Page 11 of The Packaged Deal

I lay down, carefully turning until I find a spot that doesn’t hurt too much.

I hadn’t told Silver much at all about who I used to be, I wish I could explain it to someone. My transformation from ugly duckling to bitey little swan was nothing short of explosive. My mother drummed it into me with almost constant supervision that I needed to not speak. Sit and be silent in front of the alphas. Keep my hair long and neat. Wear modest clothes. Failure to adhere to these rules got me locked in my bedroom for days on end.

My freedom came at a cost. My mother’s love.

It shouldn’t have. I'd been under the impression that she’d love me forever. But maybe if she didn’t love me, then she wasn’t right about everything else. I’ve been living out of home for over a year, since she very publicly called me a whore and told me I was not a daughter of hers.

The four months leading up to my public exorcism from my family was painful. My mother hated my hair. She hated my clothes, then locked me in my room whenever she got mad; she withheld food. Her words were merciless as she constantly accused me of being fat and ungrateful. My mother paraded me in front of the alphas. Dragging me out of my room only long enough to sit stiffly in our formal room. I had to learn to get my head around the hostile tones of the men meeting my mother and manipulate my way to freedom with honesty and humour that rankled.

A few of them stayed long enough to get to know me. Pack Lovehard were the most ardent courtiers, but the offer they made was, well, no one would accept that. My mother’s screech of rage still wakes me up some nights. That was the first night she struck me.

Things got worse. Until him. He had a thick charm that oozed off him, the way I imagine mucous oozes off a frog’s back. He said all the right things, all the words to get my mother to agree. I felt like I was the only one who could see what he was!

I sit up, breathing hard. The betrayal and the memory of that moment when she’d told me she was giving me to him, pushes into my mind. I'd run. I'd run so far, and I'd felt safe. Shit, I was safe. It’d been twelve months. Who would have thought he’d still be searching?

I went to a carnival.

So stupid.

I stand up and hobble across the room and back again. The door opens, and Jenny Lathem walks in with a soft smile.

“I'm sorry to disturb you, Jade, but I wanted to have a discussion about where you want to go from here.”

I blink at her, my mind flipping into a blaze of panic.

“I have to leave?”

“Oh, no, dear. Not yet. I just want to find out if you are looking at staying here on a more permanent basis or if you think you’ll be leaving.”

I sit heavily on the bed, my trembling legs refusing to support me anymore.

She reaches out and puts her hand on my forearm. “Relax, Jade. I'm just asking if you have somewhere safe you want to go?”

I purse my lips. “I don't, but I can’t stay here forever.”

Jenny peers at me with eyes that have seen and know too much. “I need a brief description. So we know who to report if he starts hanging around.”

“He’s a tall man but wide. The alpha,” I duck my head nervously, “he’s got a bit of a stomach. He looks charming and nice. The kind of man who doesn’t stand out in a bad way. He smiles, and people trust him. Light brown hair, brown eyes.” I picture him in my head. “He jitters his fingers a lot like a nervous tic.”

Jenny nods and pulls out a notepad and starts recording the information.

“He’ll go by the name Trevor or Travers,” I barely whisper the words, my airway closing as I remember his hand around my throat.

“Okay. Does he have a pack?”

“He says he does, but I never met them.” I look away from her, and I'm suddenly so glad this room doesn’t have windows. I'd feel too unsafe if there was a piece of glass between me and the rest of the world right now.

My bruises throb, and the aches intensify until I want to cry.

“Do you want me to call the police? There’s Detective Montford-”

“No!” I almost shout. “No, because then things would get worse. Please, no, I have no proof, it’s his word against mine.”

“You have all your injuries!” Jenny protests.

“No one saw him do it. He could say it was the driver who got me out of there. My mother would back him.”

Jenny closes her eyes. I think she’s about my mother’s age. The silver in her hair is prominent but regal. “Your mother?”