The Selected

Five Years

Present Day, 5 Years Later

The shower water poured down over me, rinsing away the soapy suds from my hair, my body, and I let out a light moan as soft lips met the sensitive part of skin between my shoulder and neck. 

His hands started at my waist, running up and then down, down, fingers brushing over old scars that littered my entire body. I turned so I could face him, arching up as my lips lightly danced across his, teasing. 

Before anything else could happen, though, the bathroom door burst open and the shower curtain whisked away to reveal Alpha Conrad Rhodes, my one and only true friend. Unfortunately, he didn't look happy to see me. Rather, he was seething, and that anger and tinge of disappointment only grew as he took in the naked male with me. 

"Alpha," He greeted with a dip of his head, but that greeting went ignored. 

Conrad fixed his dark gaze on me as he spoke, "Why the fuck did I have to find out through Johnson just now that you put a trainee in the damn hospital this morning?" 

"He was weak and needed an extra push," I answered, shrugging nonchalantly. "If anything it'll make him better."

He gave a bitter, low laugh, "That sounds an awful lot like something Michael would stay." 

I stilled, my eyes slicing to him in a narrowed glare. The fact that he would ever compare me to that monster was insulting. I cut out a snarl at him, "Don't ever say that fucking bullshit to me." 

"Who's Michael?" The man in the shower with me asked before Conrad could reply. 

The Alpha then finally turned his attention to the man, eyes narrowing as he ground, "Get. Out." 

He quickly obeyed, scurrying out of the bathroom and then the house. 

Conrad stepped closer to the shower, his dark eyes never once leaving mine and that pure anger gave way to something else, something unidentifiable as he said, "What the hell are you doing to yourself, Ad?" 

I rolled my eyes-- he was concerned because I was pushing these new pathetic recruits to our pack? Patting him on the arm, I responded flatly, "Don't you worry your pretty little head, Connie, just let me live the life I want. I'm still the best warrior you've got." 

"I don't give a damn what kind of warrior you are!" He roared, stepping even closer so that the water was spraying and ricocheting onto him. "I want to make sure you're okay." 

We were standing chest to chest now, Conrad's shirt getting damper by the moment and me still standing naked in the shower. His eyes flickered down to my naked body and back up to mine, and I knew that darkening look in his eyes was reflected in my own. 

"See something you like?" I purred, giving him my very best shit-eating grin.  

He rolled his eyes and stepped back, "Oh, fuck off, Addie." 

"What? It's not like we haven't--" 

"Enough," He snarled, with enough tone and force that I clamped down on all of the retorts begging to escape. "Pull yourself together, Addie. I've led it slide for far too long, but you're a hot fucking mess." 

And with that he turned and slammed the bathroom door behind him, the house rattling in its wake. Sighing, I shut off the shower water and stepped out, facing myself in the slightly fogged mirror. 

My thoughts raged endlessly with a bitter tang as I slid my eyes shut, pissed at what Conrad said, pissed at the judgmental look in his eyes when he saw I was with another man I barely even knew. He, who knew better than most why I am the way that I am. Even Conrad was disgusted by me now. And his words about me being like Michael-- I couldn't help the shudder that ran up my spine. 

I wasn't the nicest, sure, but everyone in the pack liked me better than Michael. I might be tough on recruits, but I'm not a creep or a sadist. 

Right?

Peeling my eyes open, I stared back at myself from across the mirror and fully took myself in. The scar across my right brow looked uglier than usual, the white line startlingly contrasted against my skin, even though I wasn't that tan to begin with. 

Dark circles seemed to have permanently taken up residence underneath my eyes and looked more like bruises than bags. I suppose that's what happen when you barely sleep, barely sit still for longer than it takes to eat a meal. I may be a wolf, but it would seem I've adapted a shark's mentality over the years: keep moving forward. 

I looked down towards the rest of my body, little scars scattered all over like a roadmap of my brutal history. My fingers traced over the ones I could remember. Jagged, tooth-shaped scars on my right arm, courtesy of a nasty swipe from Michael himself. A circular, garish scare on my left forearm from an arrow that a hunter had shot clean through it. 

But my attention and focus dipped down to the largest scar of all, swiped across my lower abdomen. Despite the years, the training, and the healing, my fingers trembled as I placed my hand flat over that scar as if I could hide it, make it and everything that came with it disappear. 

I forced myself to drag my eyes back up to my face, cut and sharp and angry. I was always angry. But my once long, vibrant blonde hair now hung damp and limp just barely to my collarbones, a dull and drab blonde now. And my eyes, once a shimmering and sparkling blue, looked more like a hollow gray-blue, as lifeless as I felt on the inside, I supposed. 

And as I took it all in, as I cataloged every part of myself, inside and out, as I let Conrad's words settle within me, I knew without a doubt that he was right. I really am a hot mess.