Chapter 51 Conflicting Emotions
Vanessa
The moment his footsteps fade away, I slide down the door to the floor of my room, placing my head in my arms. His last words echoing in my mind.
As much as I want to understand him, I still can't forgive him just yet. There's no justification for his actions earlier.
"You hurt her." The words broke something inside of me, and I'm not sure how soon I can recover from it.
Even for a position I never really wanted, I still have to constantly prove myself to deserve it.
It's so fucking hard, stupid and unfair.
I don't know how long I sit there, but I do until my legs feel numb from squatting for so long. When I look up, I see the world has now been shrouded in misty darkness...just like me.
"Oh no, you look you've just got run down by a mad truck driver from the wrong side of town," Max exclaims as soon as he sees me.
"Now here I am. You think he got away freely? Nah, he's locked in the basement for future use." I tilt my head, giving him one of my creepiest smiles.
He scrunches up his face like he just tasted something bitter. "That's... disturbing. Ew."
I throw my head back and laugh, loosening some of the tension coiled tight inside of me, for a few minutes. Then the moment passes and my uplifted mood starts to dwindle again.
Max notices and tells me to join him, leading him to one of the benches that give an accurate view of the whole training ground.
We each take a seat, and don't say anything for a long time, just watching the young shifters engaging in a hand-to-hand combat in the open space.
"I got blamed for something I didn't do," I mumble.
"That's so unfair," Max replies.
"I would never hurt her on purpose," I say, and I mean every word.
Max turns to me, his lips crooked on one side, giving me one of his easy smiles. "I know, Nessa." There's no amusement in his words and a weight lifts off my chest.
At least, there's one person who's ready to believe me without any questions.
Then I go on to explain the situation that brought me into my current state, surprisingly, he listens without a word, and without judgement for my anger.
"He's such an asshole," I continue, and it's Max's turn to throw his head back and laugh.
"What's so funny?" I pout, and he reaches over to ruffle my hair. I glare daggers at him.
"Xander's not all that bad, Nessa," he says seriously. "You just have to really know him to understand him."
I shift, facing him properly. "What do you mean?"
He takes a deep breath and adjusts his position slightly. "What I'm saying is, Xander never really had it easy when growing up; a strict father, shouldering responsibilities from the moment he's old enough, all those factors contributed to who he is now," he pauses, letting the words sink in.
I do know that being the firstborn - especially a son in any household, even the non-supernaturals - comes with a lot of responsibilities and it's so depressing.
"Xander was always so close to his mother, and after what happened to her," Max says the last part quietly, an almost whimper from his voice as he remembers. He once did mention how much she cared for him, like she was his own mother.
What happened to her? I wonder curiously...
"She's been the only female in his life, and the longest."
"So he's scared to lose her," I conclude, my voice faint, and heavy all at once.
"And you," Max says simply. I snap my head up, only to find him already staring at me with so much sincerity in his usually amused green eyes.
"And me?" I snort.
"Yeah, you, Nessa," he smirks. "He just has a hard time showing how much he cares."
"I really doubt that," I mutter, facing away from him.
If he really did care about me, he wouldn't have done something like that to me.
"It doesn't matter whether or not you believe me, but just know it's true," he finishes.
I just nod my head as if in agreement, just so we can stop talking about it, as I feel a slight headache coming on.
Max watches me carefully when I start to wobble on the bench. "You doing okay, Nessa?"
"No," I admit.
"Come here," he invites, opening an arm wide for me to lean against him, and I do so, gratefully. "Oh, you poor child. Whatever shall I do with you?" he teases.
I pull my fist back and punch him hard in his abdomen. He wheezes.
"Moon Goddess, Nessa. How the hell are you so strong?" he croaks, and I almost believe his act.
"Oh, quit crying you big baby," I snap playfully.
"Hey!"
I pull my hand back again in warning and he cries out. "Fine, fine. I'm a crybaby, you're the alpha. Just don't do that again."
I snicker and that seems to calm him down a little.
He pats my hair gently, while we continue to watch the pair still going strong in their combat. No weapons, no wolves.
Their movements are sharp and precise, even almost in sync.
Like predator against prey, they circle each other, eyes focused and gauging the other's next move.
The blond is the first to throw a punch, missing the dark haired one by an inch who in turn takes the opportunity to seize his partner's arm and twisting it behind his back until a crack echoes loudly.
My eyes widen and I try to sit up, but Max holds me in place.
"Relax, Nessa," he chuckles. "It's part of the process, and besides, we heal very fast, remember?"
Oh, right. But then...
"Trainings are ruthless and rigorous, because the enemy will never be kind either."
"That's sick," I protest.
He shrugs and there's nothing else I can say. He continues to pat my hair, and I let him, eyes fixed on the two men in front of us.
They're obviously sweaty, but their toned, hard bodies speak nothing of fatigue or tiredness.
Well, it's something they've been doing all their lives, so it's not surprising.
Footsteps approach but I don't bother to look up, already recognizing the familiar woodsy scent.
"What the fuck is going on here?" he rumbles, looking from me to Max, his expression a cloud of storm that promises to destroy everything in its path.
Except, everything is... me.
I snuggle closer into Max, raising my legs to place it in his laps.
"Nessa," Max warns but I pay him no mind.
"What does it look like, sugar?" I laugh, but then stop abruptly as he takes three long strides towards us. His dark eyes, almost like darkened lava, shoot daggers are me and I can't seem to wipe the smirk off of my face.
"Get up," he grits out.
"Make me, pretty boy," I challenge.
And oh, he does.