To heal a Rogue

BONNIE

The door clicked shut behind him. I held my breath and counted to ten, every second stretching tight before I finally let myself move.

I darted over and pressed my ear to the wood. His voice filtered through, muffled but unwavering, locked in some argument—family, politics, it hardly mattered. All that mattered was he was distracted, and distraction meant distance, and distance was the only currency I had left.

Before the thought had even finished forming, my mind leaped to the window.

I could see it already: strip the sheets, tear the curtains, twist them into a makeshift rope strong enough to carry me down. I’d escaped worse with less—climbed out of tighter corners with nothing but a torn shirt and a desperate hope. This room was practically generous, with a real bed frame, real fabric, and a window that actually opened instead of one sealed shut for show.

Then the bond shifted—subtle but undeniable—a thread of him brushing against my emotions. I crushed the surge of excitement so fiercely my jaw throbbed.

Stupid. If he sensed that flash of hope, that jolt of a plan snapping into place, he’d burst through the door before I even touched the sheets. I forced my breath to slow, pressed the thrill down until it was dull and harmless, and only then did I step away from the door.

I caught my reflection in the mirror across the room and froze.

Blood. Dried along my hairline, smudged faint at the corner of my jaw, the leftover evidence of a rifle butt and a cell floor and every ugly thing that had happened to me since I opened that lounge door last night. That wasn’t going to work. The moment anyone saw me looking like that, there would be questions, and questions were the one thing I couldn’t currently afford, not with an escape plan sitting half-formed in my skull.

Clean up first. Plan after.

I slipped into the bathroom and turned the tap to cold, splashing my face until the water ran pink, then clear, until my skin burned and the taste of copper filled my mouth from a bitten lip I hadn’t even noticed. In the smaller mirror above the sink, I stared at myself, and a wave of exhaustion and fury surged up all at once.

”Why me?” I said, quiet, to no one.

I meant it for the goddess. Selene. The woman in the moon who supposedly watched over every wolf born under her light and had never once, not a single time in my entire miserable life, bothered answering a single prayer I’d thrown her way. I wasn’t even sure I believed in her most days. But I was fairly certain she tuned in for the drama regardless, whether she answered or not, the way people slowed down to watch a car wreck they had no intention of helping with.

”I just want to know the grand scheme,” I said, louder this time, my reflection glaring back at me with blood still drying at the edge of her jaw. ”What’s the big plan here? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you just enjoy watching me suffer.”

Nothing answered. Nothing ever did.

”Forget it,” I muttered. ”I’ll overcome this too.”

I stripped out of the uniform first, then peeled the binder off, wincing at the raw lines it had cut into skin that hadn’t had a proper break from it in longer than I wanted to think about, and stepped into the shower before the water had even fully warmed.

I kept my head tilted, careful of the wound at my temple, and watched the dried blood bloom dark and wet before sliding down the drain in thin, rust-colored streams. I stood there, just breathing, letting the water do its work, then glanced down at my hand.

It happened slowly at first. A flicker, faint blue, then brighter, until my palm glowed with that same brilliant, familiar light I’d spent years trying to bury under dress-up and denial. I lifted it to my temple, careful, and pressed it against the covered wound, and felt the hum move through my skull, knitting something back together that a rifle butt had broken open hours ago.

The light faded. The ache went with it.

I stepped out and dried off in a rush, and that was when the fear returned in full force, crashing over me the way it always did once my hands had nothing left to do but shake.

He’d already told me what tonight would look like. The old law. The breeder title. Some ceremony dressed up in false mercy in front of every visiting Alpha and Luna crawling through this estate to gawk at a dead king. I’d begged him to just let me take the punishment quietly, to let it happen and be done with it, and he’d refused, standing there in that lounge like his own stubbornness was some kind of gift he was handing me.

He was headstrong. Anyone could see it. And headstrong men made bold promises about defying elders and then actually tried to keep them. If he tried that tonight, with so many watching, there was no telling what it might cost either of us. Well... mostly me.

I went to the window and opened it again.

The drop was steep. Steeper than I liked. But I’d worked with worse, and adding clothes would ensure that I had a serviceable rope, especially if one tied them right. I only needed to be quick about it.

I hurried to the door and pressed my ear against it again. He was still talking, voice low and tense, still distracted. I locked the door as quietly as I could and let out a slow, careful breath.

Then I did something reckless, but calculated. I lowered the shield around the bond, just halfway, deliberately sloppy, leaving enough of myself exposed that he could sense me if he tried. Let him think I was just getting dressed. Let him feel nothing but the ordinary static of someone moving about a room.

I threw on the cleanest shirt I could find and tore into the rest—the curtains, an extra blanket—ripping the fabric into long strips and twisting them together with hands that moved faster than my thoughts. I kept darting glances at the door, terrified he’d hear the tearing and figure it out before I finished.

I knotted one end to the bed frame, tested it with my full weight, then fed the rest out the window until it dangled against the stone below.

I then shut the bond down completely.

I climbed halfway onto the sill, cold air hitting my bare arms, the ground far enough below that my stomach dropped just looking at it, and I had every intention of going through with it.

Then my own voice came back to haunt me, clear as anything.

If you trust me at all, even a little, give me the chance to prove it.

I cursed under my breath, sharp and furious, because of course that was what stopped me. Not the fear of falling. Not the fear of being caught. My own stupid words, echoing back at the worst possible moment, heavy in my chest like a stone I couldn’t swallow.

Why did I owe men like him anything? Why did keeping my word to Lily of the Valley royalty matter at all, when everything I’d learned told me it shouldn’t?

I couldn’t make myself finish it anyway.

I turned toward the door, half-expecting it to be rattling under his fist, convinced he’d sensed the shift the instant I dropped the bond. But there was nothing. No pounding. No voice through the wood. Just silence, which meant he hadn’t come running the moment he lost me, which meant, somehow, impossibly, he trusted me enough to let me be.

I yanked the makeshift rope back through the window, coiled it quickly, and stuffed the tangled mess into the bottom dresser drawer, out of sight. My hands still shook from how close I’d come.

Then I crossed the room, unlocked the door, and pulled it open.

”I’m done,” I said.