Rogues on the Run

This is What Makes us Girls.

I pull the collar of my shirt down, searching for the wound Tate has surely caused only to discover smooth skin. No mark. No blemish.

My leg is the same - I'd expected to find ribbons of ripped flesh from Tate's assault - but alas, there is nothing. I exhale a shaky breath.

The only evidence as to that the fight was real and not a mere figment of my imagination is Tate's dried blood that coats my face and hair. After my victorious war cry, Stella had taken to burning Tate's body by pouring alcohol and setting him ablaze. I've been told that Jas and Dominic have joined Tate as well. I make no comment on that. Only, the Purgatory had watched, solemn and stiff.

But as I predicated, there was no uprising of disapproval at the new Alpha. They couldn't fight me for my claim - they weren't of Purgatory blood - and I'd made it clear that if anyone wished to leave, they could. But where would murderer's go? They'd be wanted, just like us and most likely killed on sight if they encountered different packs.

No, they were stuck with us. None had Alpha blood. None would be able to run their own pack and so they would stay apart of ours; Liam and I's.

It was no question that Liam and I would share the responsibly of Alpha. There was no Luna, which was usually assigned to the female mate and although bonded with the Alpha, still considered lower in rank. Liam and I were equals and we'd both make decisions on what we thought was best. Though Liam hasn't said a word to me.

Silently, he is most likely fuming at me for putting myself in death's path once again. And I had nearly died this time, if it were not for the fact that my family engineered that syringe. It's my bloodline too.

I scratch off flakes of dried blood - some of it is mine too, I am sure - and hastily, I turn on the sink and dunk my face under the water. It turns pink as I scrub.

The door creaks open behind me, but I don't turn. My hair is matted my face in wet tendrils.

A hand reaches out, smoothing the wet hair from my eyes. I see Liam.

Wordlessly, he grasps my hips and hoists me onto the small sink with my back pressed against the mirror. He tears my tank top right down the middle but I don't care. It's ruined anyone, with Tate's blood.

He tosses the scraps to the side and secures a rag from one of the shelves, running it under the water before bringing it to my neck. His fingers smooth over the skin.

Gently, he washes the blood away and even runs the rag over my arms, my fingers, my nose and cheeks, and across my stomach. Finally, he hesitates at my lips and leans forward, pressing his forehead to mine. The faucet has been turned off and now all that remains is the sound of Liam and I's breath.

"I thought you were dead," he comments. His voice is low and gravely and I draw him closer, cupping my hand around the back of his neck and into his hair. It's just as disheveled as mine.

"Me too," I reply earnestly. "I saw Anna and my mom and dad."