CHAPTER 22: WHAT WOULD I BE

CHAPTER 22: WHAT WOULD I BE

Florence POV

The city was beautiful, at least that's what everyone seemed to profess nonstop in my ears at the academy. “Oh you should come and see this and that and blah blah blah…” Things such as that. Already in geography, I had learned about the landscape and how the entirety of the Pack was surrounded by mountains. Despite how far I looked, I couldn't see one mountain.

"It's over 5,000 hectares," he said. "The land has been passed down from my ancestors until now." He smiled with a brief glint of his slightly sharp teeth from beneath his lips.

I looked back out again and noticed the first buildings after the long driveway to the office. Tall, creamish, and rather interesting in architecture, they resembled gothic buildings with gargoyles—statues of worlds and various forms.

"They are artists' families," he said. "Old, ancient. An offshoot of mine." He smiled proudly.

"A few of them still live, while most were killed off in the last Great War."

"What caused it?" I found myself asking, my curiosity overtaking me. I couldn't cover it much longer. I left the window open and simply turned my body slightly, giving him my full attention.

"A foolish reason," he said. "You’d be surprised sometimes when you think about it. Each one sounds dumber than the last."

"No," he continued, "my grandfather’s time—it was because apparently someone felt they weren’t given enough at a festival. So, way back then, they used to host them."

He said, his eyes holding the event as though he were there himself.

"The feasts of those times were different from how we handle things now. Each rugged. They had a great hall where they would hold these things—tables, he said, drawing out his words. These tables would be filled with food."

"It was a very simple way of life—first come, first served. If you were quick enough to reach for what you wanted, anyway. And if you were too slow, well, unfortunately..." He shrugged. "It happened," he said. "There’s little one can do to blame anyone without regard. But who cares? I suppose. In the end, those who claimed they weren't fed properly were the ones to start a war. And for as dumb a reason as that, the war actually began."

I paused, comparing it to my grandfather. "He was a great and unbiased man, I thought. He was also very wicked to those he found to be his enemies. Very much of the land we have now, he took from them—took it as his trophy."

"Would you?" I found myself asking. "Would you take it too, if you had your way? If your enemies wanted... I don’t know. If your enemies wanted to do something, would you take what they own as a trophy?"

"Depends," he said. "Depends on what the price is. But I do not take living prizes," he said, turning to me.

"And me? Because I’m not a living prize?" My voice was low, cutting through the strange silence in the room.

"No," he said.

I did nothing, however, to alleviate the harsh line of his jaw. He still seemed angry, if anything. In fact, he seemed as though he was ready to fight, perhaps like Scott had.

Suddenly, I saw this, though no one would believe it. Perhaps this alpha was one of those—perhaps one of the worst.

"You were sold to me," he said. "Perhaps instead of looking at me, you should look to the one who caused it in the first place."

"I have no villain," he said. "Perhaps what I have done in my mind or in yours is not something to write home about, but neither is the world. I believe you know perhaps a little too well this fact, hmm?"

I turned my face away and decided the ground was simply more interesting to look at.

"You don't say anything," he said. "You never speak."

"It's not exactly my fault, is it?" I asked slowly. "We can't blame me, can you? I'm the one who is an outsider. I'm not from here. I know nothing of your people. In many senses of the word, I have lived my life in peace and without much expectation, despite how I have been treated. What do you want from me? Why have you not taken enough just yet?"

He chuckled slightly. "I haven't taken anything," he said. "Yes, perhaps we have not exactly gotten off on the right foot," he said. "But I don't wish to make you an enemy. You are my wife," he said. "And I believe there was enough reason for me to keep you with me. Now, do I wish to serve something against you? You are your own person," he said. "And so, you have beliefs. I will not expect to be seen in any different way. No one is perfect," he said. "Neither are you."

"The way I want you," he said. "I will keep you, and I will not hurt you. Which is not much from what you would have said from the previous person you were with. You have freedom," he said, turning back to the road and paying me little mind.

After a while, we stopped in front of a large building. In front of the building was a rather good-looking statue of a man. Standing behind the statue of the man was a statue of a wolf—tall, menacing, and scary. Two halves of the same whole, I thought, just as I walked around the statue.

"This is the closest to me, to my residence," he said. "Off to get anything you need."

He took me by the hand and led me into the mall, earning stares and stopping from as many as possible. I shied away, but I didn't say much, too disturbed by it. If anything, he seemed to revel in it. My shame, however, couldn't be hidden. If I could hide my face inside my chest, I would have. Was the man simply careless about this? He continued to lead me into the mall.

Eventually, we stopped in front of a store filled with as many sparkly bits of things as possible—things I knew the name of and things I didn't.

"That reminds me," he said, showing one of his hands from his pocket. "You don't have a phone."

"I think we should fix that," he said.

He led me deeper again until we stopped in front of a phone store, filled with the latest gadgets and electronics—things I never saw Diana use. The sudden pain rose up in my chest, hitting me with a little ache. It surely shouldn't bother me that much, I thought.

Just as he was talking to one of the employees in front of the counter, who bowed profusely to him several times and spoke animatedly, it suddenly occurred to me: I had done nothing in my life. I was nothing in my life, save for now. If not for him, perhaps I would have never come out. I would have never been anything. I would never be anything but a slave.

But wait. That wasn't guaranteed. Scott might have been different. Scott might have done things differently. What did I truly believe?