Page 84 of Depraved
I’ve known him to be selfless as an alpha. He gives and gives and gives to the pack until he’s drained and exhausted.
But he doesn’t give up control.
That’s the one thing he hoards like a dragon.
To see him chained to the wall by his own hand, telling me to go, telling me I’m free …
A tear gathers in the corner of my eye as I turn to look at Jonah, to see what my beta elite thinks of all of this.
Jonah’s pale in the dim light of the basement, and his lips are gaping—he’s just as surprised as I am.
To have Black’s permission to be together—not only permission but his blessing and his promise of protection—
It’s everything.
But, then, why don’t I feel happy? Why, when I clutch onto Jonah and start to sob, do I cry ugly tears instead of joyful ones?
Why does it hurt so badly?
Black gouged out a bit of my soul with his words.
My knees give out, and I collapse, Jonah’s arms the only thing holding me up. He lifts me bridal-style and starts to move. I don’t even notice where he’s going because Black’s roar echoes through the basement.
Jonah starts to enter the basement bedroom, but as soon as I realize that’s where he’s taking me, I roughly scramble out of his arms and stumble away. I can’t go back in there. Not into the bedroom where Black and I first came together…
Black’s rejecting me.
My hands come up to cover my face, and I sink down to my knees on the carpet. My sobbing is the loud, ugly kind that leads to choking gulps afterward. When I’m finally able to take a breath, Jonah’s kneeling in front of me, holding out a hand towel and a glass of water from the basement’s bar.
I wipe at my face as I shakily try to catch my breath. I drink the water, and the cool liquid soothes the raw, physical ache in my throat. But the ache inside? That can’t be soothed.
“I’m sorry,” I tell Jonah breathily.
He shakes his head, compassionate as always. His hand reaches out and plucks the cup from mine. “No apologies.”
I glance over at the supply room, but Black’s monster has retreated. I can no longer see him. But I hear him. He’s howling a mourning song.
God, why?
“Why couldn’t he just… just …” Hiccups interrupt my ability to speak, and a short crying jag takes me over again. What did I expect him to do? I don’t even know. But this—I clench my eyes shut as they burn from tears—this is worse than him forcing me to walk down the aisle.
It’s worse because now I feel … adrift. And I feel guilty for feeling that way. When I open my eyes, I lower my gaze to the carpet because I don’t want Jonah to read those thoughts in my expression.
My beta elite takes my hand and squeezes it. “You know,” he says softly, “Black’s kind of old.”
An angry roar comes from the supply room in retort, but Jonah continues unfazed. “He operates with an outdated rulebook. One mate. One mark. One ring to rule them all.”
I roll my eyes at theLord of the Ringsreference as Jonah keeps talking. “But this one girl I know, who’s pretty damn smart, told me something once.”
He waits until my eyes creep up to find his, and that’s when he offers me a calm, settled smile. “She said, ‘If you want to win the game, make the rules.” He gives my hand an even harder squeeze before standing with the cup.
I blink up at him, and it’s as if my chest blooms—like a field of wildflowers opening all at once. Jonah jerks his head in the direction of the supply closet, not only giving me permission but encouragement.
I clumsily stand up, though I nearly faceplant because my pantyhose-covered feet slide around in the stupid heels. I kick those fuckers off and march toward the supply closet door.
“Black Maddox, you big, dumb, stupid fuck! Show your face!”
I hear the chains clinking and clanking in the shadows. But I don’t wait. I scream for Fluffy and let my bones heat and melt. Then I bound forward into the darkness, teeth bared so that I can mark my other mate.
