No. 3

OLIVIA_POV

The car stopped in front of the pack house.

I didn’t wait for the driver to open the door. I pushed it myself and stepped out, my legs shaky but still moving. The cold air bit at my skin.

As I walked towards the building, some of the pack servants stopped whatever they were doing and turned to look at me—eyes filled with disgust.

“Look who’s back,” someone muttered.

“She is walking around like nothing happened. Shameless.”

“Everything about her is bad luck, it follows her everywhere," another said under their breath.

“Her sister was always the better one.”

“Why did the Alpha even choose her? Lupiter would have been a better Luna. She is the blessed one. She is the one who should be standing next to him. Not this jinxed thing.”

I ignored them, pretending not to hear though their words stung. They knew nothing.

I reached the bedroom. Our bedroom. Eric’s and mine. The walls of the were suffocating. I fell on the big, expensive bed, arms wrapped around myself as if I could hold the broken pieces together. Tears blurred my vision, soaking the silk sheets beneath me. My babies face haunted me.

And I could still hear the barking. The crying.

A dry, rough sound escaped my throat, but no tears came. I had no tears left. I was a hollow shell. A cracked cup with nothing left inside to spill.

The sun moved across the floor. I watched the ray change. I didn’t move. I didn’t want to move. If I moved, I would have to feel the ache in my body. The deep, empty ache where my babies used to be. The sharper pain from the surgery, a constant reminder of what I had lost.

The doctors had told me to rest. To heal. But what was the point? How do you heal from having your heart ripped out and fed to the dogs?

The door opened without a knock.

I didn’t need to look to know it was him. The air in the room changed. It got colder. Heavier. My body knew he was there before my eyes saw him. Every muscle went tight, bracing for a blow.

Eric stood in the doorway, looking like he owned the world. And I guess he did. He owned this pack. This house. He owned me.

He looked at me lying in the bed. His lip curled up in a sneer. It was the same look you’d give a bug you found on your shoe.

“Get up,” he said. His voice was flat. A command.

I didn't move. I could’nt. What was the point of getting up?

He moved closer into the room. “I said, get up. We’re leaving for the annual camp trip tomorrow. The plane leaves in the morning. You need to pack.”

The words washed over me but they didn’t make sense. A camp trip? With the other high ranking wolves? It was like he was speaking a different language. How could he be talking about parties and trips when… when our children were just…

A tiny spark of feeling flickered inside me. It was anger. So small, but so hot.

“No,” I whispered. The word was so quiet I wasn’t sure I’d actually said it.

His eyes narrowed. The room got colder. “What did you just say to me?”

“I said no,” I repeated, a little louder. “I can't.. I wont go. Not after what you did.”

For a second, he just stared at me. I had never outright refused him. I had begged, I had cried, but I had never said no.

The next second I felt the bed dip as Eric leaned over me, his shadow falling across my face, blocking out the light. I finally had to look at him. His blue eyes, the ones I had once thought held the summer sky, were chips of Arctic ice. There was no remorse there. Not even guilt. There was only a bored, simmering annoyance like I was an inconvenient piece of furniture that was refusing to move itself.

His gorgeous smile was slow and vicious. “You think you have a choice?”

I found a little more strength. I pushed myself up on my elbows. The movement sent a sharp pain through my stomach. I winced, but I kept my eyes on him.

“You killed my babies. Our babies,” I whispered again, the words scraping my raw throat.

He waved a hand, dismissing the entire concept of our murdered twins as if swatting a fly. “I disposed of a problem. You were the one who failed. You created weak, mewling things just like you. They were unfit to be my heirs. You should be thanking me for cleaning up your mess. Now, stop this pathetic wallowing and pack. You will stand by my side as my Luna. You will smile. You will be gracious. You will show everyone that the Red Stone Pack is strong and united.”

His words were like knives, twisting in the wound he had already made. Thank him? For killing our children?

“You can say whatever you want, I already said no,” I said again. “I’m not going anywhere with you Eric.”

Instantly I saw the change in his handsome face. The calm, smiling mask slipped away. The real Eric, the angry, cruel Eric, came out to play. I didn't see the attack coming.

He grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked my head back. I cried out as my scalp burned.

“Let me make this very clear, you worthless piece of trash,” he hissed darkly, his infuriating face inches from mine. His breath smelled like expensive coffee. It made me sick. “You are my Luna. You are my property. You will do what I say, when I say it. You will go where I tell you to go. You will stand by my side and you will smile. Do you understand?”

Tears finally came to my eyes, but they were tears of pain and rage. “Why?” I choked out. “Why do you even want me there? You have her. Take Lupiter! Let everyone see what a cheating snake you are! Just leave me alone!”

The words were barely out of my mouth before his other hand connected with my face.

The punch was so hard my head snapped to the side. White light exploded behind my eyes. The taste of blood filled my mouth where my teeth cut my cheek.

“You do not tell me what to do!” he roared. “You are nothing! You are less than nothing! You think I want you there? I don’t. But I will not have the other packs whispering. They will see a united front. They will see me with my loyal Luna. Even if she is a pathetic, wolfless failure.”

The words were a slap, worse than the first.

He let go of my hair and I fell back onto the pillows, clutching my stinging cheek. I curled into a ball, the sobs finally breaking free. They hurt my healing stomach, but I couldn’t stop them.

He stood over me, watching me cry. I think he enjoyed it.

“Now,” he said, his voice calm and cold again. “You will pack your things. You will be ready to leave at dawn. You will wear the blue dress I like. And you will act happy to be on my arm. If you embarrass me… if you so much as look at me wrong…” He leaned down close again, his voice dropping to a terrifying whisper. “The pain you feel now will feel like a picnic. Do you believe me?”

I did. I believed every word. He had killed our children. He would have no problem killing me.

I nodded into the pillow, my whole body shaking with helpless, hopeless sobs.

“Good,” he said. He patted my head, a mockery of a comforting gesture. “I knew you’d see it my way.”

He turned and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him. For a long time, I didn’t move. I listened to the sound of my own heart beating, that traitorous, persistent rhythm that refused to stop for him. Despite everything, am hopelessly in love with him. He's Eric. My Eric.

I cried until I had no strength left. I cried for my babies. I cried for the girl I used to be. I cried for the future I would never have.

After a long time, the tears stopped. I was just empty again.

Slowly, achingly, I pushed myself upright. The world swam, and I gripped the bedsheets until my knuckles turned white. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my feet touching the cold floor. A shiver wracked my body.

I stood, my legs trembling violently, a sharp, stabbing pain shooting through my abdomen. I felt a warm trickle of blood seep through the bandages.

I took a step. Then another. Each one an effort. I walked to the closet and looked at my clothes. I saw the blue dress hanging at the front. He had picked it out for me.

My hands were shaking as I reached for it. I took it off the hanger. I folded it slowly, carefully, and placed it in the suitcase that lay open on the floor.

How could I be doing this? How could I be choosing dresses, selecting shoes, when my children were ash and food?

A quiet, broken sound escaped me, part sob, part laugh. It was the sound of madness.

I was a puppet. And he was pulling the strings. I moved around the room, packing my things. A brush. Some purses. Another dress. Each movement was slow and stiff. Each movement sent a little pulse of pain through my body.

But the pain inside was so much bigger. It was a dark ocean inside me, and I was drowning in it.

I was packing for a trip I didn’t want to go on. I was going to pretend to be happy with the man who had destroyed me.

I was broken. And I didn’t know if I would ever be put back together again.

I finished packing and just stood there, staring at the full suitcase. It was a suitcase for a Luna. For a happy wife.

It felt like a joke.

I didn’t get back in the bed. I just sat on the floor next to my suitcase, pulled my knees to my chest, and waited for the morning to come.