, and he sighs raggedly, running a hand down his face.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't raise my voice at you."

"I understand." Her eyes drift over to the bed, somehow not noticing I'm staring right back at her through slitted lids. "How is she?"

Either I've been brought so close to death I'm seeing what isn't there, but I swear Maven looks troubled by the sight of me. I would have thought seeing me humbled so gravely would please her.

"Alive, but not well at all. Had you not caught her at that moment, Maven, she would be dead," Everin murmurs, suddenly sounding exhausted.

"I've been wondering if I did the right thing..."

"Of course you did the right thing." He looks at her, a muscle pulsing in his jaw. "Regardless of how we feel about Aesira's father, she doesn't deserve to die this way. Not when me sparring with her made her so vulnerable in the first place."

Maybe I could have gotten away if I weren't so wrung out from our sparring session, but I wouldn't have pinned blame on Everin. Those four bear the entire blame for their crimes against me.

Maven's voice is tight. "I just saw her there and I...I didn't think. I just knew I had to get her help."

I look at her, at the lines of worry gathered in her skin. Suddenly, I can't remember what I don't like about her.

"Thank you, Maven." Everin's voice has softened.

She clears her throat, wiping below her eye. The trauma of seeing someone bleeding out, severely injured must have gotten to her more than she is letting on. I doubt her emotion has anything to do with me personally.

"Does this mean you don't plan to killing her?" She asks.

Everin looks back at me, his stare heavy.

"Even if she is here to kill me, I don't want her dead. This has made me realise that very clearly," he murmurs. "But we must tread carefully. I hope you are still keeping a close eye on her."

"Of course, Everin."

Now is the time to exploit them while their defences are lowered. But I'm so tired, so weak. I can't be sure I will heal quickly.

Maven wrings her hands in front of herself. "I...I truly hope that she is okay. I don't actually want her to die."

His expression softens. "I know you don't."

I wouldn't believe her if I didn't hear her tone. This has been shaken to the core with what she has witnessed, and somehow, it is changing her opinion on me.

She gives me another look, before she turns. "I'll go get the healer."

She vanishes, leaving Everin and I alone in the room together. He settles back into his seat, the silence and his presence lulling me back into exhaustion. My body isn't healed enough for me crawl back into true consciousness.

I stumble back into unconsciousness. When I next wake, time is entirely lost on me, although it's dark.

I blink blearily, my body finally is within my control again, but with that comes pain that makes me grit my teeth. My ribs ache with every breath, and my wrist and leg notably hurt as well.

Those fuckers almost killed me.

I turn my head, seeing Everin in his seat beside the bed. His body is limp and splayed out in slumber, his head angled back so I can't see his face. How long has he been there?

I clear my throat, wincing at the horrid wheeze that follows. I can still feel the phantom weight of the males hands around my neck, squeezing the life out of me with all his strength.

"Everin," I croak.

He stirs a little, but he doesn't wake.

I look at his clothing, noting how rumpled his dark green shirt it. Next to him on a side table, is multiple half-drunk glasses of water and an uneaten plate of food.

I wet my mouth before trying again. "Everin..."

He flinches, head lurching up. He scans the room before his gaze lands on me again.

Relief floods his eyes as he swiftly stands from the chair to come to my bedside. I scan his face...holy fuck.

This great and powerful male seems dwarfed beneath the weight of his exhaustion. He's almost unrecognisable. His skin is sallow and his eyes hollow. Impossibly dark shadows crowd beneath them, making him look like he's the one who was attacked.

"Are you alright?" He searches over my entire face, as if he doesn't believe I've regained consciousness.

"I don't think so," I say feebly.

He sinks down to a crouch next to my head, his expression torn apart by emotions I'm too exhausted to understand. Shouldn't he be amused at my state? Shouldn't he be celebrating my near death experience?

"You're safe now, okay? Everyone who attempted to hurt you has been apprehended," he assures me gently, although there's an edge to his tone.

I frown, confused. "Everyone...how much time has passed?"

Vaguely, I know it's been some time since the incident. My body feels weighed down by the reality of it. Yet the passage of time seems so implausible when I've been experiencing it in broken, incoherent increments.

"Six days. You've been incredibly unwell." He looks down my body gravelly, as if he can see below the sheets.

"They almost killed me."

His mouth settles into a grim line. "I know."

They would have killed me, if someone wasn't walking upstairs and startled them. I would dead if I hadn't crawled up the stairs and if Maven hadn't found me.

"I was underneath him, and his hands were around my neck." I grimace, wanting to raise my arm to touch the tender flesh around my neck, but I don't seem to have the energy to.

He sighs gravelly, a muscle between his brows quivering. "I know."

I can paint parts of that night in vivid colour within my mind. Other parts are foggier, like looking through a window in the rain.

But there is one part I cannot forget.

"I killed one of them," I whisper.

"You did."

A brief search of my conscience finds I feel no guilt about what I did. I had no other choice, and I would have happily killed them all had I been able to.

My gaze flicks to Everin's face. He's close enough that I can see the heaviness of his eyelids as he studies me, see the toll these six days have taken on him.

"I'm in danger here, aren't I?" I always knew, but this...it's too real.

I thought my biggest danger was from Everin. I thought by now he would tire of me and have me disposed, yet I'm still here.

Not only am I still here, but he made an effort to have my healed, to have me nursed back to health. Had he wanted me dead, he wouldn't have bothered to pick me up off the floor.

"You're not in danger any longer. I assure you, Aesira, you are safe. This will not happen again." He says it so firmly, so resolutely that I want to believe him. He is a male who commands everything around him — if anyone can assure my safety, it is him.

The problem is, can I trust him?

"Am I safe from you?"

He hesitates, something akin to hurt passing over his face before he seems to remember the nature of our relationship.

"I won't hurt you, regardless of how I feel about you or your father," he says quietly, the even tone of his voice warming my skin. "When this relationship is terminated, you'll be free to live elsewhere in my pack, away from me."

My eyes widen. Did he really just assure my safety, just like that?

I move to sit up, wanting to question him on it more, but a sharp pain lances up my side, forcing me to slump back down onto the mattress.

"I feel horrible," I groan. I've already tired of this sensation — how am I supposed to survive several weeks of healing?

Everin rises, gently pressing a hand to my shoulder, as if to keep me still.

"Just rest. You're not going anywhere for a while," he murmurs.

"What's the damage?"

He swallows. Does speaking about my injuries unsettle him, or is he simply uncomfortable with the gruesome realities of an attack?

"Thankfully no internal bleeding, but you have three broken ribs and a severely sprained wrist. You had a concussion from your fall into the cellar, and a cut down your leg that has been stitched." He pauses, bowing his head. "You will heal quickly...physically, at least."

When he glances up at me, I feel the wait of what he isn't saying.

He's opening himself up to bear my emotional weight. He's opening himself up to hear about it, if I'm willing to speak about it, to watch my cry and offer support.

But in this moment, I'm too exhausted to contemplate grief and trauma. I want to focus on my anger, for what they have done. I want to taste revenge.

Instead of taking his offer, I look past him at the chair near the window, and the wrinkled blanket strewn over the arm of it.

"How many nights have you slept in that chair?" I ask curiously.

He looks at it, then back at me, before he clears his throat.

"Let me call for the healer. I'm sure you're thirsty, and it may be time to change your dressing." He turns before swiftly walking toward the door.

"Everin, wait."

He pauses, the muscles in his shoulders bunching before he slowly turns back to face me.

"Thank you for not letting me die," I whisper earnestly, because I don't know what else to say.

His face softens, tension melting from his limbs.

"Rest. Please. Don't rush getting out of bed. This healing process will take time."

I dip my head. "I know."

He rests a hand on the doorframe, looking at me for a long moment. I let him, getting the sense that he wants to say more to me, but ultimately, he decides otherwise.

"I'll get the healer," he says, and suddenly, he's gone.

💜••💜

If you want to read more, you can read 10-15 chapters ahead on Inkitt and 5 chapters ahead on Radish! Search my profile and find the work under stories!

Thank you all for supporting me! (:

~Midika 💜🐈‍⬛