Page 5 of Mortals and Mayhem
Keep breathing, Riley. Do not throw up.
Carefully, I reach over to my nightstand, feeling around for something—anything—I can use as a weapon. The tips of my fingers roll over a wooden pencil, and I quietly maneuver it closer until I can fist it in my hand. Bringing my hand back, I hide my fist under the pillow my head rests on.
Sliding his hands under the hem of my shirt, he looks up at me with that disgusting smirk again. Not wanting his touch on me a moment longer, I make my move, shoving the pencil into his right eye as deep as I can get it.
He howls and falls to his side, curling in on himself, writhing in pain on my bed. Without an ounce of remorse, I jump to my feet and am out my door and down the hall in less than a second.
Grace is awake, sitting up in her bed, hugging her knees to her chest, rocking with tears running down her face. “I’m sorry, I should have stopped him. I’m sorry, Riles.”
“Gracey, everything is okay, but we have to run … now.”
Grace’s face is pale and ashy as she slowly unfolds herself and gets to her feet. She grabs two bags from under her bed and hands one to me. A quick peek inside reveals shoes, clothing, snacks, and cash. I give her a quizzical look, asking her what this is. She shrugs. “I had a dream a few months ago.”
“Yeah, we’ll talk about these dreams of yours sometime, but now is not the time. We have to move … now, Gracey.”
We’re down the stairs and out the front door before Alastair can call for back-up. I grab Grace’s hand, and we run until we can’t anymore. Crashing in a cave that borders the Stormwater Pack in Tweedsmuir South Provincial Park in Canada, we run across an unlikely ally.
For six years, we were protected by the alpha of the Stormwater Pack, Jimmy Manus. He took us in. Watched over us. Hid us from Alastair. Let us grow up. And helped us heal from the loss of our parents. Until he was the loss we had to heal from.
Forcing my mind away from the heartbreak of losing not only my parents but a surrogate father figure as well, I struggle to keep it from leaping ahead another year. The year my current nightmare began.
Three months after being diagnosed with stage three liver cancer, Grace’s body gave up the fight, and she passed in the night. Four days later, I laid her to rest beside our parents in secret, unable to truly honor her the way she should have been in order to keep Alastair from noticing my return to the pack lands. The following morning found me graveside in Vancouver as an empty casket was lowered into the earth. A month after Grace’s passing, I found myself truly alone, exactly what she said I wouldn’t be.
Shaking off the past, I sit in the middle of my bed, pills in hand. I throw a few in my mouth and swallow, feeling the instant relief that comes from the knowledge of what’s to follow. The all-consuming numbness and freedom from having to feel. And when all this pain comes creeping back in later this evening, I’ll take some more. It’s a never-ending cycle that I know I should stop. I’m running on borrowed time. Slowly killing myself with every pill—every drink. But I can’t stop. Letting the pain in is like swallowing knives, slicing, and cutting me apart from the inside. Grace said something good was coming, but I can’t—or won’t—bring myself to believe it.
The clock on my nightstand reads nearly three in the afternoon. Fuck, I mentally berate myself; I need to be at work in an hour. I flip back the covers and get to my feet, repeating my simple daily routine in my head—shower, dress, work, try to die, repeat. On a good day, I even throw in eating. This is life, at least until they find a better word for it.
Chapter 3
CREE
Riley stumbles her way out of the bar, obviously on something again tonight. I can smell the toxins heavily mixed in with her normal stormy scent. This isn’t going to be a good night; she's gone too far this time.
I follow in the shadows as she exits out the back door leading into the alley, watching as she staggers into the dumpster, holding her head like she is in pain. She grabs at her chest and hunches over, bracing one hand on her knee.
My bear’s attention catches on her labored breathing and slowing pulse. Her body tilts to the side, and I rush forward, catching her with one hand on the back of her head before she hits the ground. Lifting her into my arms, I cradle her to my chest.
A soft, almost kitten-like moan works itself free of her throat as she weakly clutches at my shirt. Her slight curves fit perfectly to me, like she was made to be held in my arms. Her long, fiery red hair falls in a thick curtain around her slender shoulders and down her back. Her heart-shaped face is pinched in the tell-tale sign of the inner pain she faces every day. She’s so broken and bruised inside, she can't see the inner strength I so easily see in her. The strength to get up every day and keep moving. My bear and I want nothing more than to take the pain, protect her from everyone and everything around her, including herself.
Although I have no right to these feelings, Riley isn’t ours. She’s a wolf, and as such she should mate with another wolf. One has even been hanging around, waiting for her to notice him. Of course, over the last two months, she’s hardly even looked his way, be it consciously or subconsciously. That amuses me more than it should. What can I say, I love that she denies the alpha wolf. My bear doesn’t care that Riley is a wolf, he wants to stake his claim on her regardless.
I carry Riley back inside and to my office. After laying her on my couch, brushing her hair away from her face, I silently and quickly make my way back downstairs to find that annoying alpha.
Reed is seated in his normal corner booth, sipping his beer, and watching the hall that leads to the back door. No doubt waiting for Riley to return. His head tips back, and his nostrils flare. I smirk, knowing he can smell her on me, and my bear is preening at the one-up we got on him.
Approaching Reed, I nod my head towards the hall, he stands and meets me halfway.
“I need your help, Reed,” I inform him.
“What’s going on? Is Riley okay? I can smell her on you, but it smells ... off.” He adds that last part with an edge of concern in his voice. Considering he’s been watching and studying Riley for the better part of two months, I know he’s not wrong about her smelling off.
“I’m not sure. I don’t know much when it comes to wolf physiology. Riley took a lot of drugs tonight, and rather than healing like usual, she seems to be getting worse. They appear to be lingering in her system longer, so I don’t know if she just took something stronger, or if after the long-term use, they’re just... I already called Axel to consult, he’ll be here soon, but I am worried for her wolf, she feels further away than usual. She’s always been buried down deep, but I can’t feel … and Riley, she’s just …” I can’t finish that thought. Even thinking that she may be dying has my bear roaring in my head.
We make it to my office, and Reed immediately races to Riley’s side to look her over. As he leans over her to sniff her neck, my bear growls, and he shoots me a what-the-fuck look. I just shrug. I can’t help that my bear has become a territorial prick. He shakes his head at me and continues his examination.
“She’s been neglecting her wolf. She’s not shifting, which is why her natural healing abilities are becoming weaker and why her scent is growing increasingly faint.”
I move Riley upstairs to my apartment. She’s beyond pale, cold, fragile, and just so beaten down in this moment. My bear clings to the feel of her in my arms, pressing warmth and comfort to her. She lets out a slight moan as the first wave of warmth penetrates her body, and she nuzzles closer, like she’s trying to be absorbed into me. My bear smiles, and I can’t help agreeing with him. We like her like this—soft and pliant.