Page 276 of Rage

I’m not entirely sure what comes over me, but the pull I feel to him seems to drag me in, and I take his hand, trekking up the hardwood stairs as quietly as possible behind him. It’s odd and sort of surreal to be in this massive home—one that is far bigger than anywhere I’ve lived before—and to know that this could be my new home. Or rather, itismy new home.

I can’t help the smile that takes over my face at that thought.

A real home.

Chapter Five

Ivy

Areal home plagued with the same horrid nightmares of my previous residence.

Tossing off the covers, I climb out of the queen-sized bed and tug at my T-shirt. It’s soaked in sweat, and I sigh as I peel it off and replace it with one of the only sports bras I have in my measly bag.

Oliver didn’t say much about my belongings other than asking if I had more back home, and when I responded that I didn’t, he said he would give me some money this week. I feel like a low-life letting him pay for me, but I also don’t have much of a choice unless I want to continue wearing the same few pairs of black leggings and handful of shirts until I manage to find somewhere to hire me. My sleep shorts don’t seem to be as sweaty, which is relieving since I only have the one pair.

I glance over at the bed, which was so nicely made up when I got here, and notice the disarray of sheets and blankets—all twisted up with the fitted sheet ripped entirely off the side I was sleeping on. It’s only three in the morning, but I resign myself to the likelihood that I won’t be getting any more rest tonight and decide to go get some water.

Anywhere between one to three was usually when Garrett would come get me. Whenever he rolled in for the evening with his fuck of the week so he could make me watch and sit in for his ash tray. The nightmares started long before I moved in with the Forresters, and most nights I would be woken from them by one of the brothers. But if not, I would be up for the day once it happened.

I assume it will take some time for those to go away.

The door is quiet as I slip from my room and pad down the hallway and stairs to the kitchen. I’m grateful Oliver and Ewan live in a newer home. Less creaking that way.

I pour myself a glass of water and catch a glimpse of my reflection in the kitchen window as I walk past. I look pretty terrible right now. My blonde hair hangs in stringy pieces around my face, tangled from all the sweat, and all the light is gone from my icy blue eyes. Leaving behind circles akin to pits of despair. My cheeks were a lot rounder a year ago, but stress has done a number on me, and I’m positive I look closer to thirty-five than twenty-two.

Letting out a long sigh, I take a sip of my water and walk out to the living room, quietly examining the space as I go. It’s a weird feeling, but instead of coming off like a well put together home where the owners are neat and tidy, it just feels carefully curated. Like someone was going for that look and wanted the home to be as perfect as possible. Not a picture is out of place on the wall by even an inch, the candles all look brand new, like they’ve never been lit, and each knickknack and book on the shelves has a very light coating of dust as if no one has ever touched them aside from an occasional cleaning.

I run my finger across the top of one, picking up a fine layer of gray as I do before sifting it between my fingers.

“Have you read that?”

The voice startles me, and I jump, letting go of my glass and instantly dropping into a ball on the ground.

Ewan is on me in a second, snatching the glass out of the air before it hits the wood and wrapping me up in his embrace. He’s warm and smells like leather and paint, a drastic difference from the scent I was expecting—tobacco, stale liquor, and burning flesh.

“Shit, Ivy,” he whispers, holding onto me tight as he sets my glass on the ground. Ewan drops his entire body down to the floor, enveloping me and holding me tight.

Something in my body still wants to run, to hide, but another part—one that seems to be growing stronger by the moment—wants to stay. To let him hold me and keep me safe. The whimper that falls from my lips when he holds me close is muffled against his bare chest, and I breathe him in, feeling my heart rate instantly start to settle with his scent.

“Breathe with me,” he says quietly, and I do, feeling the rising and falling of his chest and recognizing that Garrett isn’t here. Acton isn’t here.

It takes a while of breathing before I notice that my entire body has relaxed in his lap and that Ewan is rocking me slightly, side to side. I sit up, not fully removing myself from his embrace, and glance up at the man I’ve just met.

“I—I’m sorry,” I state, but Ewan shakes his head.

“Ivy, do not apologize for anything. I may not know exactly what happened to you, but I know where you came from, and I know that how you just reacted means you’ve been through something horrible. Not to mention, I can see the scars on your back.”

My fingers make their way to my lower back, realizing that in my sports bra, the letters would be on full display. And despite the embarrassment and shame that come bubbling up to the surface, I nod my head, listening to Ewan.

“It was the men I lived with before.”

He gives me a somber smile. “I figured. You said your parents were dead.” He brings his hand over mine against the scars on my back and traces a finger lightly over them. “Is this why?”

I nod again. “Old-world packs don’t approve of non-shifter matings. And they especially don’t approve of any child who isn’t purebred. My dad was killed because of it.”

“I understand,” he replies softly. “Sometimes the people who love us leave us, and the ones that are left behind are monsters.”

“If you only knew,” I whisper.

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