Page 2 of Unforgivable

The very idea of isolation makes a part of my wolf relax. Not that I can wrap my head around being here in Genom, but it's better than being right smack dab in the middle of a pack that hates me.

Ezra smoothes his hand over my forehead. I see scars on his wrists. If I were different, I might have matching ones on my wrists. I was never that weak. I prided myself on being stronger than that, despite everything. Now, I regret my pride. What's that saying? Pride goeth before the fall. That's me in a nutshell.

"You've been here in Genom for a little over a week," he explains a few moments later. He seems content to just let me look at him while my mind tumbles, trying to catch up. I wish he would tell me more, but I don't want to move or speak. I feel like if I stay here, huddled under the covers, I'll be safe.

"Do you think you can eat something, beautiful? Some soup?" he asks. That smile is softer but still there. Weird male.

I shake my head, 'no.' His smile falls, and it's as if a cloud drifted over the sun. The sun. It's a good way to sum up Ezra. He's sunny, and it seems wrong to see him glum.

"Please?" he murmurs softly.

I nod, and immediately he brightens. "OK, I'll get you something now." He practically runs from the room.

When he leaves, I glance around. It's pretty basic, this room. No bookshelves or anything. Just the bed I am in, an old brass bedstand. The quilt on top of me is a green and cream wedding-ring pattern. The walls are painted a light yellow, but bare, and there is no curtain in the single window. It feels like the room is somehow incomplete.

The door opens again, and Ezra fills the doorway, a bowl of something steaming in his hands. His expression is grim, and I understand why as he steps into the room followed by another male.

This is another male that I know—one who needs no introduction. I didn't think he lived at Genom. If I had to guess, I would say this male lived in the woods. When I was younger, I heard a story about a cave that he stole from wrestling a grizzly bear. No furniture, no running water, his bed a slab of rock on top of the bones of babies.

Dark is the best way to describe him. Thjis. A monstrous male with almost black eyes, dark hair, skin the color of ink. He isn't from here, but everyone knows his story—a rejected male who barely escaped his past with his sanity intact.

He is glaring at me with blatant hatred.

"Stop it," Ezra hisses at him.

"She shouldn't be here," Thjis snarls back at him.

I shrink back from the angry males. Testosterone chokes the air liberally. It's too much like that night. Was it really only a week ago?

"Don't you fuck this up!" Ezra is in Thjis's face; canines descended in threat. Maybe I have to reassess who is crazy. Ezra must be outweighed by fifty pounds of muscle. Thjis could kill him with a snap of the wrist.

I swallow the whimpers in my throat, and it hurts so bad I think I black out a little because when I blink and re-focus on the males, there is a third. Blue-eyes is in the room, standing between Ezra and Thjis. His posturing is even more intimidating than Thjis, something I didn't think possible. A swell of heavy discomfort rises in me. Blue-eyes reminds me of him, suddenly and inexplicably. He's not as tall as Thjis, but the strength and power rolling off of his shoulders is immense. It's too much for Blue-eyes to be a regular ranked wolf.

Thjis suddenly screams, "fuck!" and whirls out of the room, slamming the door behind him. I listen as his heavy stomps recede, curses raining down from his lips. Blue-eyes is right on his heels, growling out curses.

It is sparking something in my mind that I quickly suppress. I refuse to be reminded of that night. Not when I need to figure out what the hell I am doing here.

Ezra turns around, discomfort and a little shame written on his face. "Sorry, Beautiful," he mutters. He sits next to me on the bed, the bowl of soup still firmly in his grasp. Odd, that. He should have dropped it when the dark male, Thjis, started to threaten him. I know I would have dropped it. They must fight often.

I'm shaking so badly that I think I will spill the soup all over myself. I eye it doubtfully. I feel so exhausted, and I haven't even tried to move. When Ezra slides one arm under me, I stiffen so much that pain radiates down my legs. I scream a little and he freezes.

"Sorry! Shit!" he growls out. "Lyri, I need to sit you up a little so you can eat, OK?" he says a little frantically.

I nod again. If he wanted to hurt me again, he would, right? The soup smells so good. Even my wolf, dejected and weak, gives the slightest twitch of her nose. It's been a month since we ate something substantive, hasn't it? Two weeks of isolation then more than a week after that night, according to Ezra.

He gently moves me, stopping every time I cry out from pain. I don't think my body will ever heal from this. Finally, I am in a sitting position. Ezra arranges the pillows behind me and leans me back. Impressively, that bowl is steady in his hand. I start to pull my hands out from under the blankets, but I stop when Ezra scoops up a spoonful of soup and holds it up to my mouth.

I just stare for a moment at the spoon before warily meeting his green gaze. Feeding a female is an act of incredible intimacy. Am I pregnant? I inhale, but all I smell is soup and my injuries mixed with a little Ezra. My wolf snarls, just enough to let me know that if we are pregnant, then she doesn't know, either. She doesn't trust this male. He hurt us. They all hurt us.

Ezra waits patiently, his kind smile in place. I open my mouth, and he places the spoon on my tongue. I close my eyes. It's heavenly, perfectly flavored like beef and carrots. Probably bland, in reality, but it tastes like ambrosia and doesn't hurt my mouth and throat too much.

"Is it too salty, Beautiful?" he murmurs.

I make a soft humming, 'no.' My wolf slinks into her den, chastened from her feral stance by a male who is caring for us.

His smile widens, "more?"

I eat a few more spoonfuls before it's filled me up. My eyes are drooping, and I fight the urge just to let them close and sleep. I can't trust Ezra. I don't know him.

"Go to sleep, Beautiful."

I shake my head, 'no.' The urge to get up and leave is on me. I'm not safe here. Ezra gets up and goes to the door. I can't hear what he is saying, but he is talking to someone who must be outside.

Blue-eyes comes in and catches my gaze. He approaches the bed, ignoring my flinch. "Sleep, Lyri." The command washes over me. I feel my eyes close, the darkness pulling me under. Frustratingly, I think that the command is familiar. So familiar.

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