Page 37 of Ruined Wolfsbane

I don’t get more than a few steps before I feel a warm hand gripping my throat, tugging me to a stop. A hard body steps up behind me, only a hair’s breadth between us. By the woodsmoke scent, I know it’s Malachi holding me.

“I only have so much patience, Briar,” he snarls in my ear, warm breath caressing my cheek, “and you’re wearing it very thin. Here’s what’s going to happen. You can either tell me the real reason you were absent yesterday, or I can walk you down to the administrative offices. You can report to someone there what happened. Those are your two choices.”

Doesn’t he understand? I can’t tell him. I can’t tell anyone.

I want to cry in frustration. Dealing with Malachi digging into my life is too much on top of everything else, but I refuse to be weak in front of him. Instead, I channel all the frustration into a snarky response. “How about option three? You go fuck yourself.”

Wittiest thing I’ve ever said? No.

It’s better than my tuberculosis line at least. I’m really moving up in the world.

Malachi doesn’t budge. I try to shove him off me, pushing back on him with my hands. My weak struggles don’t make a difference. In fact, struggling only makes it worse. Malachi grabs both of my arms, removing my hands from his abs. He then shackles my wrists behind my back with his free hand. His grip is firm and unyielding. Attempting to yank my wrists free from him will only injure my side more at this point.

I’m well and truly trapped.

At that realization, I sag back against him in defeat. One lone tear escapes before I can stop it.

Sometime during my struggle with Malachi, Sebastian walked in front of us. Xander also moved to lean against the door, arms crossed and a scowl on his handsome face. Even if I did manage to get free of Malachi, Xander would just stop me at the door.

“Are you hurting, Briar?” Sebastian asks gently, noting the tear that escaped.

I let out a watery chuckle.

Obviously.

But my physical pain isn’t why a tear leaked out. My emotional and mental exhaustion from dealing with Patrick for the past seven years is.

When I don’t say anything, Sebastian glares at his older brother. “Let her go, Kai. You’re hurting her.”

“Is that true, Briar?” Malachi asks, his tone carefully controlled, like he’s on the edge of snapping.

I can’t lie to him about this. He may be an overbearing ass at times, but I know Malachi cares. He’ll beat himself up for hurting me, even inadvertently. “No,” I eventually say.

“Then I’m not letting her go until she answers me. Don’t interfere.” Malachi’s voice has a strange resonance on his last order to Sebastian.

In response, Sebastian clenches his jaw so hard I’m worried he’s going to break a tooth. After closing his eyes briefly, he seems to come to a decision. Sebastian’s hands go to the buttons of his shirt. He starts undoing them, while avoiding eye contact with me.

“What are you doing?” I squeak. “As much as I’d like to see the glorious muscles under your shirt, I don’t think now’s the time.”

“Glorious, huh?” Sebastian questions, mouth tipped up in amusement.

As he speaks, his gaze connects with mine. I suck in a shocked breath. His eyes are swimming with so much pain. I haven’t seen that much anguish in someone’s eyes before—other than when I look in the mirror.

“Sebastian…” I trail off, not knowing what to say to make it better.

“Hush, pretty girl. Let me show you something.” He shrugs off his crisp white dress shirt, letting it flutter to the floor. With one hand, he reaches behind him to take off his plain cotton undershirt.

I almost swallow my tongue when he reveals the sun-kissed expanse of his torso. He’s just as in shape as Malachi, and he has the same wolf tattoo on the left side of his chest. Where Malachi is bulky, Sebastian is leaner and more cut. With hardly any body fat, the ridges and dips of Sebastian’s muscular abdomen stand out starkly.

Once I get over my shock at seeing him shirtless, I notice the white lines littering his torso. Some are smooth. Others are jagged. Some are less than an inch long. Others are over half a foot in length. But all are clearly knife scars.

Someone cut him. Repeatedly.

Snapping my gaze up to his, I see his lips curved in a sad smile. Rather than answer any of the questions brimming in my eyes, he turns around.

“No,” I whisper raggedly. There isn’t an inch of unmarked skin on his back. Long, raised scars crisscross his entire back. Almost like… whip scars.

Oh God, someone whipped him.

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