The Cave and the Eye

The Cave and the Eye
  HIGAN SINCLAIR 
  The cave reeked heavily of damp rot and dying moss. If I closed my eyes, I could almost pretend I was anywhere else but the wind wheezing through the narrow ribs of the newly found hole we managed to crawl in made that impossible. 
  Every passing draft carried Becca’s suffocating scent in its careful stillness as though she’d somehow found a way to bleach the air around her.
  I detested that smell and how it clung to my nose, my clothes, my hair, my teeth. It was a bleak reminder that I was there, not in my own house, nor my pack’s territory, nor in Springville, but buried alive in a mountain like a rodent.
  All because of her.
  I sat slouched on the camping mat against the cave wall where a jagged line of stone persistently dug into my shoulder blade through my shirt. My boots tapped out a restless beat on the rock ringing out louder than I liked.
  I wanted to leave but someone had made that impossible for me.
  Becca and her whims sat about twenty feet away, cross-legged by a sputtering old lantern. The small pool of light cut shadows up her face to make her look more like a ghost than a girl. 
  Her short hair was pulled back into a small bun, and despite the cold, her coat was folded neatly beside her on a patch of canvas she’d laid out like this was some tea party instead of a burial tomb for my pride.
  And the eye. God, the fucking creepy eye.
  The ominous-looking object sat on the canvas too with her. It was a glass orb in the color of dead coal. The longer I looked into it, the longer I felt it staring into me lulling me to do things I couldn't remember. But I swore there was a voice.
  Vorare was all I could make out. 
  Next to it was a piece of a page folded up like a scroll. I didn’t know the details of anything given. I was seemingly playing Becca's lackey without my consent.
  I’d try asking more than once and each time she'd brush me off or laugh in that humorless manner she always did when I pressed too hard like the attempt was hysterical to her. The sound always grated my ears and tickled my eardrums.
  The broken tables had turned.
  A month ago I’d told myself I was using her. A week ago, maybe she was using me too, it was fair game. Now? I couldn’t even lie to myself about that anymore.
  I dragged my knuckles across my knee. They came away with dust and the faint copper sting of reopened scars from punching the wall. I'd been angry. How could I not?
  My home and my pack? What was left of that now? Ethan fucking Stark had it. 
  The perfect bastard with the perfect accent and his perfect hair and his overbearing army of werewolves that bent knee the second he breathed near them. He took my town. He took my pack. He kept her, my mate.
  A part of me thought maybe I’d find some sick joy in her grief when the news about her parents began to spread. Becca hadn’t even flinched telling me after I confronted her. She confessed to it like she was reading off a grocery list. That didn't matter as much.
  But when I pictured Harlyn in the remains of that ruined house, standing where her family used to be, I didn’t feel joy or triumph. I felt unmoored like the world had shifted under my feet again and I was left hanging, watching Ethan pull her closer while I rotted here with this corpse bride I’d shackled myself to.
  Another growl cut out my throat as I shuddered my hair again. In return, Becca’s fingers scraped against the stone like a warning, dragging that scroll closer as she muttered to herself. Vorare, I heard once again.
  But I rolled my eyes at her bullshit. She was warning me to stop distracting her. So, I pressed my tongue to my canine until I tasted the faint tang of blood. 
  Anything to remind myself I was still Higan, not her puppet or whatever I was now.
  She flicked her eyes up then, like she’d heard my thoughts scratching around. “You’re pacing in your head again,” she stated briskly without looking my way. Her tone remained bored and awfully casual.
  I forced a smile that couldn't reach my eyes even if they were paid to. “Hard not to, when you have me stashed in a dirty hole like your pet snake.”
  Her lips curled up, barely. “Better than you trying to fix things with your precious town. They’d eat you alive.”
  “They wouldn’t have needed to if you hadn’t...” I snapped my mouth shut. My jaw popped from how tight I locked before a rumble echoed through my throat. She was really pushing me now.
  She didn’t bother to poke at the sentence. She already knew what I meant. Her grin stretched a little wider at the corner like my demeanor amused her. “You wanted me, remember? I didn’t chain you here. You chose this.”
  I barked a humorless laugh louder than I intended but to hell with keeping quiet. “I chose? I didn’t choose to touch her family. You did that. And now everyone thinks I let you.”
  Becca’s fingers brushed the glass eye like she was petting a cat. Her nails made a soft clicking sound. “They think whatever they want to think, I don't care.”
  A chilly line of sensation raced up my spine. I hated how calm she sounded when she said that. I hated that she was being truthful. But I couldn't afford to have anyone think whatever they wanted to think. 
  I was innocent!
  I shuffled up, straightening my spine. I ignored the way my boots scraped rock dust loose. “I’m not staying down here forever, Becca. I’m not some kept dog you whistle for when you need a show.”
  She tilted her head. “What do you plan to do? March up the mountain, storm Ethan’s new castle, tell them you’re sorry. That you were confused?”
  Her laughter cracked the stale air. “You think they’ll take you back? That they forgive you? After you paraded me around like your trophy? After you...” She gestured at the eye. “...abetted her parents' murder.”
  My brows pulled tighter on my forehead. Why was she insisting on involving me? “I didn’t abet anything,” I hissed. “I—”
  “You cowered,” she cut me off flat and curt. “Like you always do when something bigger than you breathes down your neck. Just like you did when you realized Harlyn couldn't be your little meek lapdog. You've never been in control, stop trying so hard to grasp it.“ 
  I lunged before I could stop myself, my wolf bursting through to fight her. My claws snapped out as my hand wrapped around her throat. Becca didn't dodge, she simply sat there.