17: You and I

Lesa's POV

I look around my once beautiful home, now in shambles courtesy of me. When they came and told me that Christopher was arrested and taken to the cellars, I thought they were messing with me. The Christopher I know is loving and kind, protective at best. When they said he hit Celeste and was believed to have the intention of hurting her further, I thought they were lying. But I knew they wouldn't lie. There's no reason to lie to someone who was taught from a young age to spot a lie be it through blood or tells. So I broke a few things. Every picture I had was thrown. My table was cleared and flipped. My chairs were thrown. The only thing that seemed to survive my rampage is the couch I'm sitting on now. 

Christopher. . . What kind of messed up person raises their hand to another? To a young vulnerable woman? I suppose even the best of people can hold a secret. . . 

I pull myself off the couch. My face is hot and red from the tears that had barely stopped falling all night. I'm sure my cheeks and eyes are puffy as well. I need to talk to Xavier. I need to talk to Christopher. . . I don't want to. I never want to face him again after this but what can one do when their mate is revealed to be a piece of shit? I hold a hand to my stomach; I'll need to reject him. For some reason that hurts less than I thought it would. 

I decide to walk to the pack house, thinking the cool air will do me good. People give me looks as I get closer. Pity. I have never been fond of it. You don't pity those who don't need to be pitied. Christopher should be pitied, his mind ill with the thoughts of violence towards this young innocent. 

Celeste is sleeping on the couch when I open the main door of the pack house. I gasp upon seeing her bruising cheek, harsh reds and purples decorating her swollen skin. My stomach turns as I try my best to hold myself together. I can't help but go to her. I run a finger over her bruised cheek. She flinches before her eyes open, only they're much darker than the brown I saw the other day. It's as though her wolf is in control. 

"Hi?" My voice sounds cautious, unsure. 

"Celeste is sleeping. Leave her be," the voice is deeper than Celeste's but not by much. This has to be her wolf. Fascinating. . . 

"Are you okay? I mean - is Celeste okay?" She eyes me wearily, like she's ready to attack and/or run at any moment. 

"She will be. Christopher hurt her." She eyes the mark on my neck, with his initials and swirls to represent what was once his pack. "Are you here to hurt her too?"

"I would never do that," I promise. "I came to speak to Xavier, I take it he's not here?" She shakes her head. 

"He left early this morning, told us to stay in the pack house."

"What's your name?" I can't help but ask. I have met a few wolves in my years who are more present than others. They tend to have names when they're that way. 

"Ancillary." Her response is short. 

"I'm Lesa," I properly introduce myself. "Can I speak to Celeste, please?" Another shake. 

"She needs her rest. She hasn't been sleeping well." I understand that. I didn't sleep at all last night. In fact, the last few nights I've been tense, uncertain of who the person beside me in bed really was. Christopher tried assuring me he would fix things but look where we're at now. 

"Where's Xavier?" I could mind-link him, ask him myself, but I'm already here.

"I think he's with Christopher. Go now, Celeste can hear you. She's nervous." Of me? A twinge of hurt hits my chest but I brush it off. This young woman has been through probably a lot in her years and I'm certain this event has only made it worse. 

"Okay, I'll go." I stand up and she watches me carefully. "I'm sorry, by the way. I know that I don't control him and I'm not responsible for his actions but I am so very sorry for anything he's put you two through. You didn't deserve it." No one would. She nods.

I leave as she continues to watch me. Christopher will be in the cellars. They're in a storm cellar type of entrance not terribly far from the pack house. As soon as I enter I hear him, he's screaming. I cover my ears as more tears begin to form in my eyes. I've loved him these past few years but who was I loving? 

The screams come from the very back of the cellars and I follow them, my legs shaking. "Xavier?" I ask, ten feet away from where Christopher is being held. He comes out, clad in thick boots and gloves. There's blood on his fists. 

"Lesa?" He takes off the gloves and rushes to me, turning me around. "You shouldn't be here," he advises. I shake my head. I need to be here. 

"It's all true then? I saw the bruise. . ."

He sighs, "Yes. I'm sorry. It is. I couldn't let him get away with it," he tries to reason, as if I'd need reasoning at this point. I think I quickly went to acceptance. Acceptance that my life the last few years have been some sort of lie. Acceptance that my bond was ending, even if my heart still holds a love for him. 

"I know, big brother." He puts a comforting hand on my shoulder. "I um. I need to talk to him." My hand goes up and rubs my neck, where my mark is. If I tune into the bond I can feel some of his pain, some of his agony. I decide to ignore it instead. His nod is reluctant before his footsteps echo their way out of the cellars. 

Walking into the cell, the sight is worse than what I prepared myself for. There's cuts going up and down his chest, his skin blistered in places where I knew wolfsbane was used on him. His nose is crooked and bloody, his hand mangled into an unusable mess. His skin tries to heal and is clearly failing, likely due to the wolfsbane. Goddess, he probably injected him with some as well. 

"L-Lesa," he rasps, "he-lp me." I shake my head. Even if I could, I wouldn't. Not after hearing and confirming what a monster he is. 

"I don't help people who abuse women," I say plain and simple. Never have, never will. Even if he is my mate, I have values. I have morals. Unlike him, apparently. 

"Why would you hurt her?" He shakes his head, as if denying it. "I saw the bruise, Christopher. Half of her entire face is freaking swollen and purple. Why!?"

"I - I love you," he says after a brief struggle. 

"And that's enough reason?" He nods, flinching at his own movement. 

"Don't you dare," I spit out. "How dare you." I want to reach out and slap him. I want to hit his bleeding chest till he begs me to stop. But I don't. I have more dignity than that. Plus the wolfsbane still clearly on his skin would hurt me. "You're sick, you know that?"

"P-Please," he begs, pulling at his chained hand. "I-I'm sor-ry," he rasps. 

"And to think we could have raised a family together," my hand goes back to my stomach. His eyes widened. 

He reaches up his broken hand, as if to touch me. I take a step back. 

"I, Lesa Vedette, reject you, Christopher Vedette, as my mate and bonded for life." A burning feeling makes its way to my neck as I feel the mark begin the remove itself. I grasp onto it with one hand and the other goes to the wall to support myself. Christopher screams as his does the same. Coward.

I turn around, walking out of the cellars. Both my hands go to my stomach, "It's okay baby, we'll be just fine. You and I."