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Chapter 64
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reston’s gaze never wavered from the fragile form of Georgia lying unconscious on the bed. The pale light of the room cast long shadows over her still figure, and a cold silence filled the space between them. Slowly, with a careful gentleness that seemed almost foreign to him, Preston reached out and shifted her slightly to one side. His fingers brushed against the soft fabric of her shirt as he peeled it up, revealing the pale skin beneath.
His eyes immediately locked on the wound that marred her waist–a deep, ugly scar that twisted across her flesh like a cruel map of pain and endurance.
His pupils tightened sharply, the sight stabbing him like ice. Our mate, Luca’s voice echoed in his mind, raw with pain and confusion. The wolf’s desperate need surged through Preston’s veins, the faint breath of life that lingered was all they had to claim her as theirs.
“Who did this?” Preston’s voice sliced through the silence, sharp and bitter like a sudden blizzard ripping through still air.
The scar was grotesque, raw edges raised beneath the thin skin, a cruel testimony to some brutal past. Preston’s hand. trembled despite himself as he reached out, the weight of it unbearable. His fingers hesitated before finally brushing the uneven surface. The moment his skin met the scar, a searing heat flared through his fingertips–an ache that burned beneath his flesh, as if the wound carried its own pulse of pain.
Simon, listening over the mind link, could hear the mix of agony and anger lacing Preston’s tone. With a teasing edge, he chided, “She’s different from us. She lost her wolf. Unlike us, she can’t bounce back so quickly. And she’s been battered badly. How can you still want to push her, hurt her? That’s cruelty, Preston,”
But Preston seemed deaf to Simon’s words. His thumb traced the jagged scar, lingering on the rough, uneven patches. Then, abruptly, he covered the wound with his entire palm, pressing down as if trying to seal the pain beneath his touch.
His eyes darkened, fixed on his hand, unreadable and stormy. No one could guess what whirlwind of thoughts raged behind those burning eyes.
The mind link remained open, but Preston fell Chapter Unlocked, Enjoy Reading!
sensing the shift, lit a cigarette at the edge
of the bed, taking a slow drag to steady his own nerves.
Then, Preston’s voice broke the quiet again. “It’s longer than my palm.”
Simon blinked, momentarily stunned. Then, catching on, he said, “I see. You mean the scar on her waist.”
Decades of friendship and understanding passed between them silently–Simon knew exactly what Preston meant.
“Longer than your palm?” Simon exhaled a cloud of gray smoke and mused, “That only means one thing. She was hurt badly, very badly. Look at how jagged that wound is. That wasn’t just an accident–that’s a laceration. A werewolf did that to her after she shifted.”
His voice dipped low with bitterness. “And whoever stitched her up was damn incompetent.
Preston frowned, his mind sharpening. “What does that mean?”
Simon’s tone grew sharper, edged with suspicion. “It means the ‘doctor‘ who treated her probably didn’t even have a license. Look at those crooked stitches–done by someone who didn’t know what they were doing. Take a photo of that
scar.
Preston hesitated. Simon pressed, “Let me see the scar for myself. There are things you can’t see–hidden truths beneath. the surface. Do you want to know? Or would you rather stay blind?”
Simon exhaled another smoke ring, waiting.
Preston’s response startled Simon–he wasn’t expecting it.
“Wait,” Simon muttered, preparing to shift the conversation, but Preston had already replied.
The abruptness in Preston’s voice startled Simon so badly that he dropped the cigarette, the burning ember scorching his thigh. He hissed in pain, staring wide–eyed.
“What did you say?”
21 05:
Just then, Simon’s phone chimed. He grabbed it and found a message from Preston a photo
Preston had actually taken a picture and sent it
Simon’s breath hitched in surprise
He quickly opened the image–it was a close–up of Georgia’s scar, ugly and jagged, stark against pale skin. There was nothing more in the frame
A chill ran through Simon. Something about the way the photo was framed felt deliberate–Preston didn’t want him to see any more of Georgia’s skin, no more of her vulnerability
He studied the scar carefully, his gut twisting uneasily
“Are you done?” Preston’s voice cut through the mental channel, sharp and impatient
Simon coughed, cleaning his throat. “Yeah, I’ve seen enough
“What did you find?”
Grona saoke bluntly. “Whoever stiched her up wasn’t a licensed doctor. She had to endure three aching, al
crooked and careless. It’s clear she never had proper medical care. And I strongly suspect she was given no anesthetic.
The image of a struggling, terrified woman pinned to a cold table flashed through Preston’s mind, the nightmare wind and row. His chest tightened painfully
“Who did it?” he murmured, voice low and heavy.
Simon didn’t hesitate. “You already know.”
His words landed like a blow
Simon’s tone sharpened, almost accusing. “Don’t blame those who did this to her. Have you forgotten your own attitude toward Georgia? Your coldness, your distance–how you sealed her fate these past three years?”
He continued, voice darkening with harsh truths, “You have no idea what kind of monsters are locked up in that werewolf prison. What Georgia endured before and after losing her name, her past… it’s beyond what you could imagine.”
Simon’s voice faltered slightly, touched with a sorrow he rarely allowed himself to show.
“Now I understand why Georgia, once so confident and fierce, is now so timid, so broken.”
