Chapter 12: Octavia - Pack of Mine

Oh no, not here again.

I feel the concrete beneath my hips, my bones aching at the hardness of the floor. My bed is gone, the thin blanket doesn’t provide me much warmth and there’s a t-shirt bundled up under my neck for a makeshift pillow.

I’m not sure what happened to the one I had before I ran away, maybe my privileges have been revoked even further. That wouldn’t surprise me, actually.

My eyes scan the room around me. Near the door, I see a pile of folded clean clothes, a food tray with an empty bowl and spoon, a box of cereal, oat milk and a pack of Marlboro Reds. No lighter, though.

The last thing I remember after I attempted to escape (and failed horrendously) is Skyler laughing manically and covering my face with a cloth that smelled sweet, which I’m assuming was chloroform.

Memories of his and Valentine’s cock using me flash through my mind and I try to shake the thoughts away. I refuse to be turned on by men who have kidnapped me, killed my ex-boyfriend, and have some weird photos of my parents in their garage.

Even if they remind me so much of the fantasies I’ve read about and touched myself to countless times?

Fuck no. Horny Octavia, stop!

I slap myself on the cheek, attempting to ground myself.

But damn, I wasn’t even close to getting away. How far are we from the rest of humanity out here? Is it time to give up and just accept my fate?

My throat still stings, my body is covered in rope burns and small bruises. I run my fingers over them and shake my tight shoulders out. I need a fucking lighter so I can smoke some of this aching away.

As if a twisted God heard my mental prayer, the door creaks open.

Tristan creeps in, head bowed and looking utterly humiliated. He’s wearing an oversized dark grey T-shirt and sweat shorts, a typical uniform for him. His blonde hair hangs down into his face as he slowly approaches me.

“I’m sorry, Octavia. I’m not a great cook and the others are gone,” he speaks barely louder than a whisper.

The rusty old chair in front of my makeshift bed squeaks as his weight drops into it and he continues to keep his head held low. I can’t see his face at all.

I remember him yesterday, watching from his tree. He was definitely aroused and moaned for Skyler when he grabbed his crotch. Is he bisexual? I couldn’t hear what Skyler said to him, but he seemed to enjoy himself.

I want to ask him what happened afterwards, how he feels about everything, but he already looks so blue today.

“Um, it’s okay. Do you happen to have a light though?”

My words come out raspy and I cough a few times to clear my throat before looking up at him with green puppy dog eyes. Tristan already showed me he’s a softie, it won’t take much to manipulate him into getting what I want.

He digs into his pocket and tosses a lighter on the floor in front of me, refusing eye contact. The ambience surrounding him is full of sadness. I quickly regret my thoughts on manipulating him – he genuinely looks pitiful.

I light a cigarette and savor a long drag. It’s been a day or two since I’ve had one and I’ve been yearning day and night for nicotine. The smoke fills the space between me and him and we sit there. Both of us think about the best way to break the silence, but we don’t.

It’s awkward.

After a few moments and a few drags, a whimper leaves his lips and his head falls into his hands. He cries and says some unintelligible things under his breath, continuing to hide his face in his palms. His body hunches over in the old chair.

A deep sigh seeps out of my lips.

“Tristan… look, you did your best. Thank you for trying.” I say softly, trying not to distress him any more. I’m not the best at comforting people when they’re flustered.

He crawls out of the chair and onto the concrete floor in front of me, sitting on his knees with his hands in his lap and slowly picks his head up. I gasp at the sight of him and my hand quickly reaches up to cover my mouth.

His face is beaten completely black and blue, both eyelids halfway swollen shut and covered in purple bruises. Tears well up in his puffy, gentle blue eyes and while he locks his gaze on me for a moment, my heart sinks for him.

“Who did this to you?”

I reach my hand up to touch his face, but he turns away from me. Why did I even ask? I already know who fucking did it.

The right words struggle to sort into a sentence as he lightly sobs in front of me for a few minutes. I can’t shake this gut-wrenching feeling in my chest, like I’m responsible in a way. This only happened to him because I tried to escape.

Great, something else that’s my fault. He wanted to help me, I trusted him, and it backfired on both of us.

Tristan is so different from the other two. He’s sincere and wears his heart on his sleeve, he’s openly caring in a way that almost feels feminine. How did he end up in this group? This pack, I guess, if you could call it that?

“Octavia…” He looks up at me again with his bloodshot eyes. “I would do it all again, I would do anything to please you. I would sacrifice myself day in and day out if it would bring you joy.”

What the fuck?

He rubs his hand sensually across his chest under his shirt, but I can’t see exactly what he’s doing. Even though his words already hit me like a train wreck, he continues.

“You’re too good for me, and I’m not worthy of your beauty.” A tear falls from his blackened cheek onto the floor beneath him.

His breath hitches as he says, “But I’ll be damned if I don’t try a little bit before he kills me.”

Oh.

I’ve never seen a man be so… submissive before. All the men in my life have been so neutral, barely even dominant enough to call a “top.” I’ve heard of men like Tristan before, usually from my regulars who make fun of “betas” or whatever name is trendy to call them that week.

I’ve also heard of dominatrixes, women who like to use men like this. They’re into weird fetishes too, I think. These men like to get beat, or suck toes, or jerk off with a silicone dick in their ass. I sit for a moment and wonder what Tristan likes.

Pain, for one. That’s obvious.

Still unsure of what to say, I stare at him and take another drag. My mind feels confused, but this kind of devotion is definitely intriguing.

The thought of hurting Tristan doesn’t really please me, nor does the idea of shoving my feet in his mouth. I don’t think I’m a good fit for him, if that’s what he’s into.

I ponder what words to say, and decide to say nothing at all. It’s awkward again.

Words come vomiting out of his lips before I can finalize an idea for my next sentence.

“Skyler is teaching me…” His words are quiet, like he feels even more shy now. “That I need to be more selfish and go for what I want. And Octavia…”

His hand continues to rub across his chest and I watch his fingers pinch at his skin. What the fuck is he doing under there?

He leans closer and his swollen eyes swirl with desire. I feel a little bit scared, but mostly in awe. The cigarette smoke lingers between us, just a small space now.

“I want you…” His voice is a whisper now. “And I’ll take whatever you and Skyler give me.”

Me and Skyler? Huh?

As he creeps closer, his cologne creeps up my nose. It’s warm and sweet, like sugar cookies. He’s the opposite of how Skyler smells, and the comforting scent really suits him.

I have conflicting thoughts, but his words oddly soothe my tense chest. I enjoy it – every word of what he’s saying.

I’ve always had things taken from me, been told what to do and when to do it, getting pushed around left and right. I search his eyes again, and there’s a depth of devotion in his gaze that wasn’t there before. A spark bursts inside me and I suddenly feel confident, in control and powerful.

Is this how dominatrixes feel? It’s a pair of shoes I’ve never worn before, but I don’t hate it.

“Whatever you and Skyler will give me.” The last sentence replays in my head. It sounds like he’s property or a pet. Our pet.

I know Skyler enjoys pet names, he calls me Kitten all the time and I fucking hate it. Do they have a relationship similar to what we have?

But I don’t see Skyler as my partner. He takes what he wants and has zero regard for anyone else’s needs. And that’s sexy, sure. But would I ever choose a man like him?

Tristan looks embarrassed, a blush fills his cheeks and he sits back, pulling away from me. He runs his soft hands through his fluffy blonde hair and stands back up, facing away from me now.

“I’m such an idiot. I’m sorry. Let me know if you need anything,” he quickly spits out.

He begins to meander away from me, but I jump up to stop him and wrap my fingers around his arm. His beaten face whips around and that stomach-drop feeling hits me again.

There’s a connection here, but I don’t know how or if I’m even allowed to explore it. I feel like I’m playing a board game, but I was never told what the rules are.

“Tristan, I… I want to sleep in a real bed, please. I want to feel normal, just for a day. I won’t run away, I promise.”

I plead and cross my fingers, hoping he goes for it.

“I…” He ponders my words for a minute, I watch him debate his response, my question floating between his eyes. “I can do that.”

He sniffles and grabs my hand, an electric shock jumping between us two and gently tugs me towards the door.

I toss my cigarette butt on the concrete floor and follow him, excited to further explore the upstairs. A small smile aches my cheeks before I can register how happy he just made me.

A taste of freedom again, that’s all I needed.

We stroll together, fingers interlinked, through the familiar stairs and doors back into the main area of the house. It’s spotless and exactly how I remembered it the first morning I was here with Skyler.

I run my fingertips across the kitchen countertop, taking note of the lack of dust again before following Tristan into his area of the house.

When I was initially here, I never noticed that there were “wings” of the mansion dedicated to each brother. Skyler’s is behind the kitchen and living area, Tristan’s is across and on the other side of the living room. I see one more hallway on the opposite side of the kitchen and wonder if that’s where Valentine stays.

The mansion is filled with rugged, masculine energy. Leather furniture, stone walls, deep wood colors, but it’s tidy. The decor feels like we should be in a penthouse, but we're in the middle of the woods. A dense forest surrounds the tall glass windows and makes the home feel even moodier than it already is.

This is a home that I dreamed of having when I was a kid – a fantasy I would revisit often to avoid whatever bullshit was going on in my everyday life. It’s surreal to see it in person, literally a dream come true.

We walk together into Tristan’s room and the vibe has a more delicate touch to it. I spot multiple fur blankets, gentler tones and pale stone accents. The floor is a lighter wood like sand, and the furniture is light grey.

His large, probably king-sized bed stands against a white marble wall.

Simple canvas art hangs from the other walls, some decorated with the same sand colored wood panels like the floor. I glance around and take it all in – the difference in the atmosphere of the room is the polar opposite of Skyler’s.

He motions for me to join him in the attached bathroom. There’s a large stone free-standing tub and a small glass shower next to it. Beautiful white tiles cover the floor and walls, giving the room a bright and inviting ambience.

He begins to fill the bath and adds various liquids and powders to the water like he’s a wizard concocting a potion.

“You can soak as long as you’d like, I’ll leave you be. There are clean towels on the cabinet next to the tub.”

He hangs his head low again as he leaves the bathroom, gently closing the white door behind him.

Immediately, I strip off my clothes and my aching feet practically sprint over to the steaming water calling my name. I have no time to waste and I want to savor every moment of being out of the basement.

The water stings my skin slightly, the warmth seeping inside of me and chasing away the cold I was carrying within. I let out a big sigh and tilt my head back, watching the steam fly off my arms and legs.

I think I just died and went to Heaven.

I soak for some time, letting the thoughts in my mind just pass by. I think of my mother, creating little concoctions just like the one I’m soaking in. Why was their picture on the corkboard? What do my parents and I have anything to do with three werewolf men?

My thoughts run around my brain and after a while, curiosity gets the best of me. I decide to invite Tristan back into the bathroom to interrogate him just a tad. Nothing too crazy though, I don’t want to push my luck.

“Tristan, can you come in here?”

He immediately barges in, as if he was right behind the door and waiting for my call. He squats down next to the tub and keeps his bruised eyes and hands neatly to himself, respecting my space and nudity.

His demeanor seems nervous, and possibly a little bit lustful. I watch him do his best to avoid peeping into the water at my naked body, but the bulge at the crotch of his pants betrays him.

It’s adorable.

“Is… Is the water too hot? Are you lightheaded? I can get you ice water, is that okay?”

He speaks with a tinge of worry in his voice.

He’s so cute.

I giggle at his need to appease and decide to ask him my own set of questions instead of answering his.

“When do the others get back? Am I allowed to be up here?”

I massage my sore shoulders and neck, still soaking up the bliss of the bath. He watches my breasts pull just above the bubbles, my nipples barely visible. I didn’t intend to tease him, but I’m having fun watching him struggle to resist.

“I… I don’t know, but they said it would be a few days. And no… you’re not supposed to be up here.”

He anxiously runs his hands through his hair, like going against the rules is beginning to make him twitch. “Please don’t tell Skyler I disobeyed him.”

I giggle at him again, but he abruptly gets up and darts out to the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

Suddenly, I hear heavy breathing, bones snapping and his piercing scream ripping off the walls.

I jump out of the tub and dash into the room, soaking wet and naked, dripping water all over the light wood floor.

His clothes lay ripped up in a pile and his giant wolf body is curled into a ball on top of them. He’s shaking and panting relentlessly – I feel so fucking sorry for him. Tufts of blonde fur surround him and he licks his arms with his big tongue like he’s trying to clean himself of sin.

“What the fuck just happened?” I blurt out, taking it all in.

“I’m sorry…” He curls further into a ball, tucking his tail into his body. “I can’t control it yet.”

Instinctively, I lie on the floor behind him and pet him. My hands and body are still soaked and covered in bubbles, but he doesn’t seem to mind it. His trembling begins to slow with each stroke of my hand against his yellow-blonde, fluffy fur – just like his hair.

I guess petting a wolf is like petting a giant pet dog. It’s as comforting for me, probably as much as it is for him.

“You’re naked,” he says as a matter of fact, not a question.

“Well, I got scared and didn’t have time to dry off. And the last time I checked, people don’t bathe with clothes on.”

I continue to pet his head and he slowly unravels out of a ball, rolling over towards me now.

“You wanted to sleep in a bed – take mine. I’ll sleep on the floor, it’s not so bad.”

He stands up and looks me up and down with his blue eyes, the lust completely gone. His paws are silent on the wood and tile as he walks into the bathroom and carries back a large white towel between his teeth. It falls in front of me and he turns away.

“Thank you…” I dry my soaking wet body off and leave the cloth on the floor next to the bed as I climb into it.

The sheets are white silk, gliding gently over my naked skin as I pull them over me. A large fur blanket covers the top of them and I pull it towards my chin, completely tucking myself into his bed.

I pray you never understand the true bliss of a mattress after sleeping on a fucking dog bed for weeks. I haven’t even eaten breakfast yet, but I’m ready for a nap.

He sighs, licks his arm a few more times and curls up on the floor next to the bed.

“Sweet dreams, Octavia. I’ll wake you for lunch.” His tender voice eases me and I sink further into the bed, bathing in the silk.

My body submerges deeper into relaxation and I feel my mind dozing off. I may not be safe yet, but today I felt safe with Tristan, and that’s one hell of a start.