Chapter 3: The Pack’s Dirty Secret
Josie
I didn’t speak.
Even with Varen’s finger pressed lightly to my lips, even with my pulse thundering in my ears, I just froze.
He stood so close I could see that there were flecks of gold in his blue eyes—eyes that were watching me like I was the only thing that mattered in the world. His sugarcane dangled from the corner of his mouth, half-chewed, forgotten.
The scent of him—smoke and crushed pine needles—wrapped around me like a stormcloud. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. My heart pounded against my ribs like a warning, but I couldn’t tell if it was because I was terrified or because he was touching me.
"Tell me everything," he said again, his voice low, smooth, dangerous.
It wasn’t a demand. It wasn’t even a plea. It was something worse—inevitable.
"I... I don’t..." My voice cracked. I backed up until my knees hit the edge of the bed. My legs folded beneath me like broken wings. "You shouldn’t be here. If my parents—"
"If your parents what?" he cut in, his tone deceptively calm. "If they see me, they would hit you again?"
I flinched. The word hit landed harder than any blow.
His jaw tensed. The air in the room seemed to change—charged and crackling, like a storm waiting to break. He wasn’t angry at me. I could feel that. But his fury was a living thing, coiled behind his ribs, looking for something to tear apart.