Page 9

The chains are cold against my wrists, biting into my skin like icy fangs. They’re heavy, unyielding, and with every futile twist of my arms, the iron seems to tighten as if mocking my efforts. I strain against them, and my muscles burn and tremble with exertion, but it’s no use. The weight of the chains presses against my chest, against my throat, until it feels like I’m being swallowed whole by the darkness surrounding me.

I can’t see anything—no walls, no floor, no sky—just an endless void that wolfs down the sound of my ragged breathing. The only thing that exists is me, the chains, and the voice.

That voice.

It starts as a low chuckle, slithering through the dark like smoke curling into the cracks of my mind. Then it sharpens, familiar and cruel, until I know exactly who it belongs to.

“You belong to me now,” Wiley taunts. The darkness shifts, and his silhouette is there, towering over me like a shadow given form. His face remains obscured, but I can feel the weight of his gaze, the sick satisfaction radiating from him like a physical force. “No one’s coming for you. No one even cares.”

“I don’t belong to you!” My voice tears out of me in raw desperation. I yank at the chains again, harder this time, but they only dig deeper into my skin. Blood drips down my forearms, hot and sticky, but the pain is drowned out by the wave of panic crashing over me.

“Don’t you?” Wiley’s tone is almost amused. The sound scrapes against my nerves, setting my teeth on edge. “Look around, Jaslyn. Where else would you go? You’re nothing. A stray dog without a home. Even your precious pack couldn’t wait to get rid of you.”

I shake my head, clenching my teeth against the tears threatening to spill. “That’s not true.”

“No?” His shadowy figure leans closer, until I can feel the icy chill of his breath against my cheek. “Then why did they throw you out like garbage? Why did no one come to find you?”

The words are a dagger, twisting deep into wounds I thought I’d buried. I open my mouth to argue, to deny, but the words won’t come. The chains tighten, pulling me down to my knees, and the cold seeps into my bones like poison.

“Face it, Jaslyn,” Malcolm whispers behind his son. “This is all you’ll ever be. A tool. A prisoner. A weapon for someone else’s gain.”

“No!” I scream again, but it’s weaker this time. The darkness presses in closer, suffocating and endless, and the weight of his words crushes the air from my lungs. “I’m not—”

A sudden jolt shoots through me, breaking the haze. A new voice cuts through the oppressive silence, distant but insistent, like a lifeline pulling me out of the abyss.

“Jaslyn, wake up,” it says, low and steady. A hand grips my shoulder, warm and grounding. I claw at the sound like it’s my only way out.

The chains loosen, the darkness recedes, and Wiley’s laughter fades to nothingness as the dream dissolves into the pale gray light of dawn. I sit up abruptly, my chest heaving as I gasp for air, the phantom cold of the chains still clinging to my skin. My hands grip the sheets tightly, where the ghosts of the chains are still wrapped around my wrists. I don’t even realize I’m shaking until a warm hand covers mine.

“Jaslyn.” Gray’s voice pulls me out of the haze, grounding me. “You’re okay. Just breathe.”

I shake my head as the panic still claws at the edges of my mind. “I-I can’t—” The words stick in my throat, and I paw at my chest, desperate to get the air in.

“Yes, you can,” he says as his other hand comes to rest on my shoulder. “Look at me.”

I manage to lift my eyes to his. His face is calm, but there’s a sharpness in his gaze, a focus that anchors me. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. Like this.” He exaggerates the movement, drawing in a slow, deep breath and releasing it just as slowly.

I try to mimic him, but my breath catches, and a sob escapes instead. His grip on my hand tightens. Not enough to hurt, just enough to remind me that he’s here. “You’re safe, Jaslyn. No one’s going to hurt you.”

It takes a few tries, but eventually, my breathing evens out. The tightness in my chest loosens, and the room comes back into focus. I blink, realizing my vision is blurred from tears I hadn’t noticed falling.

“There you go,” Gray coos. He doesn’t move his hand from mine, and for once, I don’t pull away. “Better?”

I nod, though the residual tremor in my limbs betrays me. “Yeah. Thanks.”

He studies me for a moment before he probes, “Nightmare?”

I glance away, wiping at my eyes. “Something like that.”

“You get them often?”

I hesitate, then nod reluctantly. “More than I’d like. It’s… worse some nights.”

His brows furrow, and I can see the questions brewing, but to his credit, he doesn’t push. “You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready.”

I take a shaky breath and clutch the blanket around me like it’s a shield. “Sometimes they trigger… this.” I gesture vaguely to my still-trembling hands. “Anxiety attacks.”

His expression softens, and for a moment, I see something like guilt flicker across his face. “When did they start?”

“When Malcolm got me.” I press my lips together, debating how much to say. But the dam has already cracked, and the rest of it tumbles out before I can stop it. “When he first took me in, I was a mess. My magic would flare every time I got upset, and the attacks only made it worse. He couldn’t risk me hurting anyone, so he started locking me in a cell whenever he wasn’t using me.”

Gray’s face darkens, and I can feel the tension radiating off him. “A cell?”

“Don’t.” My voice comes out sharper than I intended, and I force myself to soften it. “Don’t do the whole righteous anger thing. It doesn’t help.”

He doesn’t reply, but the muscle in his jaw ticks as he waits for me to continue.

I swallow hard, keeping my gaze fixed on the blanket pooled in my lap. “The first time I had an attack, I blew out a window. Just… shattered it into a million pieces. Malcolm was furious. Said if I couldn’t control myself, I was going to cost him too much. So, he started putting me in that cell whenever he didn’t need me. Said it was safer that way—for everyone.” My laugh is bitter and hollow. “What he really meant was that if I lost control again, I’d be the only one who got hurt.”

Gray exhales sharply, and I glance at him. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides, and there’s a look in his eyes that I can’t quite place. Something between anger and sorrow.

“It worked, though,” I add with a shrug. “The cell. It kept me contained. Kept everyone else safe.”

“Safe,” Gray repeats with a tight voice. “You’re telling me he locked you away like some kind of animal and called it safety?”

I meet his gaze, daring him to argue. “That’s exactly what it was.”

He curses under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “Jaslyn…”

“It doesn’t matter,” I cut in. “It’s over now. I survived.”

“That’s not the point. You shouldn’t have had to survive that. No one should.”

I blink, startled by the heat in his tone. “Why do you care so much?”

“Because I should’ve been there. I should’ve known.”

“It wasn’t just the cell. Malcolm had ways of keeping me tied to him. Ownership marks, magical binds—things I couldn’t break, no matter how hard I tried. And there were others. People who wanted to take me for themselves. Malcolm kept a tight leash on me, not because he cared, but because I was useful to him. And if anyone else got their hands on me, he’d lose his investment.”

Gray’s face is unreadable, but the tension in his shoulders hasn’t eased. “Who were these others?”

“Buyers, mostly. Or competitors. Witches are rare enough as it is, and one with magic like mine?” I shake my head. “I was a prize. Something to be bought, sold, or stolen.”

“And Malcolm just… let that happen?”

“Not exactly,” I reply. “He didn’t care about me, but he cared about his profit. He made sure no one else could take me. Not permanently, anyway. But it didn’t stop them from trying.”

The memories bubble to the surface—dark, chaotic flashes of struggle and desperation. I shove them down before they can take hold. “It wasn’t just the anxiety attacks that got me locked up,” I continue. “It was insurance. If he kept me contained, no one could get to me. Not without going through him.”

Gray’s fists tighten, and for a moment, I think he might explode. But when he speaks, his voice is eerily calm. “How did you survive that? All of it?”

I smile faintly, though it doesn’t reach my eyes. “You don’t survive something like that, Gray. Not really. You just… adapt.”

He looks like he wants to argue, to tell me I’m wrong, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans forward and tells me, “You’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever met, you know that?”

The sincerity in his voice catches me off-guard, and for a moment, I don’t know how to respond. “I don’t feel strong,” I admit finally.

“You are,” he insists. “Whether you see it or not.”

I look away, unable to hold his gaze. The silence stretches between us, heavy and loaded, but this time, it feels different. Not suffocating, but not comfortable, either.

Gray’s presence looms in the small space of his room, filling it with a warmth I didn’t realize I needed until now. He sits across from me with his elbows resting on his knees, his eyes never leaving mine. There’s a steadiness there. A quiet intensity that’s disarming in its sincerity.

“You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for,” he says again, his voice softer this time. “But you shouldn’t have had to be.”

The words linger, wrapping around me like a blanket that’s both comforting and suffocating. I fidget with the edge of the blanket on my lap, avoiding his eyes. “You’ve been different lately,” I mutter, unsure why I’m saying it out loud. “From what I remember.”

“Different how?”

“Kind,” I admit reluctantly. “More than I expected. More than I deserve.”

His brows knit together, and I can practically see the frustration brewing behind his calm exterior. “What makes you think you don’t deserve kindness?”

I shrug, but the motion feels hollow. “I killed your beta, Gray. I ruined everything for you and your pack.”

“Don’t,” he says sharply. “Don’t you dare put that on yourself. You’re not responsible for him, Jaslyn. And if I’m being honest? No one liked Carter. He was a bully, plain and simple. His position as beta didn’t come from merit; it came from legacy. His father had the role before him, and when Carter inherited it, most of the pack just…tolerated him.”

I blink, taken aback. “You’re saying no one cared that he died?”

Gray exhales and drags a hand through his hair. “I’m not saying it didn’t matter. Of course it mattered. He was still part of the pack, and I’m not happy about how it happened. But was the pack devastated? Were they grieving his loss like they might’ve for someone else? No. They weren’t. Carter’s death shook them, it wasn’t out of love or admiration for him. It was because what his death represented; the fact that a witch could take one of us down so easily. That’s it. That’s why they accepted you back so easily.”

I don’t know whether to feel relieved or horrified. “So, what? Everyone was just waiting for him to screw up? To get out of the way?”

Gray’s mouth tightens, and he shakes his head. “Not exactly. But no one’s been in a hurry to bring him up in conversation, if that tells you anything. People move on quickly when there’s not much worth holding onto. You’re still carrying this like it’s all on you, but Carter wasn’t your burden to begin with. He was mine. I’m the one who let him stay in that role. I’m the one who failed to see the damage he was causing.”

“Carter’s dead because of me . If I hadn’t—”

“He’s dead because I failed you. Because I didn’t see what was happening, didn’t protect you when I should have. You think you’re the one who has something to apologize for? You think you’re the one who has to carry that weight? Jaslyn, I’m the reason you ended up in Malcolm’s hands. I’m the reason you suffered for all those years. So if anyone owes anyone an apology, it’s me.”

He looks at me like he’s baring his soul, like he’s been carrying this burden for as long as I have. And for the first time, I see it—his guilt, his regret, laid bare for me to witness.

“I don’t blame you,” I whisper.

“You should.”

“I don’t. Not really. You were a kid, Gray. A teenager thrown into a role you weren’t ready for. And yes, you made mistakes, but so did I. If I’d been better at controlling my magic—”

“Stop.” His voice is softer now, but no less resolute. “This isn’t on you, Jaslyn. None of it. You didn’t choose any of this. You didn’t choose to be born with magic, or to be abandoned by the people who should have stood by you. You didn’t choose Malcolm, or the hell he put you through. And you sure as hell didn’t choose to lose control that day. You were provoked. Bullied. Hurt. That’s on them. And it’s on me for not seeing it.”

“But why do you care so much now? After so long?”

“Because I see you now, Jaslyn. I see everything I missed before. And I want to fix it. I don’t know if I can, but I want to try.”

The room feels too small, too warm. I can’t look away from him, even though every instinct tells me to run. He’s too close—not physically, but emotionally. He’s stripping away every wall I’ve built, leaving me exposed in a way I haven’t been in years.

“Gray…” My voice wavers, and I hate how fragile I sound. “I don’t know how to let you do that.”

“You don’t have to know right now. But you can let me start.”

His eyes search mine, and for a moment, the rest of the world fades away. I’m hyper-aware of the space between us, the way his breath brushes against my skin, the way his hand inches closer to mine.

I should move. I should say something, do something to break the spell. But I can’t. I’m frozen, caught in the pull of his gaze, and for the first time in years, I feel like I’m not alone in my pain.

His hand brushes mine. Barely a touch, but it sends a jolt through me that makes my breath hitch. He leans in, and his eyes flit to my lips. For a heartbeat, I think he’s going to kiss me.

I think I might let him.

But then he pulls back abruptly and practically jumps to his feet. “Let’s go for a run.”

The words are so unexpected, so out of place, that I blink at him in confusion. “What?”

“A run,” he repeats, already standing and heading toward the door. “You need fresh air. Movement. Something to take your mind off… everything.”

I narrow my eyes at his back, suspicious of his sudden change in demeanor. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” he says over his shoulder, flashing me a small, crooked smile. “Come on, Kismet. I’ll race you.”

I scowl, but there’s no heat behind it. Begrudgingly, I push the blanket aside and stand, following him to the door. Whatever this is, whatever he’s trying to do, I’ll play along.

For now.