Chapter 43: Just Why
Vivian Grey’s POV
"Well," she said, as if it were obvious, "you’re unmarked, unmated, and seriously pretty. That’s basically waving a juicy piece of chicken in The Hunger Games."
I blinked. "Wait, what?"
She tilted her head. "What?"
"Have you actually seen The Hunger Games?" I asked, suspicious now.
She looked almost offended. "No. Why?"
I had to laugh. "Because it’s not about food. I mean, sure, hunger’s in the title, but it’s really not what you think. It’s more like a survival death match. They pick a bunch of people, throw them in a forest, and make them fight each other to the death. Last one standing wins. No chicken involved."
Her face twisted in horrified disbelief. "You’re kidding."
"Nope."
She huffed, muttering under her breath, "Why would they call it The Hunger Games if no one’s starving for food?"
I shrugged. "Beats me. Humans are weird."
"Right?" she agreed quickly, sighing. Then she glanced down at her belly with a smirk. "Wanna know why I haven’t watched it yet?"
There was something mischievous in her eyes that made me pause. "Why?"
She pointed at her bump. "One word: honeymoon. This little bean didn’t make itself. Well, it’d be cool if it did, but unless immaculate conception’s a thing again, I’m definitely not a virgin."
"Ugh, TMI!" I grimaced, laughing and trying not to imagine it. "Glad to hear you got some, though."
We both burst into laughter. For the first time in days, I felt like I was just a girl talking to another girl. Not a prisoner. Not a Luna. Just me. Vivian.
Eventually, I finished my food while we chatted about everything and nothing. Then her phone rang.
I tried not to eavesdrop, but let’s be honest, I was literally chained to the bed, and she was the only form of entertainment I had.
"This is your wife speaking," she answered cheerfully.
I arched a brow. Brave. What if it wasn’t her mate? That’d be awkward real fast. But she just smiled at me like she knew exactly what I was thinking.
A male voice came through the speaker, sounding both relieved and mildly frantic. "Glad to hear that, honey. How are you? Do you need anything? What about the baby?"
"I’m fine, Mark. Baby’s fine too," she said, her voice softening in a way that caught me off guard. Even with just her side of the conversation, I could feel the love between them. It pulsed in her eyes, raw and genuine.
"Good. Let me know if you need anything, okay?"
"You called me, remember?" she teased. "Besides the check-up, what else do you need?"
I glanced away politely and started fidgeting with my fingers, trying to give her a sliver of privacy even though it was kind of pointless.
"Oh right, sorry. Uh, oh! Johnson’s at the house rearranging the baby’s room. Says it’s his duty as the world’s best uncle to pimp it out—"
Before he could finish, Hannah shot up from her seat with all the fire of an angry goddess.
"Sorry, Viv! Gotta go. That idiot is not allowed near my baby’s room unsupervised. How could you let him in, Mark?!" she barked into the phone, her eyes wide with fury.
I burst into laughter as she rushed out, her waddle surprisingly fast and fierce for someone so far along. Pregnant or not, that woman could take down a whole pack on sheer willpower alone. Poor Johnson didn’t stand a chance.
When the door shut behind her, the silence settled differently than before. Not the heavy, pressing kind I’d woken up to this morning. Something lighter. Hannah had taken the edge off without even trying. That was her gift, I was starting to realize. She walked into a room and rearranged the air without even knowing she was doing it.
I stayed there for a moment, just breathing, and let myself feel it. The strange, uncomplicated warmth of having someone around who treated me like a person instead of a problem. Then I sighed, shook it off, and started thinking practically.
Why hadn’t Zaliver linked with me? Was he avoiding me, or just busy?
Maybe it was time I found a phone. I’d feel less helpless if I could at least reach out to him. Even if it was just to yell.
But first, a shower.
I stretched as I rose from the bed, the satisfying crack of my joints breaking the quiet. The cold bite of metal tugged against my ankles as I moved, the chains clinking along behind me like an unwanted shadow. When I reached the bathroom, I left the door cracked open, annoyed at the necessity. Everyone knows you don’t shower with the door open, basic horror movie survival instinct. But the chains didn’t care about horror movie rules.
I stepped under the water and let the heat do its job. The steam rose around me, curling into the corners of the room, and for a few minutes I stopped thinking about marks and blood tests and what the particular look on Zaliver’s face meant when he went quiet in a certain way. I just stood there under the hot water. Breathed. Let myself simply exist for a moment without anyone needing anything from me.
The shampoo smelled like sweet fruits and lavender. It smelled like mine.
When I stepped out and wrapped a towel around myself, the bathroom door had been pushed fully open by the weight of the chains. I frowned at it, already knowing it was fine, already knowing no one had been there. Still. The habit of checking didn’t die easily when you were a she-wolf who’d been through what I had this week.
I padded across the room toward the closet, and that’s when I saw it.
A laptop. Sitting on the bed. And beside it, a note.
My heart jumped. I crossed to it slowly, like approaching it too fast might make it disappear, and picked up the note. It was short, written in precise, sharp strokes that screamed control and confidence, the handwriting of a man who had never second-guessed a single letter he’d put on a page.
I read it.
Then I read it again, slower this time, like the words might rearrange themselves into something more believable if I gave them long enough.
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