Chapter 50

Jaxson

Marshal drops her on the couch in their house, Jacki and him trying to assess her countless wounds but there’s far too many to make sense of. I linger behind everyone, including the Alpha of North Woods who leans against the back of the couch, breathless from the run with Marshal, and two other familiar faces.

Paul and Row pace behind her parents, wearing only pants that they must have slipped on after just going on a run. I don’t ask questions, only taking a glimpse through the crowd to see my mate’s face ultimately unrecognizable.

She’s drenched in blood and mud. She bares open cuts all over her arms and legs, including down her side where she lays in blissful unconsciousness. Her hair is gone, almost deeming her unrecognizable, and when her father tries to lift her eyelid to check her response, her once sky-blue eyes are white in hue, colorless like her face, aside from the bruises that streak all over her surface. I look away, choking back a sob.

“What the hell is that?” Paul asks, his voice peaking over the chaotic whispers of the room.

I hear my mate shift and I want to embrace her, but I know she needs space from me now more than ever. I finally look back, peering over my shoulder to see her on her opposite side, exposing her back for us all to see.

“Bite—bite marks,” Mary gasps.

My stomach drops and I give up, charging toward my mate on the couch and taking her neck in my hands, away from her father. He steps back willingly, or too afraid, and I brush my hand to get the mud and blood mixture off her skin. Row hands me a wet towel, making the task easier, and I wipe away the grime to expose her back, shoulders, and neck.

“Four… Five… Six…” I hum, tracing the marks that line her upper body.

“She’s been bitten nine times,” Jacki sobs, clinging to her husband.

“They’re not meant to wound, though,” Paul points out, pointing to the one of on her neck that lines up directly with mating mark I made on her throat. “It’s a mating mark.”

Mary huffs a cry, falling to her knees.

I try not to think of the worst outcome and instead lean into my mate, breathing the scent of her body, of the bites, and inhaling in the horrible, disgusting stench of my poor excuse for a brother. I reach for a blanket to cover her bare body from the sight of the onlookers. I can’t see all of the wounds yet but I have to know what he has done.

“It’s Xander,” I finally choke, looking back to see Mary melt in relief on the floor. “Xander made the bite marks on her neck and shoulders.”

“Why would he do that?” Jacki gasps through her heavy sobs. “Why would he bite her?”

I think back to the other day, closing my eyes as I feel the striking heat flush down my body suddenly, twenty-times worse than any pain I could have felt if she has simply kissed another male. He must have done it then to hurt me, or to hurt her, I’m not sure, but I have to find out.

“Where is the closest bathtub in this house?”

“She has a shower in her room,” Marshal gasps.

I slide my hands under her hips and shoulder, keeping the blanket over her surface while I lead her upstairs. Everyone thankfully stays behind as I do so, carefully maneuvering her up the stairs and into her bedroom. It smells more like my mate than her own body does.

Flipping on the warm water, I soak myself first, then sit down with her sitting against my chest. She is limp, almost lifeless, if not for the shallow exhales she plants against my neck. I try to wash her off as best as I can, watching the blood and dirt swirl down the drain as the scar and wounds come to sight.

There are bruises all over her body, more than there are pale portions of her complexion, and the bite marks are the least of my concerns now. She has cuts all over her wrists and ankles, still bleeding and blistered all over. There are at least four ribs broken in her side, the bruising so dark that it’s as if she has shadows permanently stuck to her body.

Then there’s the blood between her thighs.

My wolf whines in agony and I look aside, finally breaking loose from the grasp of calm and collect that has been strangling me. I cry into her neck, holding her tight to my chest but careful not to harm her more, completely breaking as I think of what has caused such a wound on my mate.

“Aurora,” I wail, furious and crying. “I’m so fucking sorry, sweetheart.”

She sniffles a breath, the first sign she’s given of being conscious and I jump, pulling her head up so I can meet her eyes. Her cheeks are bruised and her eyes are swollen slightly, but she opens them anyways, blinking slow, wavering back and forth in lap as she looks at me.

“Aurora, moon goddess, please, say something,” I beg, pleading through countless tears.

She opens her mouth and speaks so quietly that I almost miss the words. “He’s in my head.”

Her head falls back, her eyes closed, and I watch her twitch and convulse in my lap.

I hold her tighter, refusing to let her go through this pain without me. I know it hurts. I don’t bother asking about why Xander marked her as a mate but I don’t care. I just want her to be okay first. She can explain this all when she is well but for now, I let her writhe in pain in my lap.

“Shh,” I hum, rocking her back and forth, letting the water hit her neck and chest to keep her warm through this tough time. “It’s going to be okay. It will all be fine, sweetheart, just let it pass, just hold on and let it happen. You will be okay, Aurora. I know you will. I have you now. Please, just be okay, sweetheart…”

She finally stills in my arms, just as numb as before, and I try to let her rest while I cry into her neck, nothing about this she-wolf resembling the mate I took when I found her.

I think of her long, silver hair. She had the brightest, bluest eyes I’d ever seen and they were so wide when she was happy, and so gray when she cried. I hated that gray color. Her cheeks would be pink and blushed in the cold, or in embarrassment, like when I called her beautiful. She never liked the attention but she smiled anyways.

She was doing it for my benefit, not wanting to argue and tell me how she felt she wasn’t beautiful, or how she wasn’t special. I wish she knew that she was wrong. She will always be wrong. She may be bleeding all over, and poked with more bruises than I’ve ever seen, and baring scars around her throat and neck that may never heal, but I love her more than ever before.

She is my mate no matter what, no matter the wounds, the past mistakes, no matter the rejection.

I recall the blue moon gala and even though it’s only a full moon tonight, I feel powerful and my wolf stirs at the opportunity of getting to help our true mate. I force a fang out, letting it poke at my thumb enough to bleed a little before running it over her bottom lip and then briefly swiping the inside of her mouth just a drop or two.

Her nose scrunches at the taste but it’s the first real reaction I’ve been given thus far. She settles in my lap and inhales sharply, her bruises still deep in color but her bones trying their best to heal, snapping and cracking into place like she plans on shifting. Thankfully, she holds off, at least her broken bones realigning from the blood I gave her.

I dream of her voice, of her eyes being crisp and alive and right in front of me again. I’ve missed everything about my mate but as she starts to relax, even a fraction, I can tell that the woman I hold now is nothing like the mate I knew.

“My beautiful mate,” I hum to her cheek, giving her my warmth. “I know I didn’t protect you very well in the past,” I admit, no matter how hard I’ve tried, it hasn’t worked. “I’m going to make it right.” I realize now that I have put one thing before my mate and I have to make a choice between them two.

The royal pack.