Quinn
The black veins on her neck were a clear sign of her dying soul.
Her fingers dug into her throat hard enough to bruise, nails clawing into flesh. But the ink throbbed, pulsed, moving under her skin like the scatter of lightning. It was as if it were alive.
Parasites.
And those lines swarmed over the column of her throat, mapping out the pale scarring of flesh and fangs. Klaus's claim, the pack Omega's mating bite. It was more inflamed than it should be, deeper than ever on her skin.
It stood out sharply amidst the other scars. The crevice on her chest from the gun. The fangs of the Lonely. The bites from her other soulmates – merely pale crescent moons. But it was Klaus's that stood out like a beacon. Her pack Omega. The leader.
She was officially a part of the pack.
Quinn's vision went white for a second.
But something in her was awake now, and it was prowling. Her brows furrowed. Her Beta? She thought of the word, the negative implications of the term. The bond hummed, warm in her chest, brighter and sharper than ever. As bizarre as it was, she could feel them all, could practically taste the emotions wafting from her seven.
The ache of Helios's exhaustion, the heavy weight of Solar's worry, the steady thrum of Icarus's anger. Zen was brimming with adrenaline, while Rowan's thoughts were clouded with annoyance. Elysian was cool and gentle, and Klaus—
Klaus was just pain.
Pure fucking pain.
A bleeding heart.
He was eating into her like poison, flooding her thoughts with his venom, his self-loathing, his anxiety, his rage. Her throat closed up. She wanted to put a fist through her chest and rip it all out before it could choke her. But she couldn't stop shaking. Couldn't stop feeling his emotions swimming into her own.
He was almost going fucking crazy.
The betrayal. The guilt. The regret. The way he'd broken himself open to save her. The turmoil he was experiencing. The desperate, anxious need to calm her. A part of her wanted to crawl towards him, and that made her hate herself a lot more.
Her reflection blurred again. Her eyes burned. Her heart skittered in her chest. It was too fast, too loud. She could hear her heart, could feel every beat ricochetting. Was it Klaus's or her own? It was as if they shared a goddamn ribcage.
Her stomach twisted so violently she doubled over, nearly throwing up on the floor. She couldn't bear to look at the bastard, who stared back at her with too hollow eyes. Her thoughts swam.
"How long was I asleep?" she managed to choke out
"Two months," Klaus answered automatically. He carried the weight of the fucking world on his shoulders. And as his newly claimed mate, it fucking hurt to feel him burn through the bond. It fucking hurt to understand how he felt.
"Where are we?" she whispered, voice ragged. Two months. She felt weak.
"Hemlock's outpost. South from the kingdom." Another outpost just like her old home. That had her lips twitching, a fucked-up smile. She figured they'd have one or two outside of the kingdom.
"So why am I alive?"
He flinched like she'd struck him. The connection returned to her as a sting in her throat. Fuck.
"Answer me."
The man before her seemed incredibly conflicted. His eyes lowered, sweeping before it swept up to her face. The sorrow in it bloomed, whispering through their bond. "I had to, to save us all."
"They forced your hand," she hissed. There were no memories to be shared through the claim, no real thoughts. But she could taste the dip in his feelings. The way he shivered at the mere thought, heart falling, bile growing. His soulmates had been on the verge of death. She knew as much thanks to Float. "You had to claim me to save them."
He hesitated in his little corner. It was fucked up that she could read him like an open book. "Yes."
"Then what about your obsession with my fucking heart?" her brow raised.
He was solemn, body growing cold. Or was it her body that wasn't going cold? The bond was tirelessly relaying everything to her, his instances of strong, vivid emotion, his proximity, his well-being. It was almost as if he were now a part of her.
It was disturbing.
"You were right." He paused. "The hearts have never been the cure. Those that ate them continued to transform." His head lowered. "It did nothing to save them."
Her laugh came out broken and wet. It was wrung out of her, twisting free and tinged with insanity. This was her revenge. Her retribution. And yet it didn't feel good to be right. The bond thrummed hard. Her Beta growled low in her chest, frustrated. It didn't like her angry at their mate, and what ensued was an unpleasant thrum that fed between them.
She did not feel happy knowing how awful he felt.
She looked at her reflection again with a grimace. Gods, the ink seemed to taunt her through the silver, mocking her weakness. The veins blooming like flowers, black vines, and black rivers. Was she also so goddamn sensitive because of the rot of her soul?
She dropped the mirror. It clattered, slid to the floor, silver catching the yellow light. She couldn't look at him. Couldn't look at anything. The walls were too close. The air was too damn hot.
She shoved herself to her feet.
Her legs almost gave out immediately.
Panic laced through her like fire. His fear, not hers. His worry, not hers. Klaus's arms reached out desperately, closing the distance between them in one swoop. His skin was against hers, hot velvety flesh holding her close. Her body trembled as he wrapped her in his arms, his body so rich with musk and chocolate that it was dizzying.
The frock on her was now itchy over her skin, and her bra straps were too tight. Heat exploded through her core, surging down her limbs. Claim. Omega. Mate. Her throat went dry; his scent ballooned. She pulled back before the rumble could vibrate from her chest. Her body was pleased to be with her mate.
A purr.
"Quinn—" Klaus started, half-rising. She knew he felt awful, that he hadn't meant to touch her. But she cut him off with a glare so sharp it could've drawn blood.
"Fuck off."
The bond was doing things to her mind.
She wrenched herself further from him, the drip pulled from her hands. The needle slid free, stinging. Blood dribbled from the wound; the fucker sighed. His concern grew. She clung to anger because the alternative was a strange new bubbling affection unlike anything she'd ever felt. Not even with Elysian.
Was this what it was like to be completely and utterly mated to her soulmates?
Was this what it was like to be in a pack?
"Quinn, you're bleeding—"
"Shut up," she spat, vibrating through the mess of her emotions. "Don't say my name like we're close. You might've dragged me back, and I thank you for that. But this—" she gestured at the claim on her throat, at him "—this doesn't mean anything." Her voice seemed to shred. "I can feel you—" her fingers dug "—inside me. In my head. In my bones. It feels disgusting—"
The bond flared again, a rush of heat slamming through her so fast her knees buckled. She saw his pain, his guilt, his desperation, felt it like a brand pressed to her sternum, molten hot. It hurt. It hurt so much she nearly choked.
He was sorry.
So damn sorry.
He didn't want to see her like this.
He did not wish for her to suffer through a newly mated claim.
Her Beta shivered. She hated it. She hated that her hands shook not from fear but from want, from need to calm Klaus, to understand him, to forgive him. It was some primal thing dragging her forward, begging her to be closer to him. It wanted her to hold him, to comfort him. His jaw clenched. She felt him in her teeth, like a pulse. He was aching before her, almost weeping before her.
He watched her with a broken heart.
"When the bond is new, it can be very sensitive to strong emotions," Klaus offered softly, curtly. But through their bond, she knew his voice trembled. "If you calmed down, it would not feel as bad—"
"Calm down?" she turned to him with a snarl. And then she was momentarily distracted by the look in his eyes. The wideness, the way his pupils quaked. Her fists clenched. "Just get the fuck out of my space."
"I understand that. But it will not feel better if you push me away—"
"Well, too bad," Quinn hissed, crawling away from him. "Because I don't want to see you ever again—"
The bond slammed against her, and she lurched forward. It was fucking insistent, like a rope around her limbs, her throat. It yanked her upright before she could even collapse back into the bed, pulled her towards him. It was desperate, because he was desperate. Because he was losing his fucking mind at the thought of her shutting him off.
"What the fuck?" she snapped.
"Fuck," Klaus exhaled, scrubbed a hand across his face. "It's a side effect of mating a wolf and a pack of seven. Everything is heightened. It'll take a while before you get used to it." He pressed his lips together, inhaled. "I'll try to keep myself together," he said a beat after. "I'm sorry."
And that hurt more than anything. Because he meant it. Because for the first time, he looked at her like she was actually Quinn. And that terrified her even more. His apology was plastered all over his fucking face.
She needed to clear her head.
"I want to go outside."
"You're not well—"
"Let me go outside," she hissed. Klaus froze, then nodded.
"I'll carry you there," he said.
"No," she pushed past him, but he caught her wrist, too gentle. Too soft. Another shiver quaked through her. His palm cupped her hand as if she were as fragile as fine china. Blood beaded over her hand.
And before she could say anything, before she could pull away, his hands moved, pulling something from his pocket. An alcohol swab was wiped across her skin with surprising precision. A bandage taped tight over the bleeding spot, snug, firm, and secure. He worked too quickly, moved too fast, and before she knew it, he was done.
Her breath hitched noisily in her throat, faltered as she gazed at him, at long lashes, at eyes rimmed with gold.
"Better," he said quietly, stepping back immediately.
She stared at him. He'd been waiting to do that, had his attention on her wound. The warmth of his skin had made her too damn aware of him, of the bond, of how goddamn close he was to her.
His throat bobbed, a nervous swallow.
"You could have just asked," she said, pulling back her hand, scalded.
"You would have fought me."
She scowled because God, he was right. She was here to pick a fucking fight, here to punch him in the fucking face. She was a mess of emotions, and the bond was not helping. She pushed herself towards the door, one foot at a time. Her toes were cold in the dirt.
"Wait," his voice was low, almost like a warning, but also whined out like a plea.
Her pulse jumped, her bark snapped out. "What?"
"You can't go out barefoot."
Her brows furrowed. But Klaus just crouched, got to his knees on the dirty floor. He picked up a pair of sandals from under the cot. Worn leather with straps. He glanced at her feet, then at her face, almost as if he were waiting for permission.
She blinked at him, thrown off balance. Her first instinct was to argue, to shake him off and escape. But she was frozen now. A dimple winked over his cheeks.
A smile.
He took her ankle. It was a horribly domestic thing, seeing him like this. The man who'd shot her, the man who'd dragged her back from death, the man who'd ruled horribly like a tyrant. And he was kneeling on the grimy floor with his massive hands cradling her foot like she might break apart.
And the feelings he felt.
A sea of warmth, a sliver of joy. A rush of gratitude.
Her throat went dry.
"Lift," he murmured.
She did. Her foot hovered in the air, awkward and tense. His skin was hot, thumb on the dip. His touch was careful, almost reverent. It was like he was afraid. The sandal slid on easily. He took the other and did the same.
Her chest constricted, suddenly. Painfully. This shouldn't have meant anything. It was just shoes. But something about him on his knees, the bowing of his head, the weight of his shoulders, the feel of his calloused thumb brushing against the side of her foot. It made her stomach flip. It made her body burn.
The bond pulsed hard, like the beat of the drum.
She swallowed. "You don't have to—"
"Yes, I do." His voice was quiet, clipped, but unsteady. He didn't look up as he fastened the strap.
Her chest ached. It felt too intimate, too personal. It was as if he were reaching into the place where she kept all her anger, all her fear, and smoothing it all flat. Her body swooned. But this was just a show of goodwill. This wasn't enough. She wasn't going to eat out of the palm of his hands just because he taped up her hands and gave her shoes.
When he was done, he sat back on his heels and looked up at her. His golden eyes glowed faintly in the dim light. "Good." He stood. "Now, we can go." He offered his hand.
Her heart pounded harder, but she did not take his hand.
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