Yara.
I'm so tired, but my body is extremely uncomfortable, making it impossible to sleep. I must be in some weird position. Did I fall asleep studying again?
When I open my eyes, I remember immediately where I am. I'm in Warren's pack hospital and I spent more time in one night taking care of injured warriors than I've spent in all my days of residency at the hospital.
Since my senses are full of Warren's teakwood scent, I know that I'm laying beside him on the bed. However, I smell Charlie as well. What's strange to me is that neither of them is talking.
I carefully open my eyes and without moving, I look around to see that they are looking at each other. They must be using the mind link. I haven't used it in years and even before that, I barely used it, not having a family or really a lot of friends since Alpha Solomon adopted me.
When I refocus on Warren laying in front of me, I see some mechanical devices laying on his stomach. "What are those?" I ask, pushing myself up and stretching my neck and back before looking at the two men.
"These are tracking devices, Yara," Warren says, watching me carefully.
There's something in his look that makes me think that this is significant, but for the life of me, I have no idea what I'm missing. Maybe I'm just really tired.
"What are you tracking?" I ask, picking one up and looking at it.
I'm a naturally curious person. Alpha Solomon found it to be a sweet part of my personality, but many people find it annoying. I like to understand things, to see them, touch them, smell them. I don't particularly like taking someone else's word for what something is. It could just be their interpretation of what it is which happens a lot in medicine.
"I'm not tracking anything," Warren says.
"Then why do you have them?" I ask.
"Charlie and my warriors found them on your car when he went to pick it up," he says.
I look down at the trackers again, this time as if they are snakes that will lash out and bite me. I feel lightheaded as the realization hits me that this must be Simon. He found me, or at least found my car. "Whoa, Doc," Warren says gently, sitting up and wrapping an arm around my waist. "Take it easy. You're safe." He somehow manages to pull me onto the bed with him, but I'm so focused on the trackers that I barely notice.
"Why so many?" I whisper.
"Someone wants to know where you live, where you go," Charlie says, watching me just as intently as Warren is.
"Why do I get the feeling that you might know who did this?" Warren asks, his eyes locked onto mine, his gaze piercing and intense.
"I...I don't know what you're talking about," I say, my voice barely above a whisper, trying to stall for time to think.
"Warren, what's going on?" Charlie asks, his voice filled with concern.
"Yara's been found, Charlie," Warren says grimly. "Someone's been tracking her."
I turn away from them, my face burning with shame and fear. "Why so many?" I whisper again, my voice cracking.
"Someone wants to know where you live, where you go," Charlie says, his voice soft and gentle.
"I don't like this," I say, turning back to them. "I don't like the idea of someone watching me, following me."
"You'll be safe," Warren says, his voice filled with determination. "I'll make sure of it."
"I'm not your responsibility," I say, trying to extricate myself from his hold.
"You're my mate, Yara," he says, his voice low and rough. "You're my responsibility."
I've heard the words before, but they never sounded so menacing, so possessive.
"Let me go," I say, trying to push him away.
He holds me tighter, his grip unyielding. "I'm not going to let you go, Yara. You're mine now."
I struggle against him, but he's too strong. He pins me down, his body holding me captive.
"Warren, stop!" I shout, but he just keeps holding me, his eyes burning with a fierce determination.
"I won't let you go," he repeats, his voice low and menacing.
I'm trapped, helpless, and scared.
"Yara, calm down," Charlie says, trying to intervene.
But I'm beyond calming. I'm beyond reason.
I'm trapped, and I don't know how to escape.
This is war.
This is life or death.
This is my fate.
And I'm trapped in the middle of it.
