Chapter 10 The Weight of Protection
Ryder POV
Something is wrong.
I know it the moment I catch Jolie's scent in the hallway outside her room. There's blood mixed in with her usual soft fragrance, along with something sharp and metallic that makes my wolf pace restlessly.
I knock on her door, but there's no answer. "Jolie?"
Silence.
I try the handle and find it unlocked. She's curled up on the narrow bed, facing the wall with a blanket pulled over her head. The morning sun streams through the small window, but she hasn't moved to acknowledge it.
"You missed breakfast," I say, stepping into the room.
"I'm not hungry." Her voice is muffled by the blanket, small and distant.
I move closer, and that's when I catch the full scent of blood. My wolf surges forward, demanding I find the source of her injury and eliminate whatever caused it.
"Let me see your hands," I say.
"They're fine." She says.
"Jolie." I put command into my voice, the tone I use with pack members who are being difficult. "Show me."
She sits up slowly, the blanket falling away to reveal her face. Her eyes are red-rimmed and hollow, like she hasn't slept at all. When she holds out her hands, I can see white bandages wrapped around both palms.
"What happened?" I ask, though part of me already knows.
"I broke a glass in the kitchen. Cut myself cleaning it up." The lie comes easily practiced. "Clumsy of me."
I sit on the edge of the bed, close enough to catch the lingering scent of another wolf on her clothes. Mara. My jaw clenches as the pieces fall into place.
"Did someone hurt you?" I ask directly.
Her hands tighten in her lap. "No. I told you, I was clumsy."
"Jolie"
"Please don't." She looks up at me, and there's something desperate in her expression. "Please don't make this a big deal. I just broke a glass. It happens all the time."
But I can see the way her shoulders curve inward like she's trying to make herself smaller. My wolf wants blood. Wants to hunt down whoever did this and make them pay.
The fact that she's protecting them only makes it worse.
"Why won't you fight back?" The question explodes out of me before I can stop it. "Why do you just take whatever they dish out?"
She goes very still, staring down at her bandaged hands. For a long moment, the only sound is the distant rumble of motorcycles in the courtyard.
"Because fighting back just makes it worse," she finally whispers. "It always makes it worse."
The simple honesty of it breaks something in my chest. I think about my own childhood, about learning to fight because it was the only way to survive. About my parents who taught me that strength was the only currency that mattered.
But Jolie learned the opposite lesson.
"Who taught you that?" I ask quietly.
She shrugs, not looking at me. "Everyone. My father. My brother. The pack warriors." Her voice is barely audible. "When you're weak, fighting back just makes them angrier. Makes them want to hurt you more."
I want to grab her shoulders and shake her. Want to tell her that she's not weak, that she survived things that would have broken stronger wolves. But the defeated slump of her posture tells me she wouldn't believe it.
"So you just take it," I say.
"I survive." She meets my eyes for just a moment before looking away again. "That's what omegas do. We survive by not making waves."
"You're not an omega."
"Aren't I?" Her laugh is bitter and broken. "Look at me, Ryder. look at me closely." She spreads her arms wide, displaying her small frame and bandaged hands. "I can't fight. Can't hunt. Can barely shift without collapsing. What else would you call me?"
A survivor. A wolf who's been systematically broken down by people who should have protected her. Someone who deserves better than a pack that sees her as disposable.
But I can see from her expression that she wouldn't believe any of that.
"I'll talk to Mara," I say instead.
"No!" The word comes out sharp and panicked. "Please don't. It'll just make things worse."
"She threatened you." I say.
"She was right." Jolie pulls the blanket back over her legs, curling in on herself. "I am a liability. I am making you look weak." Her voice drops to a whisper. "Maybe I should just leave."
The words hit me like a punch. My wolf snarls, demanding I chain her to this room rather than let her walk away. But the rational part of my mind whispers that maybe she's right. Maybe she'd be safer somewhere else.
The thought makes me feel sick.
"You're not going anywhere," I say, standing up from the bed.
"Ryder"
"I said no." I move toward the door, then stop and look back at her. She looks so small on that narrow bed, drowning in defeat and self-doubt. "And Jolie? Next time someone hurts you, I want to know about it."
"It won't happen again," she says quietly. "I will stay out of everyone's way."
That's not what I wanted to hear, but I can see from her expression that pushing the issue will only make her retreat further. So I nod and leave her alone with her pain and her lies.
In the hallway, I lean against the wall and close my eyes. My wolf is clawing at my control, demanding action. Demanding blood.
But Jolie's fear is stronger than my rage. She's terrified of making things worse, of causing more problems. And maybe she's right to be.
Maybe bringing her here was a mistake that's going to get us all killed.