Pack

Chapter Twenty-Three

"Please," I cried. "Someone. Help!"

Stephen punched me again in the mouth. I heard my jaw crack, as pain ricochet through my head, leaving a pounding headache in its wake. It felt like the bones in my face no longer connected to each other properly. Between the disjointed facial bones, swollen lips, and mouth full of blood, I could barely talk, let alone scream.

He smiled down triumphantly at me. "That's better." Tugging my arms to my sides and securing them with his thighs, he wrapped one hand around my throat to keep me in place, while using the other to pull up my shirt. The skin on my throat where he squeezed started to burn as if someone had branded me with a hot poker. Under normal circumstances, I would have considered it painful, but instead it just added another dynamic of agony to my already broken body.

I released a stifled sob as I realized he'd won. I'd put up a good fight, but I was no match for the King. No one was coming to help me. Not a guard. Not Christian. Not my pack. Not Logan. At that realization, the desperation to survive, the need to fight, and my hope for a way out of this all faded to nothing. What was the point of trying anyway?

Midway through unbuttoning my jeans, Stephen's hand froze as his head snapped up, his black eyes focusing on the couch. I strained to listen, ignoring the chaotic boom of blood pounding through my head and concentrated on the muffled noise, of something vibrating.

My phone.

Stephen released me and stood, pressing his foot down on my throat to keep me in place. As the vibrating continued, he started flinging couch cushions aside in his search for the source of the noise.

I gasped as my body cried out for oxygen. I could hardly breathe against the weight of his foot. My neck continued to sear my skin as if Stephen had flames attached to his boot. I wondered if a piece of the broken table had splintered in my throat and that was the source of all this pain.

Yanking out the phone, Stephen pushed the button to answer it.

"GET AWAY FROM HER!" Logan's voice roared through the line. "I can feel you hurting her. She's mine, Stephen. She has my mark."

His mark, huh? So it does have some voodoo side effect after all.

"Ah, good evening, Logan," Stephen purred into the phone. "I was just having a little fun here with my new mate."

"She will never be yours," Logan growled. "Don't touch her."

"I'm King, rules don't apply to me. I have the power to take what I want. You should have mated with her when you had the chance. Too bad. The council will arrive tomorrow, than she'll officially become my mate. Once the ritual is complete, your stupid mark, including whatever entitlement you think you have to her, will fade away." Stephen grinned, but it looked something closer to a snarl. I tried to wiggle free from under his foot, but he pressed it harder into my throat, causing me to gag. "I do like the challenge in her. It only makes it so much more fun breaking her of it." He looked down at me. "So much fun."

"You have to fight me for her," Logan snarled. "Fight me. I challenge you. If I lose, you can have her, and I'll be dead. Isn't that what you've always wanted?"

A look of apprehension flashed across Stephen's face, but faded quickly to his regular smugness. "Why, would I do that, Cousin? I have no need to fight you. I have everything. Her. North America. You should be begging me for mercy. I could have you killed."

Logan released a bloodcurdling growl. "You always were afraid of me, Cousin," he spat. "Do you accept my challenge for Avery?"

"I have no need. Good bye." I heard Logan start to reply, but Stephen whipped the phone at the wall shattering it to pieces.

I continued gasping for air, but Stephen seemed frozen. His face contorted into a look of rage, and hatred. Slowly, he turned to look down at me. He stared at me for a few beats, before lifting his foot off my throat. Rearing back, he brought it down swiftly, kicking me in the ribs. I curled into the fetal position, gagging for breath, my ribs protesting with every inhale. Ignoring me, Stephen grabbed his shirt off the floor, before storming out of my room.

I lay in a heap of blood, and broken table. Unable to move, I stayed there gasping, tears falling from my eyes. Thanks to Logan's interruption, I made it through a confrontation with Stephen – barely. Next time, he would take what he wanted. I was exhausted, both mentally and physically. As he'd wrecked my body, he'd stripped me of any will I had to keep going. I wanted to die right there and end it all. At this rate, I'd be lucky if I could put up any type of a fight against him next time. He wanted to break me, and I think he had.

***

I must have passed out, because when I came too, I lay in bed. An ice pack sat on top of my head, and someone was cleaning the blood off my face with a cloth. Opening my eyes, I saw Christian sitting on the bed beside me.

"I came by to see if you still wanted to play, and found you lying in a pile of blood and broken table in the middle of the room. I assume you didn't trip and fall." His tone sounded light, joking even, but I noticed a tension around his eyes that gave way to his true feelings. Anger.

"Stephen," I managed to mutter, but it hurt. My throat, lips, ribs everything ached. Talking felt nearly impossible.

"Don't talk." He adjusted the ice pack, so it sat across my throat. "My father is an alpha, a king alpha at that. People don't typically question, or challenge him, doesn't end well for them." He motioned toward my face.

"Father?" I managed to bark out. My throat was getting worse. It sounded like I smoked twenty packs a day.

"Yup. I'm his oldest."

"You're not a werewolf."

He shook his head. "No, father had me when he was only fifteen. He told me once, a long time ago, that he'd loved my mother. Apparently, she had no werewolf genes in her family tree, so my grandfather made him leave her. Being of royal blood, he needed to produce werewolf pups." He shrugged. "What would people think if the King of Werewolves couldn't produce any werewolves himself?"

His face remained impassive, but I could hear the sadness in his voice. Maybe he wondered what it would've been like to have both parents raise him. If his father's duties as king hadn't become more important than his son, and the woman he loved. With the way my body hurt, I couldn't imagine Stephen even capable of real love. I suddenly felt so tired. So very tired. I would need all my strength back if Stephen came again tonight for another go. There probably wasn't even any point refusing him anymore. It would be safer and definitely less painful – physically - if I just gave up. I couldn't fight him off forever.

"How old are you, Christian?" I rasped, needing to think about anything else.

"Twenty-one. You?"

"Seventeen. I turn eighteen . . ." I had to think about it for a minute. What day was it? Maybe my birthday had already past. "Soon." I settled on.

He wrung the cloth out in the bowl of water he had beside him. "I'm sorry this happened to you. I know in human terms, it's vile, disgusting even, especially considering your age makes you more likely to be my girlfriend, than his. But in the world of werewolves, human morals are null and void. The only thing that matters is survival of the species, and power, of course, always power." He stood, picking the bowl up. "I'll let you sleep. Tomorrow the council is coming. You'll need all your strength to deal with them. I'm sorry, Avery." He crossed the room heading over to the door. He turned back, his hand on the doorknob. "I believe my father wasn't always a monster. At least, I hope he wasn't." With that, he left.