Page 112 of Lavender and Lightning

“It doesn’t have to be like this, ya know. We had good times, didn’t we? Don’t you miss that?” he whispers.

His tobacco and bitter almond scent fills my head, and I curse my heart for flipping at the almost gentle tone, the softness to his muddy brown eyes. But it only takes a glance at his other hand, and the scar along his middle finger to remember the bad times. He cut himself on glass as he was throwing a drink at me, then blamed me for the mess.

“No, I don’t. And you can cut the crap,” I snap, looking up to glare directly into his eyes.

The shift is subtle, but the way his eyes harden and his lopsided smile turns makes sweat break out across my palms.

“Do we want to start in so soon, my petal? We got so much catching up–”

“Stop calling me that. I’m not your anything anymore,” I cut in, gritting the words out through my teeth. I ball my hands in my skirt, trying to stop their shaking by sheer force of will.

“’Cause you got all them queers up in Georgia now, right? Do they know how much of a little whore you are, running around behind your alpha’s back?” he throws back at me.

The words land like a slap, but it’s a pain I’m used to. “What did I just tell you? You’re not my alpha. There’s nothing between us. Or did I not make myself clear when I ran out the night you raped me?”

“See, I remember that night a little different. I asked you to be my wife, and you agreed. And there’s the little detail about my marks,” he says, almost casually.

Five years ago, I would have stopped and considered his words. I would have questioned my memories, my reality. And if I’m too busy questioning myself, then I can’t question him or his motives. But not anymore. I know this song and dance, but I refuse to allow him this power over me. Anger burns away my fear, and I can look up into his face with my head high.

“No, you don’t get to rewrite what you did to me. You asked, and I said I wanted to wait. You didn’t like that answer and raped me. Well, guess what, asshole? I never went into heat, so all you did was give me some scars,” I retort, raising an angry finger into his face.

The crack of his hand against my cheek registers before the sting of the blow, and I gasp. I touch it gingerly, but a second blow across the other side of my face makes my head spin.

“That’s a warning not to raise your hand against an alpha, Omega. Now you shut your worthless mouth and listen. You’ve got it in your stupid, pathetic brain that you’re somehow the victim in all of this, like you didn’t deserve everything you made me do.” Darren lets out a dark, humorless chuckle that sends a shiver down my spine. “You should count your blessings that I’m willing to even consider keeping you after you’ve gone and spread your legs for who knows how many scumbags.”

He steps forward, and I have to lean back, hands slipping on some stray water. Darren’s hand darts out and closes around my jaw and throat, holding painfully as he looks down on me, disgust written in his features. And the primal part of my mind seems to writhe in pain. Because despite all the ways he’s hurt me over the years, that part of me that’s pure omega wants to please an alpha.

“You, me, and your daddy are going to have a long talk here about what to do with you. As your prime alpha, it’ll be his call in the end, but I’m sure he’ll let me handle your penance. After your prissy little rich boy goes back home to the fag and the bitch, we’ll get you settled in nice and comfy for your heat,” he goes on, clay-scented anger clogging my nose and throat.

I can hardly breathe around the fear now flaring inside me, every nerve in my body trying to fire at once to do something, anything, to escape from this alpha with murder in his eyes. His words shake something loose in my head, and I latch onto it. Prime alpha, my prime alpha.

With all my strength, I bring my forearm down onto his elbow, breaking his hold on my throat. I use my other hand to push his chest, trying to create just the smallest bit of room to move. He’s surprised enough to stumble back a step and I push my advantage. He’s never seen me fight back, so I try to capitalize on the element of surprise by stepping up into his space.

“You’re too late, you abusive prick. I’ve joined another pack. My father has no authority over me, not anymore,” I snarl, rising on to my full height.

Darren blinks and, for one heartbeat, I think that my chest-puffing and posturing worked. But then his eyes flick to the mirror, and his face morphs into something out of my nightmares. I scream as he grabs my upper arm and spins me, slamming me hard into the counter, my face pressed to the mirror by his arm.

“What the fuck is this?” he growls.

I struggle to throw him off, but he just uses his hips to pin me, hard. There’s a metallic click, and I freeze at the first touch of cold steel against my back. My whole body shakes as I look up and see the rage growing on Darren’s face with every cut he makes into the back of my dress. One of my hands comes up to keep the front of my dress in place, but my left shoulder blade is exposed to his stare.

“A tattoo? What sort of–”

“It’s my pack motto,” I snap, trying to shift and get him to let up as my neck aches from the way it’s pressed against the glass.

“You put it over our bond mark,” he replies, speaking almost to himself now instead of me.

“It never fucking took. It was just a scar, and this is my body. You have no claim over me,” I say, nearly shouting.

Darren snarls, and his hand comes up, gripping my hair near the roots. I scream again as he cranks back, my hands scrabbling for balance.

“These sorts of marks are just skin deep. But don’t worry. I can fix that,” Darren says, a manic edge to his words.

I struggle more at the flash of his knife in the mirror, hands flailing as I try to scratch or punch or kick my way free.

“If ye want to keep yer fuckin’ hand, you best drop that right now.”

Darren and I both look in the direction of Rhett’s voice, and I nearly sob in relief at the sight of him standing in the door, eyes blue pits of fiery rage trained on Darren.

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