Their Runaway Mate

Chapter Thirty-Eight

A/N: Thanks for 50 followers and 60k reads guys! This story is turning out to be super long and still going. I think I know where I am going to take it, but if people have any suggestions I would love to hear them! Enjoy!

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Aidan POV

I felt sick.

My body felt like it was rejecting itself, my skin stretched and uncomfortable, and my mind racing.

She had thought I was going to strangler her. Again.

She had thought I was going to reach out, her body held restrained by my brother, and wrap my hand around her small throat, still marred by purpling bruises from my hands.

I paled at the thought.

We had fucked up. Astronomically.

"Aidan snap out of it!" Dante hissed in front of me.

I forced my eyes to his, watching as he glared at me.

We could both scent her, the thick terror scent hard to miss, and we knew she was hiding in the fifth bedroom, but we were reluctant to go barging in straight away.

"What the fuck happened?" He asked, desperate and confused.

The girl had absolutely bolted up the stairs, the fear rolling from her in waves which only added to my nausea.

It was like she had finally snapped.

Everything that had happened, everything we had done had caught up with her all at once.

"I- I don't know. Is she sick?" I asked dumbly, not remembering the last time I had spoke with a stutter, if ever.

Dante gave me an incredulous look.

"She's not sick. She's terrified. And traumatised." He said, eyes fixed onto mine to drive the point home.

All her trauma had built up; twisting and rotting as she held it trapped within herself and bursting all at once in a horrible explosion.

"Hey, it's not just me who fucked up! Let's not forgot the six years you spent tormenting her!" I replied defensively, not appreciating the accusation that this was all on me.

Yes, I had been a dick most recently, but I'd wager a bet that the years our mate spent desperately hiding as Dante chased her across the states for his sick pleasure had affected her just as much, if not more.

Dante sighed and looked away.

"I know. I'm sorry." He admitted. We were all struggling with how to handle this situation and there was no point trying to shift the blame between us.

For now, we had to focus on the terrified girl hiding upstairs.

"What do we do?" I asked, able to admit that I was the least capable of being caring and empathetic; Dante would think of a better plan than I could.

"I don't know." He said, pain flashing across his eyes. I was unused to seeing my fierce brother this way; broken up.

"But we need to try and fix it. Soon. She is terrified and we can't just let her stew in there." He decided. He was right; it wasn't fair to force her to wait whilst she no doubt believed we were going to something awful.

I nodded firmly in agreement.

"We need to speak with her, try and show her that she doesn't need to fear us." I said resolutely, unsure of how else we could possibly make her feel more comfortable.

Comfortable. What a joke. Her feeling comfortable was miles away, she was petrified! Not two days she was locked in our cellar, bruised and hurt and starving. And now? Now we wanted her to immediately snap out of her survival mindset and somehow believe that we wanted to keep her safe.