Kamrynn’s POV
The hallways blurred past me as I stormed toward his room, my heart pounding like a war drum against my ribs. The whispers of Pack members barely registered in my ears-their hushed tones filled with worry, apprehension, fear.
They should be afraid.
I wasn’t here for peace.
Reaching Calvin’s door, I kicked it open without hesitation. The heavy wooden door slammed against the wall with a loud bang, startling the two men inside.
Calvin and Franklin.
Both turned sharply toward me, but I only saw one person.
Him.
His clothes were still soaked from the rain, the dark fabric clinging to every inch of his body, defining every muscle. His hair dripped with water, strands sticking to his face, shaping it-making him look more rugged, more raw, more-
No.
I crushed the warmth that flared in my chest.
I had almost forgotten we were mates.
Almost.
The moment my gaze met his green eyes, I let the fury take over.
“Leave,” I ordered, my voice like steel as I turned to Franklin.
He hesitated, glancing between us, but Calvin gave a small nod, silently dismissing him. Franklin obeyed, slipping out of the room and closing the door behind him.
The second we were alone, Calvin took a step toward me, his expression unreadable, as if he was trying to gauge my mood.
“Kamrynn-”
I slapped him.
The sharp crack of my palm against his face echoed through the room, slicing through the tense silence.
His head snapped to the side, but he didn’t move, didn’t retaliate. A thin trickle of blood slid down his lower lip.
Good.
I grabbed the front of his shirt, yanked him toward me, and used my free hand to pound against his chest. My fists landed hard, over and over, fueled by rage, betrayal, heartbreak.
“How could you?!” I screamed, my voice raw. “How could you do something so despicable?! So utterly evil?!”
Calvin didn’t resist. He didn’t try to stop me. He stood there, taking it, his eyes filled with guilt as I let my fists crash against him.
“Lysaa was the only one who stood by me when the entire world turned its back on me!” I choked, my vision blurring with tears of rage. “She was my only friend, and you destroyed her!”
Calvin inhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. “I know.”
That was all he said. I know.
No excuses.
No pathetic attempt at justification.
Just… acknowledgment.
It only fueled my anger further.
“Say something!” I demanded, shaking him.
He closed his eyes briefly before bowing his head in shame. “I have no excuse,” he murmured. “I did something horrible in anger. And I can’t take it back, no matter how much I want to.” His voice was thick, weighted with something heavy. “I know I deserve punishment. Whatever you decide, I’ll accept it.”
A cold, bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Do you really think you can withstand the full brunt of my fury?”
“I’ll try my best,” he said simply.
Then, before I could react, he gently pried my hands off his shirt and stepped away.
I watched as he strode toward his wardrobe, pulled open the doors, and rummaged inside. A moment later, he turned back to me.
Holding a whip.
A deep, black leather whip-its coiled length worn from use, its edges sharp.
Calvin placed it in my hands.
The leather was heavy, rough against my palm, a weapon of pain now resting in my grip. He stepped back, reaching for the hem of his soaked shirt, peeling it over his head in one fluid motion. The wet fabric clung to his body, resisting the movement, but he pulled it free and let it drop to the floor.
Then he turned around.
The dim light of the room cast shadows over the ridges of his spine, over the taut muscles of his back. His skin was damp, golden with the remnants of summer, unmarred-pristine. A blank slate.
It wasn’t fair.
He had hurt me. Hurt so many people. And yet here he stood, still whole, still unbroken. Meanwhile, I was splintered inside, a thousand shards of pain barely holding together.
No. Not anymore.
The room was silent except for the sound of my own ragged breathing.
“Do it,” he said.
I hesitated.
“Punish me, Kamrynn. With everything you have.”
I clenched my jaw. Fine.
“With pleasure,” I retorted.
The first lash was sharp. The leather snapped against his skin, a clean, brutal strike that left an angry red welt in its wake.
Calvin didn’t move.
I struck again. Harder.
The whip landed across his back, tearing open skin, deepening the wound. Blood welled to the surface.
Still, he stood there. Silent.
A memory surged forward like a wave, crashing over me with full force.
“Scream for me.”
I was on my knees, my wrists bound behind my back, my clothes torn, my body trembling from exhaustion. My skin stung, burning from the lashes, the cuts, the bruises.
Calvin stood above me, whip in hand, his eyes cold, pitiless.
“Beg me to stop.”
I had. I had begged. I had pleaded. I had cried until my throat was raw, until my voice was nothing but a hoarse whisper. And he had laughed. He had relished my suffering.
Now here we were.
And he was silent.
I lashed him again, pouring my fury into the motion.
The whip carved another deep gash into his back, blood trailing down his spine in crimson rivulets. He did not flinch. He did not so much as inhale sharply.
The rage inside me roared, wild and insatiable.
“Why won’t you scream?!” I snarled, striking him again. “Why won’t you beg?! Cry, damn you!”
Another lash. Another wound.
He only stood there. Bearing it. Taking it.
The irony of it all made me laugh bitterly. When I had been at his mercy, he had demanded my pain. He had fed off my suffering.
Now I was the one wielding the whip, and he refused to break.
I whipped him again. And again. And again.
Each strike painted his back with agony, layering fresh wounds over raw flesh, until his skin was no longer skin but a canvas of torn red meat.
Still, he made no sound.
The bastard.
I wanted to destroy him.
To make him feel what I had felt, to drag him down into the abyss where he had once thrown me.
“You don’t get to be strong!” I screamed, my voice hoarse, shaking. “You don’t get to stand there and take this like it doesn’t hurt!”
I threw all my strength into the next lash.
The whip cracked against his back, slicing deep. More blood. More pain.
Still nothing.
My breath came fast, ragged. My arm burned with the effort, my grip on the whip unsteady, but I could not stop.
“Do you think this makes you noble?!” I shrieked. “Do you think taking this punishment makes up for what you did?!”
Another strike.
“Does it erase the torment you put me through?!”
Another.
“Does it undo the pain?!”
Another.
Calvin swayed slightly, his body trembling ever so faintly. But still, he remained standing.
I hated him.
I hated how he was still strong, still silent, still enduring.
I hated how, even now, some part of me ached at the sight of his suffering.
I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to break him.
But most of all-
I wanted him to hold me.
The realization sent a fresh wave of fury through me.
I raised the whip again, but my arm… My fingers had gone numb. My muscles screamed.
I was exhausted.
My body had reached its limit before my mind had.
My grip loosened. The whip slipped from my fingers, falling to the bloodstained floor.
I staggered back, chest heaving, sweat clinging to my skin.
Calvin remained still for a long moment before turning his head slightly, glancing over his shoulder. His face was pale, his lips parted as he caught his breath. His back was a mangled mess of raw flesh and open wounds, his blood dripping onto the floor.
And yet, when he looked at me, there was no anger. No resentment.
Just sorrow.
And something else.
Something that made my stomach twist.
“Is that enough for you?” he asked, his voice quiet.
I gritted my teeth. “Shut up.”
He didn’t.
“If it’s not, then keep going,” he said, his voice raw but steady. “Punish me until you’re satisfied. Until your rage is gone.”
I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms.
“But…” His voice faltered slightly. “I have one request.”
I glared at him. “You don’t get to ask for anything.”
His hands curled at his sides. “I know.”
A long pause stretched between us. His chest rose and fell, slower now, as if the weight of something unbearable pressed down on him.
“Even if you hate me,” he said softly, “please… stay with me, please.”
I inhaled sharply.
He turned then, facing me fully. His face was drawn, haunted. His viridescent eyes-the same eyes that had once looked at me with cruelty, with hunger, with dominance-were now filled with something else.
Desperation.
“I don’t care if you make me suffer for the rest of my life,” he murmured. “I don’t care if you never forgive me. You can do whatever you want to me. You can hate me, hurt me, destroy me.”
His voice broke.
“But if you leave, Kamrynn… I won’t survive it. I love you so much, I won’t be able to live without you.”
I stood frozen, my heart slamming against my ribs, my breath catching in my throat.
I wanted to scoff. To spit in his face. To tell him that I didn’t care.
But the words wouldn’t come.
I should have felt nothing.
I should have turned away.
But the anguish in his voice, the sheer desperation in his emerald eyes…
I hated that it still reached me.
I hated that he was still my mate.
And I hated that part of me still felt him like a phantom pain.
This is dangerous, I should walk away.