Callan’s hands went through his hair for the hundredth time, letting strands of it fall over his face, his frustration apparent. His eyes wandered to the pocket watch on the table. It was a few minutes past midnight, and if he was hoping to get any sleep, it was best he went to bed already because that alone took hours to achieve. But he couldn't, not when his mind was running a thousand different thoughts that induced in him the worst headache ever.
Ryder was his Beta, his childhood friend, and as much as he'd acted as though he hadn't been listening, there was just something about the night to make one overthink and make sense of things they'd otherwise disregarded—and right now, those were Ryder’s words.
And Sophia’s.
Hell! Had there been a minute where she hadn't been in his thoughts, prominent or lurking in the background of his mind? Nothing had remained the same since the first night he’d met her, and like Ryder’s words, he could still hear hers from the infirmary.
Would he be able to protect her as he had to? But that really wasn't what Callan was worried about, nor Amelia’s treatment toward her. Amelia was effortlessly the person he knew with the purest heart. No, the question was if he’d be able to shield Sophia from himself.
He couldn't even bring himself to break the bond yet, and here he was wide awake again allowing her to cloud his thoughts, so…
His wolf stirred in excitement just as he heard the soft patter of footsteps coming down the hallway that led to his room.
He knew who it was before the small, light knocks came, so by the time it did, he was already at the door, shooting up from his seat so fast that it was a surprise he hadn't doubled down to the ground equally as hard.
He didn't let the questions about her showing up at this hour of the night dwell in his mind before grabbing the door’s knob and jerking it open.
There was a moment of stillness after that where his eyes stayed on her, and with every passing second of it, they darkened, blackening with fury as they ran over her appearance, taking her in, from the bruises that covered her exposed skin to the bloodied thin piece of material that barely covered her body.
“I killed him,” she whispered, her voice breaking the trance he'd been in.
Callan knew immediately who she was talking about, and it was a good thing she did because if she hadn't, he swore with his life he would have.
Instinctively, he pulled her in, wrapping his arms around her petite frame, enveloping her in a hug, and when she broke down finally into a sob against his chest, the pain tore violently at his insides.
His wolf’s rage was even worse; he was furious at him.
“It was his fault,” he declared. If only Callan had allowed himself to rip Alexander into a million shreds as he had wanted, then this wouldn't have happened. Right now, the only person he hated more than Alexander was himself.
He scooped Sophia in his arms, and in a few, quick steps, he reached his bed and set her on it gently. His jaw clenched, twitching when he saw the scrape on her knee, her legs streaked with dried blood.
“I killed him,” she kept chanting, trembling violently.
“Hey, Sophia,” he called, placing his hands on both her shoulders, but her lips kept moving, reiterating her words. He didn't think she could hear him.
Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she appeared lost in herself, absorbed in her grief. Her eyes were dazed, flickering wildly.
“Sophia, listen to me!” he yelled, shaking her, and this time, he finally got her attention. Her horrified eyes settled on him, breaking him over and over again in a split second.
Callan swallowed, aware of how hard his heart was pounding. “You’re okay. I promise. You did what you had to do to save yourself, and none of what happened is your fault. Do you understand?” His voice came out hoarse, thick with indiscernible emotions.
Sophia stumbled over her words, her voice shaking. “But… I killed him. I didn't mean to, and now… He’s dead, Callan. He's dead and now… Now, they're going to kill me for it.”
“Where is he?” he asked.
“By the stables, I… He fell. I didn't mean to do it.” She watched him with pleading eyes. “You have to believe me. I promise. I didn't mean to. He was…” And she choked on her own sobs.
There hadn't been a second of doubt in his mind.
“I believe you,” he assured her. “Was there anyone else there? Someone who might have seen you?”
She shook her head.
His hands moved to move strands of her hair from her face before cupping the side of it.
“I’ll take care of it,” he promised.
He walked to his wardrobe and flung the door open, and he searched through the clothes hanging before finally pulling out a shirt and pants from it. Callan handed her the clothes. “Have a bath and change into this. I'll be back.”
“Wait,” she said, sitting up.
He turned to her.
“There was someone. The warrior Alexander sent to call me,” she said, her voice still filled with fear.
He nodded, saying nothing before he turned and walked out of the room, and only when he was outside did he allow himself to lean on the wall and shut his eyes, steadying his heart.
Callan knew he was going to have to get a hold of himself, but his animalistic instinct refused, struggling for complete control over him. He didn't think he would ever get the image of Sophia tonight from his head—it wrenched his guts.
He couldn't let his mind conjure up what he must have done to her, his filthy hands on her. It made him want to retch his guts out but worst of all was the fear she must have felt at that moment.
Callan couldn't in any way think of how this hadn't been his fault. He should have thought of all possibilities, thought of ways Alexander would have tried to hurt her, but he hadn't, and this had happened.
What if—
He shook his head, refusing to think of it because if Alexander really had, only then would he have unleashed his wolf’s wrath on everything, and he knew for certain that when he was done, the whole Dark Moon Pack would have gone into extinction.
His strides were quick and curt as he headed down to the stables, making two stops. One was at Ryder’s bedchamber. He pounded impatiently on the door.
“Callan, what has…”
“Get everything ready. We’re leaving now.” He turned to walk away.
“Wait, what? Now?” Ryder’s confusion was depicted in his frenzied tone. “What is the rush? Has something happened?”
“Do as I say, Ryder.”
The next stop was at the quarters reserved for his servants. He paused at the door of one of the maidservants and gave her orders to go to Sophia’s room and pack up her things.
Finally, he arrived at the stables, aware that with each step he had taken towards it, he had lost bits and pieces of control over himself, so that when he arrived, his fury was hanging by a thin thread.
But when Callan got to the scene of the incident, the sight that met him wasn’t one he’d anticipated, so instead, he stuck to the shadows and watched with hardened eyes, his fists clenched tight.
It had spiraled out of control.