In the Alpha’s Arms

What the hell, Cole?

Lita cracked her sore, and puffy eyes open. She felt as if she’d been steam rolled. Soundlessly staring at the familiar wood pattem of her ceiling beams, Lita regained consciousness sprawled onto her living room floor, surrounded by dried blood and broken furniture. And for the briefest moment, she didn’t know how she got there.

The memories returned in a rush. For a blissful moment of awareness, she didn’t move or breathe, worried that either of those things would kick–start the pain that was likely waiting in the wings.

Was Brian still in her apartment? As she moved her arms, Lita could hear the crinkle of caked blood on her dress. Her body immediately rebelled, shooting pain from her shoulders to her ribs. The silent apartment wasn’t reassuring, because Brian could still be hidden somewhere out of sight. Or he could be in the hallway outside her door, or on his way back from somewhere to finish the job. So, she kept her pain quiet, carefully rolling herself up onto her butt. Based on the radiating agony she felt with every breath, Lita was sure at least one or two bones were bruised, but he could have easily done worse–had done worse before.

Looking down, she took the ruined dress as a good sign that at he hadn’t taken anything she didn’t want to give. And while she felt every ache elsewhere, that area between her legs felt untouched

She was not always so lucky, vividly remembering a time when she woke up beside him in bed, sheets covered in things she would never unsee. He’d been so gentle with her that day, apologizing profusely as he washed and dressed her. How she ever thought that was love, Lita wasn’t sure. For a while, though, her mother and Brian had convinced her that was how people showed their emotions. It’s not like she’d learned a better example from her parents, two people who couldn’t have cared less about each other if they tried.

She carefully pushed up from the ground, trying not to move too fast in case any of her bones were broken. It took an incredibly long time to get to her feet, moments that could have been hours between the deep breaths.

Lita was used to the calm that accompanied these moments. The utter silence of her mind. What was left to think about? What was there left to feel? She’d experienced it all before. Ten times over. These moments were always quiet and reactionary, her brain operating like a kind of triage. Check wounds. Get cleaned up. Drink whatever she had. Dress any wounds. Pass out for the rest of the day.

If she approached it like a triage checklist, Lita found it easier. Canting her head to the side, Lita listened for any errant sounds and heard nothing. Thankfully, Brian must have left sometime while she was unconscious. She moved her limbs and tested out her feet. When everything seemed to be in working order, Lita immediately stumbled to the apartment door so she could drone the chain. That way, she could at least get a fair warning before he burst back in.

When she turned back around, her feet stopped dead. She looked at the body shaped outline of blood and mess on the floor and felt her heart fall. When was enough going to be enough? When the blood became crime scene chalk? When she was finally six feet in the ground? Lita shook so violently, her teeth rattled. No, she was getting out, if it was the last thing she did. Her being in this situation was the reason James was dead and the least she could do to honor him was try to get out. She’d given up on honoring herself a long time ago.

Lita hobbled into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of whatever her fingers touched first out of the fridge, and then she limping to her bedroom mirror. She unscrewed the top of the bottle, gulping a few mouthfuls down. Grunting, Lita embraced the vodka’s burn. It covered her other pains for a moment, distracting her from the wreckage of her body. She ticked off every wound. A shiner under her eye, a bruised collarbone, a few scrapes over her face. She pulled the dress off, wincing at the ache of her muscles. Bruised ribs, maybe a few more serious issues in her elbow and femur, a welt on her hip the size of a shoe. She tumed to her back, examining a few more curved welts from what appeared to be a belt. They crisscrossed over her already scarred skin, making it puffier than usual. As much as she knew it hurt, all she felt inside was numbness. That deadly silence that swallowed her mind. It was. that quiet echo in her chest that told her she’d become entirely too used to this series of events.

She at least needed to clean the cuts and welts, taking another few swigs from the bottle to work up the courage to shower. Taking one last look at herself in the minor, Lita paused, inspecting herself a little more. She looked awful, there was no arguing that. But the wounds and bruises weren’t looking how they should have looked. Running her mind back over what happened, Lita knew for a fact Brian hadn’t taken it easy on her. She should have been… worse.

Her body shuddered. Considering the blood across her living room floor and the severity of how many wounds she had, Lita was sure they shouldn’t have looked like this.

For instance, her shiner was yellowish brown, a sign that it was in the later stages of healing. Her welts were all clotted and marbled in purples and blues. They weren’t red and bleeding. They weren’t open and meaty like hours–old wounds should have been. The scrapes on her face and arms weren’t discolored at all, only thin brown scabs as proof they even existed. Even her aching body felt strange. Too easy to move. Too stable. She should have been stiff and, at the very least, crying involuntary tears from the pain. That’s how it had always been before, so what had changed?

She cleared her throat, taking another big swallow to the head as she turned for the bathroom. Maybe the gym was making her body healthier? Stronger? Lita stood in the back of the hot shower, trying to work up the nerve to put water on her skin. Scabs or not, Lita knew the hot water would burn. Steam rolled around her, puckering her skin. Lita thought she heard a soft knock somewhere, but she dismissed it, focusing on making herself take that first step. She gulped at the alcohol once more and set the bottle on the shower shelf, taking a deep breath. She just needed to stop stalling.

What the hell, Cole

calling her name? Lita couldn’t stop walking forward until the water was at her hips. Then her breasts. Her shoulders. Her face. Blowing several breaths in

was when she heard the door burst open and heavy booted footsteps coming her

because he couldn’t stop talking about it at dinner. So, if the heavy steps weren’t him, who was it? She panicked, knowing there was nothing in the shower or bathroom to use for self–defense. She cut off the water, snatching up her razor and back scrubber like they would help her. Lita took a quick step out onto the bathmat and

wooden scrubber straight into the first nose she could see. That sudden movement shot pain through every muscle in

process how ridiculous it was to see him standing in her bathroom doorway. His hair was wild and unkempt, looking as if he hadn’t slept at all last night. Those intense eyes were wild and red rimmed, as if he’d been rubbing them nonstop She couldn’t comprehend anything. How he knew where she lived or why he felt

door in one piece?” Lita asked, more confused and

expression only darkened. further, turning pale as if he’d just been punched in the gut. His gaze trailed from her Esce to her neck, her arms

his head and released. “Who

her, Lita wasn’t entirely sure as she curled her arms over herself, ignoring how the action tugged at her wounds. “I walt out there.” He motioned to the bedroom. Cole looked

hody. Her normal pattern was to stay locked in her apartment for a few days until

as if Lita wanted to protect Brian, but she didn’t want anyone else’s blood on her hands. She didn’t want her plans disrupted before they could fully take root, either. She grabbed a towel to hide more of the injuries. There was no longer a

more

Cole didn’t seem food of her and yea, he was a fighter, and more than capable of hurting her if he wanted to. But Lita always felt safe with him, even when she didn’t know

off the hinges and swallowed. Maybe she was just a shitty judge of character when it

cared about her privacy. And having her neighbors look in to see blood and mess everywhere? God

with the promise of wrath. She was definitely a poor judge of violent tendencies. Pulling at his hair, Cole jumped up and paced,

him, as if

What the Cola?

she tried to say before he dismissed that

the gym yesterday?” His face pinched as if he was in physical pain every time he

throat until it drew a groan. She cupped a hand around her neck at the same moment that Cole stepped forward, “I was embarrassed about how I acted. I mean, I’ve never

he asked incredulously. It sounded like he’d taken a few steps closer to her closet. “I don’t understand how you could

it was weird to run away screaming about wolves that aren’t real. Apparently, I’m overedicated. It’s never happened before, but it’s not unheard of. And I didn’t feel like having that conversation with strangers, but here we are…” She dropped the towel, opting for a loose tee and sweats with nothing underneath. The

having a conversation about the wolf hallucination when he’d just burst into her apartment? This wasn’t a normal reaction, was it? Surely, she should have been screaming or forcing him outside. Surely, she shouldn’t have been calmly getting dressed in the closet as if it were a normal Friday. It must have been the

entirely sure she was in the right frame of mind to be around