Page 6 of Cursed Wolfsbane

BRIAR

Irun as fast as I can out of the infirmary. As I push myself to my physical limit, some of the emotional pain trying to drown me ebbs. Sucking in a greedy lungful of oxygen as the pain eases enough to breathe, I know exactly where I need to go.

The gym.

Running flat out on the treadmill for an hour or two should make my emotions more manageable. Once I can think clearly, then I’ll need to figure out someplace else to stay. I doubt the Wyldharts will want me around anymore.

At that thought, the pain comes rushing back. Choking me. Drowning me. Shattering me into a million little pieces.

Okay. No thoughts of the Wyldharts. Got it.

Skidding to a stop at the bottom of the staircase, I rush up it. Taking the stairs two at a time, I make quick work of the massive staircase. At the top, I turn toward Malachi’s room. That’s where we brought all my stuff from Patrick’s house. Malachi won’t let me move my clothes or sleep in one of the guest rooms.

Bad, Briar. No thinking about how much I like sleeping cuddled up with my professors right now. I don’t need Malachi finding me curled in the fetal position, sobbing, in his room.

It’s fine. I’m fine. I don’t need them anyway.

I wonder how many times I’ll have to repeat that to start believing it.

Shaking my head to rid it of all thoughts of them, I open Malachi’s door and don’t bother closing it. Rushing into his closet, I slam that door behind me. I peel off my dirty, blood-stained clothes. They land on the ground with a thud, the grime weighing them down. Blindly grabbing a sports bra and running shorts, I carelessly pull them on. Once I lace up my running shoes and shove in an earbud, I push open the closet door and jog out of Malachi’s room. I shuffle my playlist, and Of Monsters and Men’s “Circles” starts playing.

I’m almost to the gym when Malachi’s deep voice growls from behind me, “You better not be going where I think you’re going.”

I grind my teeth and continue jogging. Picking up my pace because I don’t want to deal with him, I grit out, “What if I am?”

He can suck it if he thinks I’m not going to run because he told me not to. It’s not like he wants me anymore, so it shouldn’t matter to him if I get hurt running. A torn tendon or a stress fracture is hardly an injury anyway. It’ll be healed in a couple days or so if I do run too hard.

He just growls and picks up his pace. I run faster as well, until his voice lashes out like a whip. “Stop.”

“If I don’t?” I ask, not even pausing.

“Then my beast will think you’re running. I don’t have enough control to stop him from chasing and claiming you. If you don’t want to be fucked on the gym floor, then stop.”

Jesus fucking Christ.That’s one hell of a threat.

My footsteps slow and eventually stop, and I yank out my earbud. As intrigued as I am by his promise, I’m in no shape for fucking today. I stop myself from pushing him any further.

If it makes Malachi feel better to yell at me, then I’ll let him. I deserve his anger and disgust and rage. Malachi continues until he’s in front of me. Instead of yelling at me like I think he will, he bends down, shoves his shoulder into my stomach, and hoists me up.

“Put me down!” I screech in surprise.

He’s a certifiable caveman. Who even carries someone like this? I slam my fists into his back, but it doesn’t have any effect on him.

“No,” he growls. He continues walking, carrying me all the way up the stairs like that. When we reach his room, he kicks the door shut behind us and slides me down his body. Once I’m on my feet, he spins me around to face the door. “Put your hands on the door.”

“What? No,” I protest.

“I wasn’t asking, Briar. If you want pain to deal with whatever’s going on in your head, you’ll put your hands on the door.” Malachi steps up behind me, pressing his front to my back. Warmth pours off him, heating up my chilled skin.

“If I refuse?” I ask, because there’s no way I’m listening to him. He doesn’t get to waltz into my life and control all my choices. Malachi may be one of my mates, but he doesn’t own me. I’m done letting anyone control my life like Patrick did.

“Then you don’t get the pain you crave,” he rasps in my ear. His deep voice and hard body pressed against me are making me feel things I’d rather not. Now’s really not the time to be getting turned on.

“Or you could get fucked, and I can go run anyway.” I’m a fan of option three, personally.

He chuckles behind me, the sound making shivers crawl up my spine. It’s dark and masculine. “That’s not an option.”

“How are you going to stop me?” I scoff.

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