Chapter 10 C10

Immediately I'm rushing to the door, my adrenaline-filled fingers

fumbling over the handle to get it open.

"Thank the gods you're still alive!" I no more than fling the door

open before I'm being pulled into a rib crushing hug.

I inhale Aimee's scent, the familiarity of it a much needed comfort.

My nose presses down on the top of her shoulder, my face

burrowed into her curly strands of dark brown, almost black hair.

"I swear to you I'll castrate that worthless bastard," she growls, her

chin bobbing on my shoulder as she does.

"Have at it," I grumble, finally freeing myself from her suffocating

bear hug.

Whether she hears the vexation in my voice or sees it on my face,

her brown lips fall into a frown. But it's not a sad frown, because

her sharp eyebrows scrunch madly together along with it.

"Where the hell does he get off thinking you owe him a marriage?"

Her voice is irate, the more she talks, the angrier she seems to

get.

The blackmailed marriage. I had almost completely forgotten about

it. And remembering it only makes all of my previous questions

resurface. Surely Nathan won't still try to go through with it.

A sickening bile rises in my throat with the thought of how close I

came to being bound to that spoiled assbag. The only comfort I

find, however, is in the fact that so long as Riot is here, holding the

title of Alpha just out of Nathan's reach, then that spoiled brat has

no power over me.

"How many died?" Aimee suddenly asks, the burning anger still

present in her chocolate colored irises.

I shake my head and shrug. "No idea. Sophia at least."

There's a silent pause between us, not an awkward one, but one

long enough to let me sink into my thoughts.

I contemplate telling her about Riot. About my suspicions, about

his strange, almost bipolar behavior. But right as the first word is

on the tip of my tongue, it falls back down. If I say it out loud, if I

allow someone else to know about what I think is between us, then

it only becomes that much more real. And that terrifies me.

"How did you know I was here?" I ask instead, changing the

subject with a nervous gulp.

She gives me a pointed look. "Adrienne, the entire pack knows he

brought you here. That's all they're talking about. How apparently

he's using you as some kind of pawn." She rants with disapproval,

giving me the impression that Nathan isn't the only one on her shit

list.

Although she didn't say a name, only a pronoun, my heart speeds

up and my face heats slightly.

Goddamn it, stop.

"Speaking of being a pawn," Aimee continues, oblivious to my

spike of nerves, "Andre is asking for you. He's waiting at the pack

house."

He's asking for me? After ordering for me to be put back in that

hellhole and then sending his son to play a high stakes game of

hide and seek with me, he has the audacity to ask for me?

"Tell him he can go fu-"

"You're going," she cuts me off sternly, "And so am I."

My breath fogs in front of me with every exhale. The air is frigid

and dry. The ground remains frozen, a painful reminder of my

bleeding, bare feet the previous day.

I pull the door of the pack house open, Aimee's hot breath fanning

the back of my neck as I do so.

"Do you want me to come?" She asks gently. I shake my head in

response and assure her that I've got it handled. After about a

minute of arguing with her, I finally convince her to wait outside.

I walk down the lightless hallway toward the living room. The

radiate warmth of a fireplace increases the closer we get.

When we enter, Andre immediately shoots up from the leather

couch. His long legs stretch out, no doubt containing pent up

energy. His fingers curl repeatedly into strained fists as his livid

eyes lock with mine.

He's not pleased. And neither am I.

When he opens his mouth to speak I already anticipate his words.

"I gave you an order and you resisted." He says it in his classic

condescending, ashamed tone. The exact tone he uses anytime he

wants someone to feel guilty for something that isn't their fault.

I gave you my loyalty and you didn't care, is what I want to say. But

for once, as if the silence of the room were giving me time to think,

I bite my tongue.

I notice Nathan sitting by the fireplace on an adjacent couch. He

cradles his right hand in his lap, and, to my utter shock, he avoids

looking up. His head is down and his shoulders are slumped. Just

like a newly neutered dog.

"I want to know what's going on between you and that tyrant ," he

spits the last word through his teeth in disgust. Like it would soil in

his mouth if he didn't get it out fast enough.

"W-" I don't get very far in my answer before he cuts me off.

"Tell her what you smelled," he barks at Nathan. For a second I

almost think I see the golden boy jump.

"His scent was circling us," Nathan says. It hardly sounds like his

voice without the arrogance flowing through it.

So that's why Nathan stopped following me. That's why, for the

first time in his privileged life, he gave up on something. It's not

because I out-endured him or because he lost my scent or decided

to grow a heart and let me go free. It was because Riot's scent

was there, threatening him with his presence. Acting like a border

between Nathan and I.

I remain silent. I try to keep myself from reading too far into it, but

how can I not?

"Don't think this is a permanent thing." As if he read my mind,

Andre shatters the bit of hope my wolf instincts had started to

drum up.

"Once this problem is dealt with, then he won't be around to

intervene with your punishments anymore. Better yet, he won't

have a reason to."

His voice is cold. Purposefully indifferent. In fact, it's vain. "Don't

get attached, Adrienne. He's not your friend. All you are to him is a

pawn."

I don't let a long pause of silence follow his words this time. My

jaw has clenched as hard as it possibly can. And if I go any longer

without opening it, it'll reach its cracking point.

"And what am I to you?" I snap, staring this shit excuse of an Alpha

dead in the eye. For years I looked up to him, admired him even. At

one point he was almost like a father to me. But things fucking

change, don't they?

"If you say anything other than a pawn or a waste of space, then

you're a goddamn liar," I growl. My hands are shaking and my

heart is pounding as I dare say my next words. "You should have

just left that infant in the rain where you found it."

We play a speechless staring game, Andre and I. He doesn't

respond with anger, nor does he wear it on his face. He doesn't

have to though. I can feel it filling up the room, ready to swallow

us all.

When he finally answers, it's impassive.

"I'll withdraw my order of lock up. For now. You're dismissed."

He doesn't have to say it for me to know to take the truce.