CHAPTER 87: A GAME OF RESTRAINT

Josie

I hoped Kiel wouldn’t break character. Everything hinged on him keeping up the act, and deep down, I knew Michelle wasn’t far. Something in my gut screamed that she was eavesdropping. The air itself felt charged, like the walls had ears and were itching to betray us. If we slipped now, if Kiel faltered even for a second, all our carefully laid-out plans would unravel before our eyes like thread pulled from a sweater.

I hadn’t made it far—barely got to the junction—when Michelle appeared with two elders flanking her like guards on a royal escort. Of course, her entrance was theatrical. Michelle never knew how to exist quietly. She couldn’t breathe without making it everyone’s business. She had a presence that demanded attention even when she wasn’t worth any. The corners of her mouth curved up in a smug little smile, and she looked at me like she was already winning.

The elders stepped forward before I could even open my mouth. One of them raised his hand in a slow, deliberate gesture, the kind meant to assert authority. "I am Elder Lint," he announced, voice thick with self-importance. "And this is Elder Harvey."

I folded my arms, already annoyed and more than a little curious about what kind of nonsense they were about to unload on me. "What can I do for you?" I asked, forcing myself to keep my tone neutral, even though every instinct in me was bracing for the stupidity I could practically smell coming.

Michelle, ever the queen of unnecessary commentary, jumped in with a snide, "Finally asking the right questions."

"Silence," Elder Harvey snapped, his sharp glare pinning her in place. "You will speak only when spoken to."

Now that was new. I tilted my head slightly, not because I was impressed, but because watching them try to muzzle Michelle was the only form of amusement I was getting today. Still, irritation simmered beneath my skin like a pot about to boil over.

"Well?" I asked, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. "You all came here together. I assume you’re not here for tea and pastries."

Lint gave me a sagely nod like he was about to deliver a divine revelation. "We understand this situation is difficult, but Michelle’s father was a close friend of ours. We’ve known her since she was a pup. Because of that long-standing relationship, we feel it’s our duty to intercede on her behalf."

I didn’t even try to stop myself—I rolled my eyes so hard I could practically see my brain. "Intercede? On her behalf?"

"Yes," Harvey said solemnly, his hands folded as though this were a formal sermon. "What happened... it wasn’t right. But the fact remains—she is pregnant. That child will be born regardless of what we say here. And nothing good can come from prolonged hostility."

I took a slow, measured breath, trying to stop my temper from ripping through the thin layer of control I had left. "And why exactly are you saying all this to me?"

Michelle didn’t even wait for them to speak. She was already basking in the self-satisfaction she wore like perfume. "Because you’re standing in my path."

Her voice was so smug I wanted to slap the air out of her lungs.

"Michelle," Lint hissed under his breath, clearly struggling to contain her. "You are not helping your case."

I looked at them—all of them—with nothing but pure disgust. I didn’t even bother to hide it. "This is ridiculous. So, because her father was your friend, you think it’s okay to walk up to me and try to guilt me into accepting this entire circus?"

They exchanged a brief glance, like they hadn’t quite expected me to challenge them so directly. I could see the discomfort creeping into their expressions.

"You didn’t come here because you care about what I feel," I continued, my voice sharper now, slicing through their pretense like a blade. "You came because you care about her. Because she’s the Beta’s daughter. Because that matters more than me in your little hierarchy."

"Josie, that’s not—"

"Don’t. Don’t insult my intelligence," I snapped. "I’ve had enough of being the one everyone expects to quietly step aside and endure. I’ve been doing that for far too long."

They opened their mouths like they wanted to protest, but I wasn’t interested. I didn’t give them the chance. I turned and walked away, spine straight, head high, before one of them could try to spoon-feed me some patronizing nonsense about ’understanding my pain’ or ’healing together as a pack.’

When I finally made it back to the pack house, I wasn’t expecting peace. But I also wasn’t expecting... that.

Thorne sat casually in the main room, brush in one hand, a half-empty bottle of something probably stronger than my patience in the other, as he painted like the world wasn’t burning down around us. The bold, heavy strokes of his brush were almost violent—deep reds and stormy grays swirled across the canvas like a warzone. And he just kept going, lost in it.

My heart clenched, not because I cared that he was painting, but because he wasn’t doing anything else. While I had been out there, dealing with elders and entitled bitches and every ounce of pressure a person could be forced to endure, he was in here... painting.

Where was he when I needed him? When I was facing down people who clearly had no respect for me or my choices?

I walked past him, fully intending to ignore him. But something inside me snapped. The anger bubbling under my skin boiled over. I turned back, fists clenched at my sides.

He finally looked up, eyebrows raised like he’d just noticed me. "Josie?" he said, casual as ever, like I hadn’t just stormed into the room like a hurricane.

I marched up to him, my eyes blazing. "You know what pisses me off? That you’re here. Sitting around with a drink and a canvas while I was out there getting emotionally mugged. What kind of heartless bastard lets someone they claim to care about go through this alone?"

He set his brush down slowly, as if I were nothing more than a minor interruption to his art. He took a swig from his bottle. "You’re the one who said you wanted freedom," he said calmly. "You wanted space. Now you have it, and you’re still not satisfied."

I blinked, stunned by the sheer audacity. "That’s what this is to you? Me asking for space means you completely check out?"

He shrugged, unapologetic. "I don’t get you, Josie. You say one thing, then act another way. How the hell am I supposed to keep up?"

I stepped closer, practically shaking. My anger wasn’t even anger anymore—it was hurt, disappointment, betrayal all rolled into one. "You don’t get me because you don’t try. You’re always hiding behind sarcasm and alcohol and paint—"

He stood suddenly, towering over me, and before I could react, he had me backed against the wall, his arms caging me in, his face inches from mine. "You shouldn’t push me, Josie," he said, voice low, dangerous, almost a growl.

My heart pounded like a war drum in my chest, but I didn’t back down. "Or what?" I whispered. "What are you going to do, Thorne?"

He leaned in even closer, his breath hot against my cheek. A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. "You don’t want to find out. Behave yourself, or things will get too messy for you to handle."

"Messy?" I scoffed, laughing without humor. "I’m sick of this. Sick of you acting like nothing affects you. Like I don’t matter."

His eyes darkened, something primal flickering in them. "You think I don’t care?"

"You’ve got a funny way of showing it!"

He didn’t answer. Instead, his mouth crashed into mine with the force of every repressed emotion neither of us had dared to speak aloud. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t romantic. It was furious, desperate, and laced with everything we didn’t know how to say.

I responded without hesitation, fists gripping his shirt as if anchoring myself to something real for the first time in days. His hand tangled in my hair, the other gripping my waist like he didn’t trust the ground beneath his feet.

I hated him. I wanted to hate him. But right now, hating him felt a lot like needing him.