Page 31 of Ruined Wolfsbane

I turn to look at him, noticing him rubbing his shin and avoiding eye contact with me. Rory’s facing him, so I can’t see her expression either. “What?”

“I was, uh, sleep talking. Yep, that’s it. I talk in my sleep. Sorry.” Ronan nods to himself as he talks. Rory groans at his explanation.

“Ohhh-kay,” I draw out, wondering why he’s being so weird this morning. Turning back to Malachi, I see him glaring at his cousin. “Am I missing something?”

“No!” all three of them shout at the same time. Rory and Ronan are wide-eyed and look panicked. Malachi just looks exasperated, shaking his head at his cousins.

“Real convincing, guys,” I respond skeptically.

“Sorry, snookums, we’re just tired. Last night was wicked long. We get weird when we’re exhausted, especially Ronan.” Rory tries to be nonchalant. Chuckling at the nickname, I decide to let their weirdness go. I don’t really believe her, but whatever they’re hiding isn’t my business.

Rory changes the subject, and the four of us talk for hours. I love seeing the dynamic between Ronan, Rory, and Malachi. I feel warm fuzzies in my chest seeing how close they are. My chest also aches, wishing I had a large family like they do. Shoving my melancholy into another box in my mind, I vicariously soak up their closeness while I can.

After Ronan and Rory drop me back at WHU, I start the two-hour walk home. I don’t particularly want to go home to Patrick, so I’m happy to waste time walking instead of running. I forgot to plug in my phone last night, so it’s dead and I can’t listen to music. I enjoy walking in the cold air, soaking in the nature around me, though. The tall pines, the bird chirps, the rustle of small animals, the breeze blowing, the last of the sunlight.

As night falls, I stare at the sky, picking out familiar constellations until Patrick’s house comes into view. My mom used to love constellations. She taught me everything she knew. Seeing Orion, his dogs, and the seven sisters makes me feel closer to her.

“I love you, Mama,” I whisper to the night sky, wondering if she can hear me wherever she is. Shaking my head at my wishful thinking, I walk through the ostentatious iron gates.

Staring at the cold white-and-gray monstrosity Patrick calls home, I miss the warmth of Ronan and Rory’s place. Even with it being so massive, it felt lived in, unlike the mausoleum in front of me.

I open the front door, a stupid smile on my face from the great day I’ve had.

“Where have you been?” Patrick barks as I close the door behind me. The smile slips from my face as I take in his slanted brows, glaring gaze, and downturned mouth. From his glazed eyes and the whiskey I can smell wafting off him from here, I know he’s drunk.

“I was at a sleepover,” I say carefully as I walk further into the foyer cautiously.

“A sleepover at the fucking Wynters’ mansion, you mean!” Patrick shouts at me.

How does he know that?

I’ve been so careful to keep my friendship with Ronan and Rory secret from him. Realistically, I know he probably can’t hurt them, but I’d never forgive myself if something happened to them because of me. “Yes,” I respond quietly, already knowing how this night is going to turn out.

I slowly slip my backpack down my shoulders and drop it soundlessly to the floor. With the toe of my tennis shoe, I push the bag behind a column as I walk past it. I don’t want my phone to break or Malachi’s shirt to be ruined.

“So, you’re whoring yourself out to anyone close to the alpha, now? Pathetic!” Patrick spits at me, stalking closer as he speaks.

What the actual fuck is he talking about? Alpha what?

Christ. He must be wasted to be nonsensically rambling.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell him. Because I don’t. I’d sure like to know what wild shenanigans he thinks I get up to, though. It sounds more interesting than what I actually do.

“You lying little bitch! I can smell them on you! You think you’re so smart, huh? Sneaking around with the Wynters behind my back. You stupid girl, I will always find out!” Patrick screams, spittle flying in my face.

Before I have a chance to reiterate that I don’t know what he’s talking about, Patrick backhands me so hard, I stumble. My lip splits on impact. Warm blood dribbles down my chin. Patrick’s well-placed punch to my solar plexus has me bending over, wheezing for breath.

He then shoves me down to the ground with a cruel hand on my shoulder. The loud crack of my knees hitting the marble echoes in the foyer. I wouldn’t be surprised if at least one kneecap is fractured from the force. A kick to my back sends me sprawling across the floor. He must hit a kidney with that kick. I’m momentarily blinded by the white-hot pain that lances through my back.

A scream builds in my throat, but I force it down by biting my cheek. Coppery liquid gushes into my mouth, giving me something else to focus on. I’ve learned the hard way that making noise only makes it worse.

At this point, I retreat to an often-visited corner of my mind. It’s my mental haven, far away from any pain and despair. I focus on designing plans for the house Ava and I will live in when we escape this place. Going over the plans I know front and back allows me to escape from reality for a bit.

It’s working pretty well until I feel a sharp blow against my left side. Blinking open my eyes, I see that I’m in the fetal position, curled against the staircase. The top of the bottom stair is digging into my left side, slightly under my sports bra. Another kick and I feel the stair pierce my side. A third, and I feel my ribs give way with a sickening crack.

I desperately try to hold back my scream, but a pained whimper escapes my mouth anyway. This only enrages Patrick further.

When I look down, I see the pointy edge of the stair tread is a half an inch into my side. While I want to puke at the image, I know I need to get it out of me before Patrick does damage I can’t come back from.

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