Page 23 of Depraved
Black cuts me off. “I didn’t say Jonah was going.”
I gape at him, open-mouthed. Disbelief splats like a stain in my belly. “You’re really gonna leave him behind when he’s so vulnerable?”
“You really want to move him when he’s so vulnerable?”
“No! I don’t want to move him, and I don’t want to go!”
“You have to.”
Rage grabs a baseball bat and smacks it against her palm. She wants to use it to bash Black’s head in. What. The. Fuck.
“I’m not leaving my mate just because you want me to.” I can’t walk away from Jonah when he’s like this. Not when I suspect something’s wrong, and I need to fix it.
“It’s not about what I want. It’s about what the Lobos need. The wolves down south need a strong hand. I have to go. And I need you for a special assignment.”
“What does that mean?”
Black’s brows dip and his dark eyes glimmer ruthlessly as he says, “It’s better if you don’t know.”
“Don’t know what you want me to do? You want me to just walk in there blind?”
“I’ll tell you right before. Now pack your stuff. Weather is fickle down there. Grab a little of everything.” His eyes drift to my closet. “Maybe not everything.”
His attempt at humor is pathetic and I ignore it because I’m operating on enraged level eight, ready to go nuclear if needed. “I already told you I’m not going. I’m not leaving Jonah.” I will not budge on this.
In less than a second, I’m off my feet, Black’s massive hands wrapped around my arms, lifting me up against his body so he can stare at me head-on. His eyes glow golden, and his canines elongate as he shoves his face into mine. “Dammit, Elena, I don’t have time to fuck you into submission right now. Justdo as I say.” He drops me back to the floor where the heels of my boots clunk dully against the wood as he turns and strides away, smashing the door closed behind him.
Those words. Those words. I’m left panting, livid. But I’m also completely drenched.
7
ELENA
Instead of fallingin line and packing like Black wants me to do, I go to visit Jonah. If our alpha is really going to force me to leave, I highly doubt I’ll be able to physically stop it. That means I have a limited amount of time to figure out what’s wrong with my beta and try to make amends.
I make my way down to the third-floor guest bedroom.
To my complete surprise, when I peer in through the open doorway, my mate is sitting up and his blue eyes are open. Though his face is still mostly pale, the shadows underneath his eyes aren’t quite as pronounced as before. His cheeks have the tiniest hint of color. In the early evening sunlight, his blond lashes even sparkle, making him look cherubic. I’m sure he’d hate if I told him that. A few days ago, I would have, just to rib him. But today, I bite my tongue.
Unfortunately, when Jonah sees me, his expression immediately turns to one of alarm. It’s just like I feared—something’s wrong.
I knock on the door even though it’s already open. Hesitantly, I ask, “Can I come in?”
“Sure.” His tone and his words say the opposite. Jonah does not want to talk.
I swallow nervously, suddenly wishing that I’d gone downstairs and gotten another power drink from Matthew. My throat goes dry because I really don’t want this to go sideways. But my history of confronting problems is limited to either my mother … or maybe even Black, if that counts. And neither of those relationships is what I’d call whole or healthy. Saying the wrong thing could ruin the one good human connection I have.
“I’m glad to see you awake.” Goddess, that was lame. I’m itching to blurt out a question and ask him what’s wrong—to jump right to the point and demand he tell me everything this instant—but that’s not fair.
What if he really was recovering? What if it’s my own guilty conscience that’s been eating away at me?
I try again. “How are you feeling?” My fingers work themselves into knots and I take a few hesitant steps inside. But then I stop, the heels of my boots sinking into the plush gray carpet as I try and gauge the situation.
Unfortunately, Jonah looks as awkward and uncertain as I feel.
“I’m okay.” His response takes too long, and his eyes don’t quite meet mine.
“Can I get you anything? Food, water, blow job?” I finally throw out a stupid joke, desperate to lighten the mood, lift this awkward weight from my shoulders.
