NICHOLAS (old version)

chapter fourteen: win

I'd seen what happened in his head. The things that crossed through, the things that were there. I realized pretty quickly that even he didn't see what was there constantly. He said to try to stay on the most conscious levels, but I hadn't gone further than that. It was like he didn't even realize he was constantly thinking about those things.

I couldn't help but go over what I'd seen, the terrible, awful things. So much blood, so much horror. I wasn't entirely sure exactly what I'd seen, but I'd sensed the emotion, the sheer waterfalls of it. The pain, the will to die that was stronger than anything I'd ever felt. The humiliation and horror. The anger, the frustration, the helplessness. The shame, the self-hatred. I wanted to hug him, I wanted to tell him that whatever had happened to him once upon a time, it wasn't his fault.

But he pulled away again. He stood up and he left, the blood of the mark staining the shirt, ruining it. It occurred to me that I was still covered in his blood, my entire face. I could still taste it, and nearly threw up. I'd never tasted someone elses blood, never this strongly, never this much. It was a side effect of having never fought beyond light training.

I stood up and rushed to the bathroom, what was left of last nights dinner coming up into the toilet. I brushed my teeth twice, trying to get rid of the coppery taste, and once it seemed gone, I decided to change. I had an aversion to the substance that I'd never actually realized, and I wanted it gone.

The silence of the room, the mussed up and bloody sheets, they made me miss him. Something wild and instinctual had taken over, and right up until I was thrown into his mind, I'd been ready to go further. To make him mark me, to consummate our pairing, as my mother might put it.

I sighed and began to rummage through the drawers, smiling slightly. Minnie had put my clothes right on beside his, like some little married couple. It looked normal, functional. 

Minnie seemed to understand my style quite well, and I appreciated it. A mixture of casual and feminine, and I assumed all the nicer gowns would be in the closet. I opted for a pair of black pants and a rusty orange shirt, changing quickly and, deciding that we needed to talk about this, that bottling up all of this pain wouldn't go over well for either of us, I slipped out of the bedroom door.

I trailed after his scent, not quite running but certainly not walking. I tried to look casual and confident and Alpha-like every time I passed someone, and every one of them looked at me funny. I wasn't sure if it was because of the ordeal earlier, or the fact that I was covered in bandages, or because Nick was running around smelling like me. 

I trailed it down the stairs, right into the dining room, and I stopped short as I entered.

It wasn't full, like it had been at dinner. Maybe twenty people, in small clusters around the room, finishing up their lunch. The only two people at the head table were Nick and Jasmine.

He sat, looking exhausted. Hunched over, hands gipping his head, staring down at the white tablecloth. She sat beside him, arm slung over his back, head on his shoulder, her gaze soft and sympathetic and tender, like she was staring down at her mate, not a marked male.

I couldn't help the anger and jealousy that sparked within me. Perhaps it was childish, surely they must be friends after knowing one another their entire lives, but this wasn't a friendly position. This was the position of a woman who was trying to be there so that she could be there.

Her gaze landed on me and her eyes immediately narrowed, raising her hand to give me the finger. I clenched my jaw, resisting the urge to flip my shit. Be a good girl, Darcy. Don't be irrational. Violence is for the uncivilized. I walked toward them and he raised his head, a mixture of relief and anxiety in his eyes when they landed on me. I felt my brain seep into his for only a moment before pulling it back.