The Quiet
1219 Words
Chapter 7 — The Quiet
Sasha
He’d only asked one thing of me.
“Keep your voice down.”
That was it.
The words looped in my head, over and over, a sentence I couldn’t outrun. I replayed the kitchen scene again and again—the way he’d stood too close, the tension carved into his jaw, the heat in his eyes just before he said it and walked away.
Keep your voice down.
Fuck.
Not I want you.
Not I need you.
Just—be quiet.
Like I was an inconvenience. A mess to be managed. A secret he needed buried before it ruined everything.
I didn’t even know what I’d been expecting.
He was my stepfather.
He wasn’t supposed to want me.
And yet—
Maybe that was all I was to him. An inconvenience. Maybe he’d finally seen me clearly—an ungrateful girl playing house in a manor that wasn’t hers. An intruder wearing his dead wife’s daughter’s face. A girl who’d crossed a line by touching herself and moaning his name loudly enough for him to hear.
The humiliation burned fresh every time I remembered.
I dug my fingers into the soil, tearing weeds from the rosebush with more force than necessary. The garden had always been my refuge—quiet, isolated, safe enough for thoughts I couldn’t survive anywhere else.
I hated that his opinion mattered this much. Hated that a single command could unravel me so completely.
Why didn’t he tell me not to do it again?
Why only tell me to be quiet?
Did he want me to do it… again?
Fuck.
His scent still lingered in the hallway—soap, pine, and something darker. Every time I passed through, my wolf stirred, lifting her head, searching. Wanting. Whining like a kicked thing begging for affection.
Pathetic.
We both were.
I yanked another weed free and tossed it aside.
David had rejected me because I wasn’t enough.
My mother loved me but never truly understood me.
And Jaxon—
Jaxon was my stepfather. The man who married my mother out of duty. The man who looked at me with unreadable eyes and made me feel things I had no right to feel.
The man who’d heard me pleasure myself while saying his name—and told me to be quieter next time.
Not to stop.
Not that it was wrong.
Just… quieter.
What the f**k did that mean?
Then—
A voice cut through my thoughts.
“You’ll kill the roses if you keep pulling like that.”
I froze, hands still buried in the dirt.
Boots crunched against gravel. Slow. Deliberate. Achingly familiar.
I didn’t need to turn around.
Jaxon.
My heart slammed so hard it hurt. Heat rushed to my face as I fixed my gaze on my dirt-stained hands, anywhere but him.
“They’re fine,” I said, steadier than I felt.
“They’re not.”
He moved closer. I felt him behind me before he touched me—every nerve in my body lighting up with awareness.
I forced myself to keep working. To breathe.
“You’re back early,” I said, pulling another weed free with shaking fingers.
“Pack duties finished sooner than expected.” Neutral. Calm. But something sharp lived underneath it. “You’re not going to college today?”
My hands stilled.
Shit.
“No. Too much to catch up on here.”
“Here?” Skepticism edged his voice. “In the garden?”
“Yes. And I have reading. Projects.” The lie tasted bitter.
Silence stretched—thick, suffocating.
I could feel his gaze on me, assessing, the way Jaxon always looked at people. Like he could peel back every layer until only the truth remained.
Like he could see me in the dark, whispering his name.
“Look at me.”
Not a request.
A command.
And when an Alpha commanded—you obeyed.
I straightened slowly, wiping my hands on my jeans before turning. My heart pounded. My mouth went dry.
He stood a few feet away, and God—
He looked devastating.
Sleeves rolled to his elbows, forearms scarred and powerful. His shirt clung faintly to his frame, damp with sweat. Stubble shadowed his jaw. His hair was slightly disheveled.
He looked like temptation dressed as authority.
Our eyes met.
His were calm. Searching. Controlled.
Mine felt too open. Too exposed.
He stepped closer.
My breath caught.
“Why are you really not going?” he asked quietly, his voice dropping.
“I told you—”
“And I don’t believe you.” Another step. Close enough now that I could smell him. “What happened, Sasha?”
“Nothing—”
“Don’t lie.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re avoiding something.”
He was right.
I was avoiding college because I’d been rejected.
Because the pack knew.
Because I was already being whispered about.
My throat tightened. “Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
The word landed heavy.
“It matters to me.”
Why? I wanted to scream.
You’re not my father.
You’re just the man who married my mother.
The man I shouldn’t want.
But I said nothing.
My gaze betrayed me—slipping from his eyes to his throat, the steady pulse there. To his jaw. His mouth.
He noticed.
He always did.
Something tightened in his expression. His nostrils flared slightly.
He could smell it.
He stepped closer again, until his presence crowded mine, until his heat wrapped around me.
“Sasha.”
My name on his lips sent a shiver straight through me.
Fuck.
“You need to pay attention when I’m talking to you, little wolf.”
His voice dropped—soft, controlled, vibrating through the space between us like a living thing.
“Or you’ll end up in trouble.”
My knees weakened instantly.
He lifted his hand slowly, deliberately, giving me time—space—to pull away if I wanted to.
I didn’t.
His thumb brushed the corner of my jaw, barely there.
It burned.
God, it burned, like a mark pressed into my skin.
My body locked in place, caught between instinct and defiance, between fear and want and something darker I didn’t yet have a name for. Heat flooded through me. My breath fractured into shallow pulls I couldn’t control.
His eyes held mine—dark, unflinching. His pupils were blown wide with something that looked dangerously close to hunger.
For one unbearable heartbeat, neither of us moved.
Then he stepped back.
Dropped his hand.
His jaw clenched so hard I heard his teeth grind.
“Go inside,” he said, his voice rough now, strained. “Wash up. Eat something. You’re going to college tomorrow—no matter what.”
“But—I—”
The words wouldn’t come.
I couldn’t move. I couldn't think. I could only stand there, heart racing, my skin still burning where he’d touched me.
“Now, Sasha.” He let out, quiet, commanding.
The command shattered whatever spell held me.
I turned and fled toward the house, hands trembling, soil still packed beneath my nails, the ghost of his touch seared into my skin.
I didn’t look back.
But I felt his gaze the entire way.
Watching.
Wanting.
Maybe….Fighting the same war I was.
- Writer
