Grey's Tribute

I Revel In His Suffering

"Yes, Fin." I try to sound unfazed by the conversation.

"Do I affect you?"

I'm uncomfortable now. "Yes, but not the way you think."

"How? Explain." This time his full attention is on me, his eyes locking on mine.

"I feel something for you, but with him... I feel everything."

"You can't even say his name." Fin gives a huff of breath out.

"I never said I loved him, just that I feel every fiber of him, everything that he is... I feel. I can only lightly sense you."

Fin turns back to the window in quiet discontent. The northerner just looks ahead, staring at the night, upset that I can't or won't give him a chance to be loved.

When we pull up to the house, Fin grabs my hand and helps me out of the truck, easily picking me up and placing me gently on the ground. He's much too close, too inappropriate.

The Northerner comes around to us, the jealousy in his eyes mixed with hurt, anger...betrayal.

"It's a horrible feeling, isn't it, brother? It's exactly how I feel every time I look at you. But I've moved on." Fin takes a step back from me, moving to the Northerner and clasping him in a hug. "We're good, brother." His hand messes the northerner's hair up.

The Northerner embraces his brother, too. "We're good, my brother."

I hear some of the females calling Fin's name, giggling. Turning, I see Stephanie with her sly smile angling with another female, waiting for him to come to them.

"Be careful, Fin. They're coming into their heat."

Fin laughs out loud, and his hand runs over his short hair. "Unlike you, I prefer my females to only swallow my pups down." He laughs again, giving me a wink and a sly smile as he brings an arm over each of the females and leads them away to the small cottage.

My mouth falls open again. It's unnerving to watch him hustling away with his arms full of females.

I walk away from the Northerner and give a growl when he tries to touch me. Once in our room, I kick my heels to the side of the closet and sit on the bed, rubbing my feet. I'm so tired, I just want to close my eyes and sleep.

He watches me, his eyes on my fingers. Compulsions inside him rise again at the thought of touching me. As he strokes his beard in thought, there's a question on his mind.

"Speak," I gently say to him.

He gives me a scornful look. "Stay out of my head." He slams a fist down on the bed. "Just stay out of it."

I keep rubbing my feet. "I can't help it," I shrug. "Sorry."

He takes my foot and starts rubbing it. The feeling, exquisite. I lay back on the pillow, relaxing underneath his touch.

I have my eyes closed when he asks, "Could you ever love me?" That's the question that's been bugging him.

"No, never. I could never love someone like you." I keep my eyes closed, not wanting to look at him.

He moves to my other foot, keeping a steady pressure when he rubs it. "I could love you." His body lays to the side of mine.

Refusing to look at him, instead, I get up and go into the bathroom, shutting the door.

I hate the way he makes me feel, hate him for the way my body is tied to him. I hate him and how I can feel his thoughts. I hate him and how I want him so bad, but I hate myself the most. For feeling all this.

I want him to hate, just as much me, I want him to feel disgusted at himself the way I feel for myself.

"Can you help me?" I call out to him sweetly.

The door opens. I stand in front of the mirror, watching him, my hair falling loosely down my back.

"Can you help me with my dress? I can't reach the buttons." I watch him carefully.

He stares directly at me in the mirror, angling his head, trying to figure out what I'm thinking.

I keep my expression neutral, holding in my thoughts. "Can you just unbutton me?"

He looks down my dress, at all those buttons, and his fingers start working, one button at a time I wait and watch him. I bring my hair to the side, so he can really see, and I watch.

With each button coming undone, the material pulls away from my back, revealing the true horror of our actions.

He can't look at me anymore. His hands start to shake as he takes in the effect of our love.

Oh, how I taste the brackish purulent disgust as it washes over his body in deep waves, threatening to consume him. The bile rises is his throat and I revel in his suffering.

This is exactly what I wanted: his disgust, his anger, his hatred towards himself. The material comes away from my back, exposing all the worst of the whip's kisses.

His eyes look up in the mirror as he shoves himself away from me, his heart imploding in his chest. Absolute devastation is coming off him. The small chance he thought he had for me to ever love him has been ripped away, just as the whip ripped away my flesh.

Now he knows, now he can understand my deep-seated hate towards him. And now that he understands, he can't even talk. His voice has escaped him along with his nerve.

He turns from me in such self-hatred, my wolf whimpers in my head. He leaves, closing the door of the bedroom quietly behind him. Leaving me behind, alone, where I belong. Consumed by my own self-disgust.

What I really wanted to happen is for him to wrap me in his arms and kiss me, and tell me that he could still love me, that it doesn't matter what I look like. I want so much from him, but I don't dare utter a single word, why when it's pointless.