Page 28 of Flawed Fate
The door swings open, and an orderly pushes Iris through it. This time she’s on her feet, though barely. She stumbles over the threshold, and I catch her, my arms closing around her before my brain even registers that I’ve moved. The bond surges, and the relief is so sharp it nearly takes my legs out.
Behind her, the orderly sets a tray on the floor just inside the door. Two trays, actually. Food. The smell of it hits me, and my stomach clenches so hard it hurts.
“She refused to eat,” the orderly says flatly, already stepping back. “Told Dr. Moore she wouldn’t touch food until she was brought back here.”
I look down at Iris. She’s pressed against my chest, her fingers curled into my thin hospital gown, and she looks up at me with those blue eyes. She threatened to starve herself, and Moore caved, but not because he cares about his daughter. He cares about his experiment. And his experiment needs calories.
She knows it, too. I feel it. She sees him for who he is, and yes, that’s painful shit, but she had to wake up eventually. “Smart girl,” I murmur.
The door shuts. Locks engage. We’re alone.
I ease her down to the floor, keeping her close, settling us both against the wall the way we were before they took her. She fits against me like she was designed for it—which, according to the bond, she was. Her head finds the space between my shoulder and my jaw, and she exhales, long and shaky, and some of the tension drains out of her.
Through the bond, I feel her fear and exhaustion. And something newer, harder-edged. A cold anger that wasn’t there before.
“You need to eat,” I tell her.
“You first.”
“Iris.”
“You first.” Stubborn. I feel the corner of my mouth twitch. It’s not quite a smile. I’m not sure I remember how to smile right now.
I reach for the trays. Two portions of something that’s trying to pass as scrambled eggs, toast that’s more rubber than bread, and two cups of water. It’s barely enough for one person, let alone a shifter whose metabolism burns through calories the way a furnace burns through kindling. But it’s food, and she needs it more than I do.
I hand her a tray. She eats slowly, mechanically, like she’s fueling a machine rather than feeding herself. I scarf mine down. It’s gone in under a minute. My stomach growls for more. I ignore it.
“Tell me about the bond,” she says between bites. She’s not looking at me. She’s looking at the egg on her fork like it holds answers. “I know what you told me before. But I want to understand more. What does it mean for you? For your... kind?”
My kind. There’s no judgment in the way she says it. Just confusion. She’s trying to understand something she was never supposed to be part of, and she’s doing it from inside a cell where her father locked her.
“It means you’re mine,” I say simply. “And I’m yours. For life. It’s not like a human marriage. It can’t be broken. It can’t be walked away from. When a wolf finds their mate, that’s it. There’s no one else. Ever.”
She processes that. I feel the weight of it settling onto her, the finality of it.
“My parents had it,” I continue. Quieter now. “My dad found my mom when he was nineteen. She was seventeen. He said he knew the second he smelled her. Just… knew. Like the world rearranged itself around her, and everything that came before was just waiting.”
“What happened to them?”
The question is gentle. She already knows, I think. Or she can feel the grief leaking through the bond before I can contain it. I should probably learn to control that better, but right now, I don’t have the energy to build walls.
“My dad died when I was sixteen. Protecting someone.” I don’t say who. That story belongs to Nora, and it’s not mine to share. “My mom... couldn’t survive without him. She tried to hold on. For us. For me and Cole and Zeke and Tara. But it was like asking someone to live with half a heart. She didn’t last long.”
Iris’s hand finds mine. She doesn’t say anything. She just holds on. I feel her ache for me.
“That’s why I became alpha,” I say. “I was the oldest. With three younger siblings and a whole pack looking at me like I was supposed to have answers. I didn’t have answers. I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.”
“You were a kid.”
“Yeah.” I lean my head back against the concrete. “I was a kid.”
She’s quiet for a while. Then says, “My mom died when I was four. I barely remember her. Just impressions. The way she smelled. A yellow dress. I think she used to sing to me, but I might be making that up.” She takes a breath. “After that, it was just me and Dad. And his work.” The word comes out flat.
I tighten my grip on her hand.
“I used to think I was lucky,” she admits with a soft laugh. “Having a dad who was so brilliant. So dedicated. I thought if he spends more time in the lab than with me, it’s because he’s doing something important. And I got to be part of it.”
She pauses. “I volunteered because I wanted him to see me. As his daughter. I thought if I was brave enough, if I sacrificed enough, he’d finally...” She trails off.
