Chapter 8

Joe dreamed of his father again, the look in his eyes as Joe drove the silver blade into his throat. Shock flared there, stark and disbelieving, the same flat gray eyes Joe saw every morning when he looked in a mirror. He could feel the resistance of flesh, the way the blade caught for half a second before sliding free. Warm blood spilled over his hand just before he pulled the knife out, slick and unmistakable. “Joey,” his father cried. Joe woke with a violent jerk, sucking in a breath that sent white-hot pain through his chest. He groaned and fell back against the thin mattress, one hand instinctively pressing to his ribs. The cell ceiling loomed above him, dim and unforgiving. He was still at the council headquarters. Still injured. Still unable to reach his wolf. Still cursed. He blinked slowly, forcing himself to breathe through the pain. The dream replayed itself, just like it always did. It always ended the same way, with his father calling his name. That part never made sense. His father hadn't spoken after the blade went in. He had slid down the wall in silence, eyes wide and empty, bleeding out at Joe’s feet. Joe swallowed and turned his head to the side. His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the last time he had seen his mother. She had been lying in the hospital bed at Green River, her skin gray and drawn, her eyes already too distant. She couldn't survive without her mate. Joe had known that the moment he walked into the room. In the end, it felt like he had killed her too. He could still hear her voice, thin and bitter as she lay dying. The way she had cursed him, blamed him, stripped him down with words sharper than any blade. “You were always a selfish child,” she had whispered. “I blame myself for that.” Even then, even at the end, she had found a way to make him the source of every wrong in her life. She had told him he was weak. That he loved too deeply and too foolishly. That he had never been enough. Joe had learned those lessons early. He had grown up memorizing the sound of his father’s footsteps, learning when to move out of reach and when to stand still. He had learned how to soften his voice, how to read a room, how to make himself smaller. He had learned that love was conditional and pride was something other people earned. Especially after the academy. Failing to get in had been unforgivable. His father had never let him forget it, never missed a chance to remind him of that particular failure. Every argument, every punishment, every disappointed look had come back to it. If only his father could see him now. Joe let out a quiet, humorless huff. He imagined the sneer, the satisfaction. See how far you’ve fallen. He almost smiled at the thought. He glanced around the cell, unsure how long he had been asleep. A tray of food sat on the floor within arm’s reach of the mattress. Someone had been kind enough to place it there. The smell turned his stomach. He looked away and focused instead on the camera mounted high on the wall. Was she still watching? He liked to think she was. Liked to imagine her worrying about him, thinking about him the way he thought about her. He knew better, of course. She was probably deciding how and when to reject him. At least there was an end in sight. The thought of death brought him an unexpected sense of peace. He was glad Archer would not be here to see it. His wolf was the only reason he was still breathing. Ending his life meant ending Archer’s too, and that had never felt fair. Joe closed his eyes. For two years he had dreamed of finding his mate. He had crossed states, crossed pack lines, chased hope until it wore thin. And when he had finally given up, when he had stopped believing it would ever happen, he had found her. At the one moment he could never have her. Cursed. The sound of the cell door opening barely registered. Joe kept his eyes closed, assuming it was a guard or f*****g Lucas Watts coming to break a few more bones. Then a familiar scent drifted toward him, rosewater and mint, soft and unmistakable. His eyes snapped open. Abby stood just outside the bars. Her curly auburn hair was tied back, her green eyes fixed on him with open caution. Nervousness pulsed through the mate bond as she approached, each step careful. Joe forced himself to sit up, biting back a groan as pain flared. He watched her stop at the bars, her gaze dropping briefly to his injuries before lifting to meet his eyes. “Hello,” he said, his voice rough. She didn't answer right away. Instead, she chewed slowly on her bottom lip and reached out, wrapping her fingers around the cold metal bars. Joe pushed himself to his feet, every movement a test of will. He limped across the small cell until he stood directly in front of her, close enough to feel the heat of her through the bond. “I didn’t think you would come,” he said, breathless. “I shouldn’t be here,” she replied quietly. He studied her face, memorizing it like he might never see it again. “Then why are you here?” “I…” She tilted her head, uncertainty clear in her expression. “I don’t know.” Joe nodded and looked down at the floor. He wanted to touch her, to reach through the bars and trace her cheek just once. He didn't. He already knew why she had come, even if she couldn't say it. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “You can reject me. I understand.”