So here is Chapter 4. I am already working on chapter 5 and its still about half way along. I hope you enjoy chapter 4 its giving some great background. I do apologize to everyone who I left waiting for this next chapter, but I am back at school and I was waiting on my editors. So the chapters may get shorter but I promise to keep posting. Enjoy and comments are always welcome.
-silent
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Intricate lines were being drawn on her thigh. Swirls and swoops cascading from the side of her hip to the side of her knee. Everything that had happened was present in her mind. With a slow breath, she opened her eyes and stared at the strong, smooth, brown hand next to her face. She wasn't quite ready to look at him. Victoria was afraid of what her face might show and afraid of what she might see in his. For the moment she didn't fight the rush of emotions she felt. She let the excitement and content flood her mind. She didn't really know how to process the information anyway. Part of her was still fighting this, but it was muffled now. There was a crack in her defensive wall and through that crack, her subconscious voice was screaming loudly.
The lines on her leg were sending slow waves through her body; a shivery tingly heat. She turned her head and looked up.
He smirked.
Her nerves got the best of her. She slipped out of the bed and flashed her robe to cover her body. She didn't really know what to say, so she rushed to the shower. Her stomach twisted at running away, but... She couldn't explain it even to herself. She leaned back against the door of the bathroom. His aroma clung to her skin; she didn't smell like herself anymore. Her body didn't feel like it belonged to her anymore. She could feel the bond to the man in the other room. Her wolf's total satisfaction at that churned her stomach up even more. She could feel him come and touch the door then walk out of the room. She sighed and turned on the shower. Her brain drifted.
The warm water of the shower was wonderful. With her body feeling a little tight and her mind hectic, it felt amazing. Water came from all sides of the shower, raining from the top and misting from the sides. She never wanted to leave. The thoughts that were pulling at her mind, she swatted them away. This shower felt too good to be marred by tumultuous emotions.
Before she knew it the water had run cold. She stepped out and dried off; she had always loved the lighter than air feeling she felt after showers. Even the hell her father put her through couldn't ruin that feeling. When the steam of the shower kept her skin warm. It was sanctuary. The few peaceable moments in her life. It was the perfect metaphor for her life. She had been living in a warm bubble then the cold rush of air when the door was opened was the madness of her father.
She moved to wipe the mirror, but it was pointless; the steam would move to cover it again. Her face was cloudy. In that cloud, she saw her past. When she was little, her father had been everything. To say that he was her world would be saying too little. He was more than that. Her mother and her father were perfection in her eyes. She had never known what it was that had driven him mad, but she would always remember the first time she recognized it. She was 10 years 35 days year old. She had gotten so tired of people telling her when she was grown up and when she wasn't. At 13 wolves aging slowed, but Victoria had known at 10 that she was all grown up. She had been redecorating her room. Taking away the pink lemonade color scheme she had chosen when she was 7 and moving on to the grown up lavender one.
There was screaming coming from the living room of their suites. Then she heard the unfamiliar sound of skin slapping skin. Her whole body shuddered at the sound. She heard her mother cry. When she hesitantly walked into the living room, her mother was on the floor, blood trickling out of the side of her mouth. Her father was a seething pillar of rage standing over her. The shadow that he cast over her wasn't enough to cover the tears seeping from her eyes. She moved to help her mother and her father lashed out. He grabbed her by the collar and lifted her off the ground. She had never felt so much fear, then or since. Her hands drifted to her neck, she could remember how hard it had been to breath. The look on her father's face was so different from the face she had known before.
There was no happiness to be found.
The steam-blurred image of her in the mirror grew more indistinct as tears came to her eyes.
He had thrown her into her room and locked the door afterward. She could do nothing but huddle in the corner. That was when the cold wind blew in. He had left her alone in the room for three days. At first she was terrified. She had ameliorated herself with finishing her room. It was already painted. A large gray tree with delicate lavender blossoms covered the branches. Loose petals seemed to be drifting in a breeze to the floor of her room. Her mother had told her it was a very grown up room for a 10 year old, but seeing as her mind was closer to 13, it fit just perfect.
Her heart leapt a little as she remembered showing her father the picture she had drawn of her future room. A rough crayola drawing of a scraggly looking tree and uneven blocks where furniture should go. He had picked her up, swirling her through the air. He had called the picture beautiful. The first day alone in the room, she had hoped that once she had finished the room and he saw it, she would be happy again. She had rearranged her desk, filling it with pens and notebooks instead of coloring books and crayons. Frantically tried to finish it. She made her bed nice and neat with all the extra throw pillows. She had attempted to move the dresser; it wasn't in the right place, but she wasn't strong enough. Back then she had told herself it was because she didn't want to scratch her new black hard wood floors. She didn't want to do anything else to make him angry.
On the second day, when it was finally done, she had pounded on the door for hours. She tried her hardest to get anyone's attention. Her father needed to see the finish room so he would be happy again. Her poundings turned to sobs, the sobs to pleas, and the pleas to silent whimpers. On the third day, she curled up on the floor. She refused to touch anything; when her father finally did open the door, he would see the perfect room. Her hand was bruised from her beating of the door. Her voice was hoarse. The same terror that had taken hold of her within her father's grip had taken root again. They had forgotten her. Left her in the room, they would never come for her.
Late in the evening, one of the omegas that worked as her nanny came and got her. She held her and washed her. She put ice on her hand and fed her, but Victoria never said a word. She would talk when her father came and saw the room. She would ask him if it was as beautiful as the picture. It wasn't until Noreen, the omega, tried to put her in the bed that she said something. She screamed her little head off, refusing to touch the perfectly made bed. When Noreen had put her down, Victoria quickly went to fix the pillows. She straightened out every wrinkle in the comforter and took her place back on the floor. She waited for days, but she never saw but a glimpse of him. That was how her road to perfection began. As her father began to cultivate the perfect pack, she tried to be the perfect daughter. It started out with never misbehaving and she threw herself into her studies. When she was old enough, it was all about the physical.
She trained and worked out. Despite what humans believed, being too skinny was a sign of sickness. She never went above or below a size 10/12. When her father said she was weak, she learned every style of fighting imaginable. She took up dancing when her father told her she wasn't graceful enough for a woman. Called her an elephant, said she stomped around. She tried to find her happiness, she tried to find her friends, but time never allowed for it.
Victoria angrily swiped at the mirror and stared at the "perfection" she had created. She let the tears dry and tucked the towel around her. There was no point in crying; what was done was done. The memories had left her cold and dazed inside, the steam chilling her skin. Goose bumps broke out across her legs as a breeze blew in from under the bathroom door. When she stepped out of the bathroom, Antony was leaned against the wall. He had changed into clean clothes and by the smell of it, he had taken a shower too. The tension, however, could be read in every line of his body. That's what he got for dipping into her mind; it wasn't a nice place in there. She didn't have very many happy thoughts anymore.
