For once, she doesn’t fight me. For once, she lets me, wanting the pain also, anything to extinguish the feeling of sadness washing over me. Grieving something I never had in the first place or never will have, I want the numbness back, the autopilot feeling, the feeling where I no longer care about what happens to me. I need the numbness back.
I can’t handle it anymore. My mate is meant to pull me from this darkness, to be by my side, but no. He isn’t here, he doesn’t want me; he hates me.
My claws slip from my fingertips with blinding speed as they dig into my thigh; ripping through my flesh. Jarring pain courses through me and I welcome it, relishing the way it burns.
The relief, however, is short-lived as my blood spills over the tops of my thighs and washes down the drain. My claws retract but still, it is not enough, and I pierce my flesh deeper than ever, seeking the numbness that usually comes with it, yet I receive nothing.
Not even as I rake my claws through my skin all the way to my hip. It isn’t enough. Why isn’t it enough? Darkness taints my blood, streaks of black spill onto the floor and swirl through the scarlet liquid that spills out of me. I shudder as the coldness seeps through me, coating me with a numbing relief when I hear a knock on the door.
“Marabella?” Jonah’s voice calls out, and I panic.
I look down at my mutilated legs. Shit. I forgot I’m not alone here, not hidden in the confines of my bedroom. I’m not home where I can suffer in silence. Usually, left to my own vices while my parents tend to Eziah, the next Alpha.
I’m usually forgotten with all his training and duties, but Jonah has always seen through my facade half the time.
I scramble to my feet, blood rushes down my leg as I frantically look for something to stem the bleeding. I reach for the toilet paper and grab wards of it. It sticks to my wet leg, stopping the blood as I rush over to my handbag and rifle through it.
My wounds never heal, and have never been this deep, but I tore through the muscle without realizing it as I sought the numbness that would save me from the agony Kyan caused me.
“Marabella, answer, or I will kick the door down!” Jonah’s voice rings out loud, and I gulp.
Glancing at the door, I frantically grab a towel and wrap it around myself. I hear talking as I reach the door and crack it open enough to peer out while keeping my leg behind the door and out of sight. The shower is still running behind me, washing my essence down the drain.
I pray he can’t smell the blood.
“What’s wrong? Can’t I at least shower in peace?” I ask, my voice trembling slightly, and I realize he is on the phone with someone. I wonder who it is and why the sudden adamance that I open the door.
“Ah, nothing, you were in there for a while, I was just checking on you,” Jonah says, returning his attention to who he is on the phone to.
I recognize Kyan’s voice but can’t understand his words. It isn’t clear enough, but just the reminder of him once again cuts through me sharper than a knife.
“Bro, she is fine; she is standing right in front of me, perfectly fine,” Jonah mutters.
“What? No, here you talk to her then, she is fine. I am looking right at her,” Jonah says, shaking his head. My brows furrow in confusion as Jonah thrusts the phone toward me.
“Here, tell him you’re fine before he comes over here,” Jonah says, shaking his head as he hands me the phone and walks off.
I stare at the phone and see a picture of Kyan on the screen. I gulp and place the phone to my ear. I clench my jaw. He sure has the cheek to ask about me after hurting me.
“Hello, Jonah!” Kyan snaps through the phone.
“Ah no, he walked off. What do you want?” I tell him.
He growls at me, and I am about to hang up when a violent shiver runs up my spine.
“Last fucking time, Marabella. Next time, you will end up in a straight jacket in my fucking basement!” he snaps and hangs up on me.
I stare at the phone screen and shake my head. I wonder what has gotten into him until a gasp leaves my lips right before an icy feeling seeps up my leg.
Opening my towel, I glance down at my leg to see black tendrils running beneath my skin, sealing the claw marks and tingeing them black. My heart thumps as I simply stare at my leg. What is that?
My phone vibrates in my bag, and I quickly grab some toilet paper and start cleaning up the blood that spilled onto the tiles by the door. I don’t get it; I can’t stop staring at my leg and the veins of black that were once wounds and are now closed.
Hesitantly, I rub the dark lines etched into my skin with my fingertips to see if they will rub off. I shudder, warmth floods through me, caresses through me as sparks rush across my hip and down my leg. Yet the marks remain, tainting my porcelain-colored skin.
“Kyan….. I think it’s Kyan,” Kora whimpers.
Then she too also stops just as confused as me. But how? We haven’t marked each other? How can he feel what I did, and how can he heal me without touching me? That just makes little sense, but whatever this is, it is strange.
My phone vibrates again, making me pause, and this time I pull it out, staring down at the screen. I don’t recognize the number and I am about to toss it back on the counter when suddenly, a message pops up on my screen.
My father didn’t die for you to toss your life away.
I stare at the message, and for a split second, I wonder if it is Kyan. I look down at Jonah’s phone. I want to check if it’s his number, but Jonah’s phone is locked, so I can’t get access to his contacts.
“Jonah!” I call out, and a moment later, I hear his footsteps.
“Are you decent?” he asks.
“I have a towel on,” I tell him.
He opens the door, sticking his head in. “What’s up?”
“Your phone is locked; I just want to check Kyan’s number. I think he messaged me, but his message makes no sense,” I tell him while making sure I hide the used tissue paper. I don’t want him to see the blood.
“It’s your birth date. What did he say?” he asks as a slight frown appears on his face.
I hand him my phone, and he looks at it. His jaw clenches and he growls.
To ease the tension, I try to distract him. “You use my date of birth for your pin?” He doesn’t answer, too busy glaring at my phone, and I begin to worry he is going to toss it or break it in his tight grip.
“So, that is Kyan’s number?” I ask him, and he nods.
Jonah’s eyes flick to mine. “I will be back. I need to go speak to someone,” Jonah says and suddenly storms off.
Then, I notice that he storms off with my phone. He didn’t give it back. The front door slams with a loud bang while I am left standing in the bathroom, still clutching his phone in my hand.
“I wonder what he meant?” Kora asks me, and I have no idea what he meant by his words. I frown as I stare at the floor, the sound of the running water of the shower loud in my ears as I ponder over that text. What exactly did he mean?