Caine

Chapter 5

“Martha,” I heard a deep voice say somewhere near me.

I frowned when I heard my cousin’s name.

What the hell was Martha doing here? I wondered.

I cracked an eye open, noticing the dim lighting of wherever I was. I felt the softness of the bed under me, so I knew I was no longer locked up in that cell.

I wanted to believe that maybe I’d just dreamt it all- that I was at the apartment, in my comfortable bed.

No such luck.

Just as I was getting my hopes up, I noticed the Alpha leaning closer to me. He was sitting on a chair beside the bed.

“Martha,” he said, sighing in what looked like relief.

Why he was relieved when this was his entire fault- I didn’t really know.

“Martha?” I managed to ask.

My throat hurt and it felt completely dry. I hadn’t drank or eaten anything since- well since I’d been kidnapped by psychotic Wolves.

The Alpha nodded at me, answering my question with an obvious lie. I knew my name, and it was definitely not Martha.

“I brought you to my room. You hit your head,” he told me.

His forehead creased and his eyes began swirling with that dark color again.

I sat up on the bed, resting my back on the headboard. When I did that, I noticed just how big the bed was.

“I didn’t hit my head. One of those loons attacked me.”

“I have taken care of them,” he said, sounded angry.

The faraway look on his face told me his anger wasn’t directed at me.

I remembered how he’d bitten me in the neck. He had claimed me. It was what Werewolves did to their mates...

My hand quickly went to my neck, and sure enough, the bite still felt tender. I wasn’t pressing my fingers too much, but the teeth marks from his bite were definitely there.

“You attacked me too,” I snapped.

The Alpha remained quiet. Instead of replying, he began pouring some water into a crystal glass. The pitcher holding the water had plenty of ice and little droplets of water covered all of the outside- showing just how cold it was.  

I was too thirsty. I saved my complaints for later when he handed me the glass filled with water- some ice cubes were floating on the surface.

While I drank, he began talking.

“The bite on your neck will be the last time I ever hurt you,” he said.

I slowly pulled the glass of water away from my lips, before putting it on the bedside table.

“Like I’m going to believe that,” I muttered

“How are you feeling?” He asked, changing the subject.

I gave him a flat look, rolling my eyes at him.

He didn’t really pay attention. It seemed like he was waiting for me to reply.

“I’m-” I was about to say hurt.

When I took count of my injuries, the bump in my head- which was still very much there- didn’t hurt anymore. The bite on my neck felt sensitive, but not painful.