Chapter 72: Chapter 72

Atticus

Atticus had won, but it didn’t feel like a victory.

Not when his hard-won prize looked at him like he was a monster. Not when Lily’s cheeks held onto the gauntness they had taken on during her time as Red Ripper’s captive. Not when her eyes, the eyes he had fantasized about for so long, were flat and so dark a brown he could only see his own reflection in them. There was no fire in her, not anymore.

Lily was broken, and in the month since Atticus had so bravely saved her from Red Ripper – and saved his own pack as well – he hadn’t been able to fix her. In fact, Atticus wasn’t even sure that she wanted to be fixed.

He huffed under his breath and reached for her. His fingers froze a half-inch from her shoulder. The duvet had slipped down, but her skin was far from bare. She was always cold, now. Anger burned hot in Atticus’s belly. She wore his t-shirt and his sweater over it. His claim was visible to any who dared look at his mate.

But she did not belong to him. Not really.

Even now, in his bed, she was turned away from him, and curled up into a ball so tight he thought one small shove would send her rolling across the floor. Even in sleep, she was so rigid, so tense, that Atticus often wondered if she truly slept around him at all.

He wanted to shake her. He wanted to yell at her to snap out of it, to get a grip, to reclaim the fight he had once seen burning in her beautiful eyes.

But his pack came first, and he’d had his hands full with moving his pack back across Eldda and rebuilding their home. He and Lily had been sent straight back to Blood Moon’s territory through whatever magic Red Ripper possessed – and he really should have asked more questions when they were there – and, over the next few weeks, the pair of them had cleared the last of the wreckage left by White Oak.

He had planned to take Sea Pine after rescuing Lily. But he’d not expected to be sent all the way back across Eldda by Red Ripper’s magic – and he’d not planned to form an alliance with them, either. He’d arrived at home to baskets full of food and seeds, piled high on the pack house’s porch. A note had been attached, too, which had promised to send word to his Blood Moon wolves and send them home.

He rolled over and grunted angrily. The curtains were left open – Lily couldn’t sleep with them shut, not after being stuck in a cell. She’d not told him much about what had happened to her, but he could guess. He’d seen the bruises, the blood, the fear in her wide brown eyes. Each time she’d turned that terrified gaze to him his heart had crumbled, just a little bit more. Every time she flinched at his movements, no matter how gently they’d been intended, a whip struck his spine, flaying flesh from bone.

Darkness spilled into the room. It was too quiet. Atticus hated it.

“Lily?” he asked quietly.

Her breathing hitched, but she did not reply. Atticus scowled. He knew she was awake. She always was – and, though she climbed into his bed dutifully every night, and immediately rolled over to face away from him, and they never once touched, and she rarely even looked at him, she was there. But, in the mornings, she was not.

Atticus slept too deeply to know when it was she left. His hand would splay across the pillow behind her head, and he would breathe in her scent of pine and wild berries to remind himself that she was here, that she was safe, and he would fall into a deep and dreamless sleep almost instantly. And, when he awoke, Lily was gone. Always, without fail.

Tonight, Atticus had vowed to stay awake. She had defied him for far too long. His pack would be arriving any day now, providing their journey had been without conflict. He had to be in control when they returned. They had to see that their trek across the continent had not been for nothing.

He forced his breathing to level out. Lily had to believe he was asleep for his plan to work. He rolled onto his back and jutted his knee up – in the hopes his discomfort would keep him from truly falling asleep – and he waited.

And he waited.

And waited.

And waited…

The sky paled outside. Atticus watched it with a detached sort of curiosity. He did not care for beauty and nature, not really. It was nice, of course, but battles and loyalty and blood were far more important to him. He tried to appreciate it as the stars slipped away and the swathes of dark navy pillowed out into peach and tangerine.

The sun draped across the ceiling. It gilded his bedframe, the sheets, the bookshelves. Atticus watched idly as it flowed over his legs – and shut his eyes quickly when he heard movement beside him.

Through heavy-lidded eyes he watched as Lily slipped out of the bed. She did not dress herself, despite the chill of the morning air weaving in through the open window. The air had been stale in the cell, she’d admitted on their first night, her hands twitching and her eyes darting around, looking everywhere but at him.

Something raw and primal hummed in his chest at the sight of her, wearing only his clothes, which draped over her slight frame and – he hoped – kept her warm. She swept a hand over her braid, glanced over at him, and left.

Atticus counted to ten before he followed her.

Was there where she went every morning? Or did she go anywhere – a mere desperation to escape him fuelling her escapades? A knot tied his heart to his gut at that idea, even as anger burned a hole through his chest. He ached for her to feel safe with him. He had been the one to save her, after all – wasn’t he owed some sort of gratitude?

Fury seared away the last of his concern. His lips flattened into a thin line as he followed her out of the pack house. They rounded the ornate gardens where he had rejected her. Guilt grew in his gut, but he ignored it. He had more than redeemed himself. His hands curled into fists. He would show her. He would make Lily see that she should be kneeling at his feet and begging for his attention.

As they crossed the grounds to the Warrior Wolf cabins, Atticus realised, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, where they were going. Lily may have stayed with him in the pack house, but it was not her home. This was.

She had one foot in the door when he stopped her. He clasped her bicep roughly and spun her round to face him.

Lily’s throat bobbed. Her eyes widened, doe-like, as they met his. She bit down on her plump bottom lip. “Atticus?” she asked, so quietly he struggled to hear her.

And Stars above – it sounded so damned good to hear his name on her lips. He shoved down the elation that rose, unbidden, at the sound of her rasping out the syllables that he had imagined so many times.

Rather than kissing her, as he wished he could, he gripped her tighter. “What are you doing out here?” he growled.

She didn’t even flinch, and somehow that hurt more than when she did. Her fearful eyes glazed over, and she looked up at him with nothing left in her soul for him to take.

She swallowed thickly before she spoke. “I miss my dad,” she whispered, glancing towards the door. The sunlight gilded her hair, bringing out its golden-red streaks. It was a sad sort of sunshine, the last of the heat before autumn stole it away for the winter.

Atticus frowned. “He’ll be back soon. Three days at most.”

Her hands knitted together, but she made no move to pull free of his grip. Slowly, gently, he let his fingers slide down her arm.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. He was so kind to her – and this was how she repaid him? Red-hot rage swelled in his veins, searing him down to his bones.

He punched the door behind her – and, at last, she flinched.

“Atticus?” Fear coloured her tone. He smirked.

But – no. This was wrong. He wanted her, but not through fear. He ground his teeth together and let his hand drop, where it swayed softly at his side.

“I’m… Sorry. I don’t want to frighten you.” He sighed, his shoulders and back tensing. His hands balled into fists again. He pursed his lips and waited for her to finish his sentence, fresh anger rolling in him when she did not. “But I have brought you back from Red Ripper, Lily. I don’t know what more I can do.”

Her chin quivered. “Because there is nothing you can do.” She bit her lip, hard enough that blood welled. He reached out with his thumb and brushed it away.

Atticus cleared his throat. “What happened to you?”

She shook her head, closing her eyes in resignation. “You don’t want to know.”

“You don’t sleep. You barely eat.”

“Why do you care?” she snapped.

He wanted to snap back. But, as his mouth took on a snarl, he forced it to stop. Because anger was an emotion – and any feeling was better than the shell he’d been living with for the last month.

“You are my mate,” he murmured, wiping her blood on the thigh of his sleeping trousers. “Of course I care.”

She turned away. “No, you aren’t,” she said bitterly.

He snorted. “You can’t still believe you and Alpha Idiot are mates, can you? I was first, Lily – and I will be your last.”

She sucked in a breath. It sounded… Wet.

“Are you crying?” he asked.

“No.” But a tear streaked down her scarred cheek and her bottom lip wobbled as she spoke. Her hand shot up to wipe away the gleaming trail it left behind.

“What can I do?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

“You could tell me about it,” he offered, sitting down in the doorway of her old home. He knew that crying was a weakness – but it was one he could train out of her. And she had been through more than most. He assumed she had, anyway. He couldn’t deny that he was curious to find out why his mate, once made of fire and stone, had crumbled into a pool of ash.

Lily slid down the door until she was sat beside him. Their knees touched; the shockwave it sent through Atticus was razor-sharp.

And then she told him everything.

About the cell.

And the eleve.

And Apollo.

And Morvand.

And the bruises.

And the blood.

And the witch.

As she spoke, Atticus’s heart burned with rage – not at her, but for her. Time, she said, worked differently in the magical realm their pack’s territory was housed within. She had suffered for far longer than he had ever realised.

She cried as she spoke, sad, silent tears that made her throat sticky and her eyes red. Atticus found he didn’t mind. Tears were weakness, but Lily couldn’t be weak – not if she’d survived all that.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, eyeing her with newfound respect that blurred with the pain he felt for her. “You’re here now. You’re safe.”

“I’m not,” she said, her chin jutting out. Seeing that proof of her defiance made her heart swell. She was still in there. His mate. “And I won’t be – not until Red Ripper are destroyed.”

Atticus wet his lips. “Then we will destroy them,” he swore.

Even though they were allies.

Even though they had helped to rebuild his pack.

He knew, in that moment, that he would do anything to keep Lily gazing up at him like that. The way she was looking at him, like he maybe wasn’t a monster after all, shattered him. The hard cut of her jaw and the flash of fire in her eyes rebuilt him just as quickly.

He swore to himself that he would become a man worthy of her love. He would make up for ever letting her go. And if destroying Red Ripper was what it would take, then Atticus would damn well do it.

He would do it for her.