The echoes of Zoe`s parents' heated argument seeped through the walls, thick with unspoken tension. Her pulse quickened as she detected the familiar signs of her father's drunken state. The heavy footsteps, the slurred words, and the rising volume of his voice sent shivers down her spine. A piercing cry shattered the air, and she dashed into the front room without thinking, her heart pounding against her ribs. What she witnessed froze her blood, her father stood menacingly over her mother, his fists poised to strike, his face contorted with rage. Her mind struggled to process this horrific scene, the nightmare unfolding before her eyes like a twisted horror film.
Drawing from a well of desperate bravery she didn't know she possessed, she thrust herself between them, her tiny body shaking like a leaf in a storm. She understood with crystal clarity that without her intervention, he could seriously harm her mother. The air was thick with the acrid smell of alcohol and fear, making it hard to breathe.
The next moment brought explosive pain as her father's hand connected with her face, the force of the blow sending her sprawling across the floor. She struggled to breathe, trying to make sense of the violent chaos surrounding her, the room spinning in dizzying circles. His foot lashed out repeatedly, each impact feeling like a sledgehammer against her flesh, leaving bruises that would tell tales of this night for weeks to come. Her mother's terrified wails pierced through her consciousness, drowning everything else as tears cascaded down her cheeks; the pain seemed unbearable, consuming her entire being.
The memory dissolved into blackness, like ink spreading through water. She snapped awake in bed, clutching her midsection, wracked with uncontrollable sobs that shook her entire frame. She couldn't distinguish whether her tears stemmed from the physical ache or the terrifying images from her nightmare, the boundaries between past and present blurring in her mind.
Jackson sat beside her, offering comfort as his hand traced gentle circles on her back, his touch a stark contrast to the violence in her dreams. His voice cut through the oppressive quiet like a warm knife through butter. "Here, take these," he said calmly, offering two pills and water. She took them, thankfully, returning the glass after swallowing, and wiped away the perspiration from her brow, her hands still trembling slightly.
When he reached to lift her shirt to examine her injury, panic surged through her unexpectedly, a primal response to unwanted touch. She reacted instinctively, slapping his hand away, then froze in horror as realization dawned—she just struck the alpha! The thought sent fear coursing through her, making her stomach clench with dread.
To her astonishment, Jackson erupted in laughter, his eyes dancing with amusement like stars in a night sky. "Quite spirited, aren't you? I was just checking your wound," he said through his chuckles, completely unruffled by her defensive reaction. His easy manner helped ease the tension in her shoulders.
Her cheeks flushed scarlet with embarrassment, the heat spreading down her neck. How could she have forgotten about her injury? Mortification washed over her, and she quickly hid behind her hands, wishing she could disappear, caught between lingering pain and this unexpected moment of humor. The situation felt surreal, like a dream within a dream.
Jackson placed one hand on her stomach while using the other to gently pull her hands from her face, his touch warm and reassuring. His smile triggered a flutter in her core, both thrilling and terrifying. He seemed to read her thoughts perfectly because his following words made her heart stop, time itself seeming to pause.
"Zoe, I want to touch you; I want to explore every inch of your body," he said, his voice low and intense. She swallowed hard as he continued, his eyes locked with hers, burning with an intensity that made her breath catch. "But remember what I said—I won't touch you until you're ready." His words hung between them, heavy with promise and restraint.
She remained quiet, unsure how to respond. Jackson's gentle demeanor and endless patience set him apart from any man she'd ever encountered. His hand remained steady on her abdomen, radiating a soothing warmth that seemed to penetrate deep into her core. Remarkably, the stabbing pain that had earlier consumed her had subsided to a dull ache. This sudden relief couldn't be attributed to the medication—she'd only just taken it moments ago. She stared intently at his large hand resting on her stomach, her mind racing to comprehend the inexplicable phenomenon.
"It's the mate bond; my touch helps ease your pain," Jackson explains softly, his voice carrying a hint of reverence at the sacred connection they shared. The gentle vibration of his words seemed to resonate through his palm and into her being.
"Oh," she manages to whisper, the simple syllable carrying the weight of her wonder and confusion.
The medication must have been slowly seeping into her system because a familiar haziness began creeping into the edges of her consciousness, making her thoughts drift like leaves in a gentle breeze.
Before she could stop herself, words tumbled from her lips, carried by an impulse stronger than her usual reserve.
"Would you mind keeping it there?" she asks sheepishly, her voice barely above a whisper. She is afraid he might refuse or, worse, laugh at her vulnerability.
Jackson chuckles warmly, the sound rich and comforting like honey, and responds, "Anything for you." With practiced care, he adjusts the thick blanket and slides into bed beside her, his movements deliberately slow and gentle. He maintains his healing touch on her stomach, his presence both protective and nurturing. With the pain receding like waves from the shore and Jackson's comforting presence enveloping her, she drifts back into a peaceful slumber, her breathing evening into a steady rhythm.
She awakened the following day to a cacophony of voices in her room, Tyler's being the most prominent. He was berating someone, his words sharp and cutting through the morning air.
"Why weren't you protecting her?" he demands furiously, his face flushed with anger.
"I was," Dustin snarls back, his voice rising to match Tyler's intensity. His defensive posture is evident in every line of his body.
Jackson growls at both of them, the sound resonating with unmistakable authority. "Lower your voices," he commands, his alpha presence filling the room.
As she attempts to sit up, Beth, positioned vigilantly beside her, gently eases her back down with maternal concern.
"Rest," she insists, her tone brooking no argument.
Jackson appears at her side with supernatural speed, clasping her hand in his warm grip, his touch instantly grounding her.
"Are you experiencing any pain?" he inquires, his eyes scanning her face for discomfort.
She shakes her head, carefully surveying everyone gathered in her room. Azria, Katelynn, and Beth's faces show clear signs of recent tears, their eyes still rimmed with red. Ryker stands isolated in the corner, looking lost and confused, his usual confidence absent.
Danny and Eric sit on the plush couch, offering reassuring smiles and expressing their relief at seeing her awake.
Katelynn positions herself strategically between Dustin and Tyler, playing peacekeeper. Dustin's expression is heavy with remorse, his shoulders slumped under the weight of perceived failure. At the same time, Tyler appears ready to commit murder, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.
Though still somewhat sore, her hunger becomes known with an audible growl that echoes through the room, breaking the tension like a sudden thunderclap.
Jackson rises smoothly and addresses Dustin authoritatively, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"Fetch your Luna some food and coffee."
As Dustin leaves, eager to make amends, she says, "Thank you, Dustin." He pauses briefly at the doorway, flashes a small, grateful smile, and exits with renewed purpose.
She turns to Beth, her voice still slightly rough from sleep. "Could you help me freshen up?" she requests, feeling the need to wash away the remnants of yesterday's ordeal.
"Of course, dear," Beth responds warmly, her motherly instincts evident in every gesture.
Azria, always practical, offers to select some clothes from the expansive closet.
Katelynn joins Beth in helping her up and providing steady support. She notices she's wearing an oversized shirt reaching her mid-thighs, the soft fabric drowning her small frame. While she's not wearing a bra, she still has underwear on. It dawns on her that someone must have changed her clothes after the hospital. Was it Jackson? The thought sends her mind spinning.
Did he see her undressed? Her cheeks flush crimson at the possibility, and Katelynn, sensing her thoughts with uncanny accuracy, lets out a gentle laugh. "Don't worry, he called Azria and me last night. We took care of cleaning you up and changing your clothes."
She exhales with relief as she makes her way to the bathroom.
Upon her return, she's wearing fresh undergarments and an oversized shirt—Jackson's, as Azria informs her with a knowing smile. She mentions that he had specifically insisted on it being his shirt, nothing else. "That's classic mate behavior. They're incredibly territorial about these things," Azria explains with a twinkle in her eye, prompting hearty laughter from all the women in the room. The shirt's fabric carries his distinct scent, a mixture of pine and something uniquely Jackson, wrapping around her like an intimate embrace.
After enveloping herself in Jackson's plush gray robe, its soft texture caressing her skin like a gentle cloud, she returns to find the room has emptied save for a thoughtfully arranged food tray Check had placed beside the bed. The aroma of fresh bread and warm soup wafts through the air, making her stomach rumble appreciatively.
"Time to get back in bed," Jackson instructs, his voice carrying that unmistakable tone of authority mixed with concern.
"Could I eat at the table instead?" she asks hopefully, her eyes bright with optimism.
"Doctor's orders say no," Jackson responds firmly, though his eyes soften at her disappointed expression.
She climbs into bed with an exaggerated eye roll, the dramatic gesture making her feel slightly better about her confinement.
"Did you just roll your eyes at me?" Jackson questions, his eyebrow arched in that commanding way that sends butterflies dancing in her stomach.
"Good luck handling her, Jackson. My sister's quite the spirited patient," Katelynn comments, her voice laden with years of sisterly experience.
She responds by rolling her eyes again and sticking out her tongue; Katelynn mirrors her playful gesture with a laugh that echoes their childhood antics.
Jackson watches their exchange, chuckling and shaking his head, his expression a mixture of amusement and tender affection.
"I can certainly see that," he tells Katelynn, his eyes never leaving his mate's face.
Once they're alone, he settles beside her as she eats, his presence both protective and comforting. The bed dips slightly under his weight, creating a natural gravity that draws her closer to him.
"Take these," he says, offering two pills in his palm. His other hand is already reaching for the water glass.
She swallows them with water, then cheekily sticks out her tongue to prove she's taken them. "See? I'm actually quite cooperative," she says sassily. Jackson's response surprises her, a genuine, full-bodied laugh erupts from deep within his chest, replacing his usual controlled chuckles. The rich sound sends warmth coursing through her veins like liquid sunshine.
Jackson's voice pulls her from her dreamy contemplation of her beautiful mate.
"Enjoying the view?" he asks with a knowing smirk, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
She remains silent as he raises his eyebrow questioningly, her heart performing acrobatics in her chest.
"Really?" he says, leaning closer, his breath fanning her face like a warm summer breeze.
Her heart races wildly, and heat floods her body from head to toe. His proximity intensifies the growing warmth between her thighs, making her breath catch in her throat. His lips look impossibly soft, drawing her gaze like a magnet. "What's on your mind?" Jackson inquires, his voice dropping to a husky whisper.
Her filter completely fails as she blurts out, "Kissing you."
Jackson pulls back slightly, surprise flickering across his features.
She mentally berates herself, embarrassment coloring her cheeks. How could she say that out loud? He obviously doesn't want to kiss her. Why would someone like him want to kiss someone like her? Her self-doubt spirals rapidly.
Suddenly, she finds herself gently pressed against the mattress, her hands pinned above her head, a surprised gasp escaping her lips. The position leaves her feeling vulnerable yet completely safe in his care.
"I want to kiss you too," Jackson whispers huskily, his eyes darkening with desire.
His gaze lingers on her lips, silently seeking permission. She responds with a subtle nod, and in an instant, his mouth captures hers. The contact ignites something primal within her, sending sparks of electricity through her entire body. The kiss starts tender yet passionate, his touch remarkably gentle despite the obvious restraint in his taut muscles. A soft moan escapes her, giving him the opening to deepen their connection, his tongue exploring hers in an intimate dance that speaks of possession and promise.