Page 83 of Defiant Beta

As I sit on the floor with my back to the balcony and my legs crossed, I sift through the bag of medication that Everleigh brought me, which I’ve spent the last few days ignoring.

Minutes later, I’m struggling to apply the ointment to my back and kicking myself because if I’d been applying the damn thing from the start, I wouldn’t be in agony.

A knock sounds on my door.

“Yeah?”

“It’s me,” Levi says.

“With food?”

“No.”

Frowning at the door, I get up to find out what this is about.

He’s standing just outside, dressed in black sweatpants and a dark gray T-shirt. His feet are bare.

“Just came to check if you needed help.”

“I’m good.” I start to close the door.

“Your sister said you had meds to take.”

“So?”

“That included an ointment for your back.”

I’m not sure if the feeling rising in me is shame, anger, or embarrassment. “I’ve got it.”

IthoughtI had crept up to my room unnoticed. At the top of the stairs, I dropped my comforter. Bending to pick it up was a painful mistake. I must have looked like an old woman hobbling back to my room.

Now I wonder if Levi heard me creeping up the stairs and saw me struggle. Why else would he be making this offer?

As I wait for him to leave, my eyes stray to his neck tattoos. A campfire and a fat beetle vie for space on his olive skin. I have a million questions about those tattoos, but right now, I want him gone.

He retreats.

I’m closing the door when he grips the hem of his T-shirt, pulls it up and over his head, and turns around.

I forget about closing the door.

Fine grooves trace over his back. I count dozens of them, years old but resembling mine. I caught a glimpse of my back in the bathroom mirror while changing, and I was so angry and disgusted that I vowed never to look again.

I screamed and begged for the alpha to stop hurting me.

Those scars remind me of my weakness. And of my shame.

“The one on the bottom is where it got so badly infected, I couldn’t lie on my back for five days. The ointment is important.” When he twists around to look at me, his expression is unreadable. “I can help with that.”

I close the door and take five steps toward the tube of ointment I left on the floor beside my bed, and I stop when something hits me.

He didn’t want to show me. He only did it so I would accept his help.

I walk back to the door and open it, leaning out of my room. He’s pulled his shirt back on and is halfway down the hallway. “You can’t talk about this to anyone.”

He stops and twists to face me. “I won’t say a word.”

I take a step to the side and hold my door open.

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