Gray Eyed Wolf (iii)

She gasped as panic weakened her knees.

Luke...! He had grabbed her ass in a hall full of people. 

The knife in her hand slipped, clattering against the tray, spilling meat onto the table, silencing the room again.

In her panic, her helpless eyes flickered up to Kaelen.

Sitting across, fork suspended midair, his piercing stare fixed on her, then lowered—a tiny muscle in his jaw tightened. He could see what was happening. 

Shame washed over her, clogging her throat. But Kaelen, with an infuriating calm, returned to his meal.

Her chest tightened, and her eyes desperately searched for help. The hand on her tightened, bruising. She bit her lip before tightening her fingers on the knife, ready to—

SHHHHKK! THUD!

Damon rose with a screech as his chair scraped against the floor, only to crash against the opposite wall. The whole table was startled. Luke’s hand shot off her at once as Damon strode over to them.

Both of them held their breath when his hand shot up between them, only to snatch the towel in front of Luke. He wiped his hands with a maddening cool, holding eye contact with Luke, who looked like he would burst any second.

"What is the meaning of this?" Selene scowled, slamming her glass on the table, finally breaking their battle of nerves.

"Pardon me, Luna," he smiled sheepishly before looking at Alpha Duskbane, who had all his attention on the three of them, his index finger tapping his lips in amusement, “Da-Alpha, I’m gonna turn in for the night.”

Alpha Duskbane hiked a brow, his eyes zeroing on the girl, before returning to him. "Wake up early and report to my office."

"Yes, Alpha."

He smiled before slapping the towel on Luke's shoulder, leaning to his level. “Easy on the drinks, bro. You don’t wanna get carried away on a stretcher again, do you?” He looked up with his sweet smile to the table, sending a shiver down Elara’s spine. “Luke here is bad with his drinks.”

Luke’s eye twitched in blind rage.

"And you are good?" Alpha lazily smirked at his younger son's antics.

"Well, you will have to find out." He shrugged.

Luna Selene frowned, but before she could refute, Alpha Duskbane burst out laughing. 

The whole table took a second look at him before sneaking a glance at Luna Selene and Kaelen. They had never seen Duskbane's Alpha smiling, much less laughing at the youth's smart comments.

"Consider yourself invited tomorrow."

"It's my honor." He faked a humble bow, sending another shockwave through the audience.

His gray eyes gave her one last look—the warmth gone without a trace for something harder to sear through—before he left the room.

Behind her, Luke threw the dirty rag on the floor and cleared his throat. “Do I have to take a number to be served, girl?”

Chuckles rippled from his friends. The adults drifted back into talk of the meeting, as if she wasn’t on display.

Elara glared at him. “…Give me a second.”

Laughter roared back. Glasses clinked. The feast rolled on.

Her fingers wouldn’t stop shaking. Her head jerked up and, as she had expected, Selene’s glare was on her. Her heated gaze flicked to the butler, her father, looking blankly.

“Faster, Bambi,” Luke murmured low enough for her to hear.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, her hands trembling as she hurried to refill his plate, each movement jerky. His fingers dragged along her side again like she was a toy. Her skin crawled.

She slammed the platter down and backed away, desperate to return to the shadows, but before she could melt into the wall, a rough hand clamped around her arm. 

She turned to see her father clutching her arm.

He dragged her away; she stumbled to keep her footing until he shoved her through the swinging doors of the kitchen.

She hit the counter hard, turning around in disbelief. “P-Papa, you saw, he—”

“Get out of here.”

He didn’t even look at her.

“What? But—”

“I said, get out!” His shoulders tightened. “You’ve embarrassed me enough. Fucking go home!”

At least right now... she felt clawing herself, so at least right now her heart begged not to be torn apart.

She could still feel her father’s calloused hand wrapping around her, lifting her into the air and spinning her until she squealed with joy—a memory that tugged at her heart. It felt like just yesterday; perhaps that was why it hurt so much.

Luke's hand wasn't visible to those at the table, but her father and the rest of the servants had seen what he did to her.

He didn’t care. He just didn’t care.

The truth landed with a weight that almost crushed her.

"Papa..." Her voice broke, "He-He touched me... You saw what he did... Wh-Why are you doing this to me?"

She bit down hard on her sobs.

He paused mid-stride—just long enough for her to hold her breath—then stomped away.

Her little heart ground beneath his every step.

She stood frozen, clutching her arm where his fingers bruised her. Laughter from the feast seeped faintly through the walls — mocking her. The smell of food suddenly turned nauseating.

Her humiliation was hers alone.

She didn’t remember the walk home. Her skin was numb to the cold biting through her skin. Her shawl clung to her shoulders like dead weight, useless against the fire crawling under her skin to her house.

When she reached her bathroom door, she slammed it. The sound cracked through the empty house, ringing in her skull.

The mirror caught her next. 

The young woman in the mirror was pathetic. Pitifully pathetic.

Her green eyes, her only redeeming feature, were bloodshot. Her black hair was a mess despite being pinned in a bun, and her plump lips were chapped. She stared at herself for a while, ignoring the sting in her eye.

...She wanted to claw it.

She gritted her teeth and turned away.

The fabric of the dress brushed against her arm where his fingers had been, and she flinched. The bruises were already surfacing — faint purples beneath the skin, like proof she wished didn’t exist.

The dress scraped her bruised arm as she tore it off. It stung, but she didn’t stop — she yanked it harder. Her fingers trembled with rage that had nowhere to go.

She twisted the tap until cold water splashed against porcelain. She dunked her hands in, then her face, scrubbing like she could erase every trace of him, of that night.

Every harsh scrub made her feel dirtier.

Once. Twice.

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t stop. Her skin burned from her own touch, but she scratched harder, harder, until it hurt to breathe from her sobs.

They’d all seen it.

Everybody saw it!

Her father’s, everyone in the pack... even Kaelen. The laughter echoed behind her like it was all some performance.

Her fists slammed against the tiles, the sound dull and wet. “Fucking bastards,” she hissed, the word breaking like glass. “Fuck all of you!”

She dropped to the floor, sobbing till she was out.