The Cold and The Broken (Short) ✔

2

The time is eight thirty in the morning when Dimitry wakes up from his hunched position against the wall. His night was filled with the red-tinted water that had surrounded the female last night. He stands, moving to the side of the mattress to examine the slowly healing wounds. The girl, MaeLynn as she's reminded him, looks much better than she did one night ago. With his mind still hovering the thin line of insanity, he now regrets not helping her sooner, though he was in a moment of weakness.

The long cuts run from her ankles to the base of her ribs. He could tell as soon as he placed her down in the small white tub, the offender was most certainly inexperienced. The slashes are uneven, torn down into the muscle and to the bone in many spots. These will take more than a night to heal, he is sure she won't be walking for at least another day, wolf healing or not. Too much of her blood was lost last night, too many torn muscles for any kind of speedy recovery.

He hovers above her for a moment, deciding to look for some sort of bandage to wrap the deeper ones in. The bathroom is bare, empty. He finds himself just staring blankly at the mirror. In this darkened cave he can only see the outline of his body, still just as ripped as when he first got down here. Somewhere behind the cloak of darkness, his nighttime blue eyes look back at him through the reflection, lacking that shine they used to hold. Times have surely changed him from the old Dimitry he used to be. Hopefully he can change back before someone decides his pack is free game, weak without a leader...

Fire burns through her legs in a rage, licking at the edges of ever scrape and scratch. Never before had any of them done this much damage, that wolf is definitely new to this. A grunt slips from MaeLynn's lips as she attempts to sit on her own, her injuries making this an impossibly painful ordeal. Muttered curses fly from her mouth like water down a waterfall, quickly and smoothly. The pain flares with every move of her legs.

Hands grip her shoulders, lifting her gently upright so her back is rested against the wall. Thanking the large man who sits in front of her, the grave nature of her injury finally sets it. It's deep, at least a day until she's back on her feet. Feeling helpless, Mae knows she'll have to rely on Dimitry. He could be dangerous, she knows hardly enough to trust him. A desire to know more about him fills her chest.

"Tell me about you, your family, your life."

His face pinches in shock at her sudden questioning. She isn't quite sure of it, but it seems like his eyes have a small moment of panic. MaeLynn can only guess this borderline insane Alpha hasn't talked much in awhile. She should know better than anyone, keeping it all bottled up is one of the worst things you can do. Her mind warns her about the dangers he may present, but she can't help but feel more relaxed in his presence. The way he washed her wounds last night, she's never had anyone care for her in such a way. MaeLynn can't remove the image of his sorry eyes locked on hers as his gentle hands removed the blood and grime from her legs. And now, since she can't walk, Dimitry has become her only choice. She needs to know more, needs to know the man before her.

"My grandfather used to lead his pack over in Italy. After the rogue revolution, he moved them here to the Colorado mountains. He never gave an exact reason why but we think it was to put the pack at ease, away from all the death. Him and his mate, along with my parents, died ten years ago. The Alpha's house went up in flames one night, I was at a friend's place. I should've been there, the trackers in the pack say a younger nose would've scented the danger much quicker, could've saved them all."

She hears his breathing catch. Startled, her gaze turns to his eyes filled with unshed tears. Alpha Dimitry Aleskov is crying before a measly rogue-born. The small trust she holds for him grows as he shares his story with her, his emotions. He continues, albeit shakily.