The Pack Thief

20

Willow's POV

What was left of my slumber was returned to dust, as sunlight once again glowed through the unchanging room. The swapping of my sleep for the sun was a relief. A relief in which I craved every single morning. A relief that had come to save me from the darkness.

I allowed the orange hues to caress my face, ready to bask in the ever-present glory that came with morning. However, any desire to sink into harmony, was forgotten by the weight in my right hand--The hand that hung lazily off of the side of the bed,

The hand that was interlaced with Cyrus's.

He sat by my bed with his legs straight out in front of him, his head resting upon the very edge of my mattress. My mate's eyes were shut loosely, as if the sleep that he was currently in was barely that.

The unintentional tremble of my hand pulled him from whatever state he was in. Tired brown eyes opened. Tired brown eyes met mine. That beating thing in my chest jumped into my throat.

I was frozen as I started at him, my face surely flushed as a recognizable heat clung to the skin on my cheeks. Cyrus's gaze traveled to our intertwined hands. A tiredness was present on his face as his stare lingered on our hands. What was he thinking about?

Then, he said with a fixed gaze,

"You were crying in your sleep," Even his rugged voice was tired, "I was worried you might be having a nightmare."

I was. Again.

For a week now, my sleep had been nothing short of terrifying, an entrapment for me to sink into. For a week now, the touch of those men had crept through the unconscious part of my mind. Even when I was asleep, they were haunting me. Grabbing at me, chasing me, attacking me. In my dreams, I could feel everything that they were doing to me.

All of my senses were consumed by their crippling presence. Everywhere I looked, they were. Everything I heard, was them. My sense of smell, my sense of taste...They'd taken those as hostages as well.

Even as their bodies were returned to dirt and bone, they were always there. They never left me alone.

But neither did Cyrus.

My poor mate had stayed in my room. Every single night since those men attacked me, Cyrus was there. Normally, he slept on the floor at the edge of my bed. He never asked to be in my bed, never asked for anything other than my own peace and my own comfort. He slept on the cold, unforgiving ground to make sure I was safe. There were nights where I almost invited him into my bed, as the only thing that could take the sting of their touches away, was the touch of my mate.

But every time, I changed my mind. And every time, guilt sucked me dry. The alpha shouldn't be sleeping on the floor. Not in his own home. Yet, I was far too selfish and far too scared to do anything about it.

Cyrus never complained.

And this morning, he was there. He was by my side with his hand in mine, eye bags deep and dark as if he had gotten no sleep. He most likely hadn't. All because of me.

"I'm sorry for waking you," I muttered.

The realization that Cyrus wasn't sleeping because of me, left a pit of condemnation in my gut. How could I be doing this to him? Those men hadn't even done the vile thing they intended to do, and yet it affected me all the same. It was like they had succeeded in breaking me.

Now it was affecting Cyrus. But he didn't miss a beat.

"There's nothing to apologize for. Nothing at all, Willow."