Saffron

My first instinct is to run.

I don't understand why this is happening! Logan and I were making out and he was totally into me... and, yeah, I was totally into him too. It's just that everything was happening so fast. It felt like Logan wanted to do, well, it, right here in the closet!

That's why I pulled away. I had no idea it would trigger something in him—a part of him he can't control—and that it would transform him into his father right in front of my eyes. Wait, not his father, my father!

Suddenly, all the pain and hurt Dad's ever caused me—constantly beating me, ignoring me, not loving me, maybe keeping me from having a pack, and then selling me for ten grand—comes flooding in. Will Logan do all those things to me too? I guess it's irrational, worrying he might sell me for ten grand, and it's not like I expect him to love me, either. It's just that he's acting all hot one minute and cold the next. Right now, he looks so angry, I think he's on the verge of attacking me! I can't believe I actually let him kiss me. I won't be the girl who makes excuses for a boyfriend who beats or. I won't be with a guy who reminds me even a little bit of Dad.

I wish Logan would just leave me alone so I never have to see him again! I don't even need to try to make my eyes fill with tears. I just think about my life and I want to cry and never stop. If I do, Logan will leave me alone. Dad does. It's always the best way to tame his wolf. Sobbing outright makes him angry—really angry—but watery eyes and a hurt look brings out a caring, protective instinct he's got hidden deep down; one that I hope every wolf has, including Logan.

I've learned a lot of tricks over the years to get the teary eyed look. If I can, I think about something really sad, like a book I just read where someone died, or how lonely I sometimes feel, or how much I miss my mom. If all else fails, I dig my nails into my palm and pierce the skin.

I steel myself and look up at Logan. My eyes are already watery, but I emphasize the effect by making my lower lip tremble. I know he can see my face in the dark. There are faint slivers of light flitting through the gap beneath the door and my own eyes have long since adjusted.

I let my tears show Logan how much the way he's acting is hurting me. One second, he's kissing me and pretending he cares and then he just turns on me? How can he glare at me as though he hates me and order me around like that after everything we've done together?

The urge to run, to yell, to scream, and to fight... it all gets stronger and stronger until I can barely hold back.

I hate being a wolf! I hate it! I hate it! I hate it!

Logan straightens to his full height and stiffens, as if distancing himself from me emotionally. Then he braces his feet and stares me down. "I'm going to count to three," he growls. He doesn't have to say the rest. If I haven't come to him by then, he'll come to me... and I'll regret it. Except I know this game, and I know there is only one way it will end: with pain and broken bones. If I don't come to him, his wolf will take over and he'll make me pay. If I obey, his wolf will still take over, and I'll still be the one suffering the consequences.

"One," Logan counts.

There has to be a way to stop him! I look around, but I know I won't be able to reach the door, not unless I can get past Logan. There aren't any weapons in the room either, not unless I want to try and hit the Pissed Off Wolf's son with a broom. My only choice is to help him calm down.

I let all the sadness and frustration I feel seep into every inch of my being. If I can just make Logan see it—feel it—he'll be able to regain control of his wolf and his anger. He has to.

"Two," Logan counts, gesturing for me to come to him. I know that he's filled with anticipation. He's hoping for 'three,' craving it. He wants me to disobey, wants me to stay rooted in my spot on 'three,' but I'm not going to give him the satisfaction. It's not about the Omega act anymore. I want Logan to know that he's the only one to blame for what happens next. One way or another, I'm going to suffer, but I don't want him making excuses and thinking it's somehow my fault. I need him to know that this is all on him.

Before Logan can say 'three,' I take a step forward, then another, and another. When I stop, I'm directly in front of him. Our toes are almost touching, and I'm so close I can feel his breath on my face as he tries—and fails—to control his anger.

I let the tears flow and tense as I wait for the first blow. As I do, I flash back to our talk on the bathroom floor. Logan apologizing over and over, talking about how hard it is to control his wolf, telling me that all he can do is try. What if he regrets this the minute he regains control and starts thinking clearly? I watch him shake with the effort to regain self-control, see the anger and frustration on his face as the wolf slowly wins, and know I have to do something. Anything.

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