Chapter 5
622 Words
"Emily, what in the name of the moon are you doing!?"
Damian's voice erupted behind me.
He charged over, his gaze slitted like a predator cornering prey,. "Why are you goading Brielle? Testing the pack’s patience like a misbehaving cub?"
My first instinct was to laugh—a bitter, hollow sound that carried the faint edge of a snarl.
Me, provoking her?
Brielle's always been the one sinking her teeth into my throat, marking me as prey with her simpering threats.
When have I ever stood tall enough to bare my fangs first?
But then I met Damian's eyes.
I dropped my gaze, hiding my trembling hands behind my back.
My voice came out calm, steady.
"She chased off a wolf who was chatting me up. Why shouldn't I give her a hard time?"
The spark in Damian's eyes snuffed out, replaced by a cold, merciless void.
"You're gonna pay for that."
At his command, a server brought over a tray of drinks.
I knew what he wanted without him saying it.
Clenching my fists, I stepped forward, grabbed a glass, and poured it over my own head.
"Keep going," Damian said, his voice like ice.
I poured another, then another. Liquor dripped down my hair, my face, pooling at my feet. A crowd gathered, snickering, pointing.
"That's Emily, right? That vile she-wolf deserves it!"
"Damian used to dote on her. She brought this on herself."
Soaked to the bone, I started shaking, my body betraying me again. Damian didn't even look back as he led Brielle away, tossing one last order over his shoulder. "Watch her. Make sure she stands there for ten hours."
Drenched in sticky booze, I stood there like a circus animal, gawked at by every passing wolf. It wasn't until the dead of night that they let me go.
I was staggering across the yacht's deck when I spotted Damian, stumbling back drunk. I wanted to steer clear, but then I heard a thud—him collapsing. Silence followed. My heart twisted with worry, and despite everything, I turned back.
He was sprawled by his room's door, his face flushed an unnatural red. He was burning up.
Panic gripped me. I dragged him inside, my body screaming with the effort. I got him water, wiped his face, and made sure he was settled. When I turned to find a healer, his hand shot out, grabbing the hem of my shirt.
"Don't… go…" he mumbled.
My heart plummeted. I stayed.
All night, I changed the towel on his forehead, watching him fade in and out of consciousness. By dawn, his fever finally broke. I was so exhausted I could barely stand, teetering on the edge of passing out.
Then came a knock. Brielle.
Her expression shifted the second she saw me, but I shoved the towel into her hands. My voice was hoarse, barely there. "When he wakes up, tell him you took care of him."
I limped out, each step heavier than the last. I didn't make it far before my vision went black, and I collapsed on the deck.
The yacht was docked for seven days. I woke up back on the deck, fever raging, and dragged myself to my room. For three days, I burned, fading in and out. The yacht's healer brought me meds, all business, and I mumbled a thanks.
Then the door slammed open. Damian.
He strode over, his eyes raking over my sickly frame. His brows knitted tight. "What's wrong with you?"
I curled my fingers, trying to steady them. "Just a fever."
He grabbed my wrist, his voice low, almost trembling if you listened close. "That night… was it you who took care of me?"
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