Page 8 of Malcolm

“You're awake.” A gravelly voice spoke from behind her. She didn’t move away from the window; her first instinct was to whip around and cover herself. Then, her second instinct, one that had developed in the place where they stripped her humanity, was more concerned with the sensation of the sun.

Something wild lived inside her; everything she’d thought so important in her past had died. This being she was now, she didn’t fear anything except being drowned in the dark again.

“You saved me,” she said. Her voice cracked from no use. She opened her eyes, lowered her hands to her side, and turned to face the male behind her.

His green eyes met hers.

He held a tray with a steaming bowl and a cup of water in his hand. Some bread was sticking out from the top of the bowl. She looked at the food. A part of her wanted to rush at him and take it, but the more cautious side, the human inside of her, shook her head at that thought. They’d used drugs in the other place to keep her controlled; it was always in the food.

His eyes glittered with something as he looked her over. She could see the hunger behind his gaze, even though he attempted to hide it by looking away. He cleared his throat.

“I did,” he said, placing the tray on the bed. He moved silently across the wood floor to his closet, grabbed a large T-shirt, and moved toward her. “Do you mind putting this on?” He kept his distance, holding out the shirt. “I am not sure about others, but your naked body isn’t easy for me to ignore.”

Eliza smiled. “You are the first man to offer me clothes in a long time.”

Instead of smiling, his expression grew somber. “I can believe that. I want you clothed and not feeling like I’m a threat to you.” He flashed her a smile this time, and she could see his canines were a bit sharper than the average human.

She drew her eyes from his smile to his body. He wore a simple white T-shirt and blue jeans, and his feet were bare. His clothing choice made it easy to see that his body was a thing of art, but she wouldn’t let that distract her from her main goal. She reached out and took the shirt.

“I don’t feel you’re a threat,” she said, drawing the shirt over her body.

He nodded, pointing to the door on the right. “That’s the bathroom; I got you a toothbrush and face wash and some other things, if you want to clean yourself before you eat, you can.”

She looked towards the bathroom and nodded. “Thank you,” she said as she walked towards it. Reaching for the handle, she paused. A memory of the iron door she’d been locked behind popped into her mind’s eyes. She inhaled quickly, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Are you okay?”

She opened her eyes again and gave a short nod. She pressed the handle down and entered the bathroom, letting the door shut. She looked around the average size bathroom. It wasn’t large, but it was clean. She let a small smile slip from between her lips. Was this man a clean freak?

She walked over to the sink and saw that her items had been placed in a bag. Reaching for it, she paused at the sight of something on the back of her hand. She stared at what looked like a cursive script, like a tattoo, and as she followed it up her arms, she pulled her shirt from her chest and looked down. Finally, she looked at the mirror.

She didn’t scream; her eyes were filled with indescribable pain and terror at what was reflected at her. Her face was sewntogether around her cheeks and forehead, though the skin was all the same. There was surgical scaring where her neck touched her collar bone, but her left arm was a pale white. And her right leg was an obsidian color. She reached for the edge of her shirt and lifted and flinched at the surgical scar around her hip, which was obviously where they’d attached the leg.

She pulled the collar down and saw both arms that had been attached had surgical scar tissue left behind where they connected with her shoulders.

She felt something warm hit the back of her hand.

“W-who?” Her voice shook, and the calm she’d been holding on to like a lifeline disappeared. As her eyes filled with tears, she just watched the stranger in the mirror cry.

The world she’d belonged to so long ago was gone, and she knew she’d never really leave the dark cell she’d occupied. Her captivity had been imprinted on her soul and showed itself in her hollowed gaze and the deep scars that decorated her body.

She covered her mouth and breathed deeply, forcing herself to regain composure.

After a few minutes, she lowered it, undid the tied plastic bag, and began getting herself together. Right now, the only thing she could control was her cleanliness; through that, she could get as close as she could to her old self.

Escape Plan Pt.2

Malcolm

Castian was doing his best to cover for Malcolm, but Malcolm knew that it wouldn’t take long for Tiller to sniff out that something was wrong. He hadn’t been thinking when he’d broken the glass around the female’s body. Only that she was his and he needed to free her.

He rubbed a frustrated hand down the side of his face; he’d been so sure that he’d live the rest of his life as a sinner and an unmated wolf. Yet, it would seem the fates had their own twisted sense of humor. She was here, his mate. Her smell waslike wildflowers, with a hint of mint that reminded him of the icy winds of his home in the Tennessee mountains.

When he’d come into his kitchen to find her standing nude in the sunlight of the window, it had taken everything in him not to move towards her. Her body was long and rounded slightly at the hips and chest; he couldn’t say if this was her natural shape or due to her being locked away for so long without proper sustenance.

Malcolm fought the instinct to go find her enemies and tear their throats out. He pushed his beast down, as he’d done several times in the past. The minute he gave it leeway, it wanted to rampage. Veil City wasn’t its home, and its pack was gone. He felt the years moving like molasses as he tried to piece together an existence here.

He moved over to the window and moved his hand to his neck, clicking his teeth together. He felt the burn of the letter his sister had written to him in his back pocket. It had been many years since he’d last seen his sister or even heard from anyone from his family.

---