Off a Cliff

**Vanya**

"What am I—?" I choked out, but the rest of my words died in my throat.

Vance crushed me against his solid chest. The brutal impact snapped my head back, my nose smashing hard against his collarbone.

"Nothing is ever so hopeless that you need to do THIS, Vanya Thorne!" he roared. His deep voice vibrated straight through my ribs.

Do what? He held me locked in a suffocating cage of muscle and heat. The scent of pine needles, sharp sage, and rain flooded my senses. The heat radiating off his skin scorched through my wet, dirt-stained uniform. I was acutely aware of his formidable physique. And the undeniable fact that he had not bothered to dress after shifting back from his wolf form.

"It’s just a rejection," Vance growled, finally stepping back just enough to let me drag a breath into my burning lungs. He glared down at me. Chaotic shadows danced in his furious, dark eyes. "You’ve had two already. It is no excuse to jump off a cliff."

He turned away, snatched up the dark boxer shorts he had discarded in the grass earlier, and dragged them up his muscular legs.

His scolding tone dragged me back a decade, back to when his father still ruled the pack. Back when we were best friends. A bitter taste coated my tongue. I didn't miss those days.

A dry, nervous laugh tumbled from my lips. The situation felt far too absurd. "Alpha, I’m not here to kill myself."

Vance ignored me. Or perhaps he simply chose not to believe a single word I said. His gaze snapped back to mine, dark and menacing. "Thorne!"

I lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. The motion made the glass vodka bottle clink against his hip.

Vance lowered his eyes to the liquor. A fierce snarl ripped through his throat. His hand shot out, snatching the heavy glass bottle right out of my grip. He shook it inches from my face. "What is this? You are a guardian, for Goddess’s sake. You shouldn't be drinking on duty!"

"My shift is over, Alpha," I sighed. A dull throb pulsed behind my temples. "I got rejected again today. It hurts."

Hurts. The word hung in the cold night air. Saying it out loud stripped away a thick layer of my armor. It wasn't just a convenient excuse. It actually hurt. I always knew the pain lived deep inside me, but I spent years burying it. Did his frantic, unhinged tackle make me slip?

"Then you should bear it." Vance’s voice dropped to a freezing cadence, matching the glacial ice in his eyes. "Bear the pain you deserve. And stay here. Forever."

"I am staying." I forced a calm, empty smile and took a deliberate step out of his shadow. "Alpha, maybe it’s best you just leave me to my peace."

Vance studied my face. I kept my features locked in a blank mask. I offered nothing. Emotion was a sharpened blade; if you showed it, others used it to cut you to pieces.

"You want me to leave you alone," Vance spoke slowly, his tone dripping with thick disbelief. "While you’re standing at the very edge of a fatal drop."

"I was sitting on the edge," I corrected deadpan. "Now, I’m standing on it."

"Two more inches and you would be a mangled corpse at the bottom of the ravine," Vance snapped.

"Guess those are two important inches, then," I replied. I eyed the vodka bottle in his massive hand. His knuckles were white. He wasn't giving it back. What a shame.

Catching my stare, Vance tucked the bottle behind his broad back. "Go back to the Cave," he ordered.

An Alpha’s command hummed with raw power. My inner wolf bowed to it instinctively. I gave a curt nod and turned toward the distant lights of the pack mansion.

"Thorne," Vance called out, halting my steps for the second time that night.

"Yes, Alpha?" I glanced over my shoulder.

Silver moonlight caught the turbulent depths of his eyes. "A traitor," he stated with chilling finality, "is not permitted to kill herself."

I flashed him a hollow, reassuring smile. I didn't owe him any comfort, but I gave it anyway. "No, Alpha. I understand."

His jaw ticked. His expression shuttered into an unreadable wall of stone. I turned away and resumed my trek back, the distinct, prickling feeling on my neck telling me he didn't believe a word I said.

The following week unraveled into pure madness.

Vance falsely concluded my rejection had pushed me to the brink of suicide. He ordered a suffocating level of surveillance to track my every move. From the moment I gave him my lackluster promise on the cliff, he started appearing everywhere. Combat drills, perimeter patrols, even routine kitchen duty suddenly required his personal oversight.

When he couldn't shadow me himself, he sent his proxy.

I took a brief rest during my afternoon patrol, finding a secluded spot down by the riverbank. The water ran deep and treacherous here, swirling in quiet, deadly currents. Pack children were strictly banned from the area. I sat on a flat rock, enjoying the rare solitude, when the heavy brush rustled behind me.

I sprang to my feet, my muscles coiling for an attack.

Beta Brant Ashcroft stepped out from the shadows of the pines.

"Stand down," Ashcroft ordered.

I dropped my fighting stance. "Beta Ashcroft?"

Ashcroft ignored my confusion. He marched down to the water’s edge. He scrutinized the rushing current, stared at my bare feet, and then glared at my combat boots discarded in the dirt a few feet away.

"This river has been requisitioned by Alpha Vance for his own private use," Ashcroft declared in a flat, authoritative tone. "You need to leave."

I blinked. The absurdity of the statement short-circuited my brain. "I apologize, Beta. Does… does Alpha Vance want the entire river?"

"Yes," Ashcroft replied without missing a beat. "Gather your things and go."

I swallowed the bitter lump of frustration in my throat. I yanked on my heavy boots, lacing them up with jerky motions. Just another indignity added to the endless list I endured in this pack. I didn't waste a sigh on him. I snatched my gear and walked away.

The bizarre monitoring escalated the next day. We ran hand-to-hand combat drills in the open field behind the mansion. The instructor paired me with Jace. It offered a nice reprieve from the usual partners who used training as an excuse to break my ribs.

We traded blows, the rhythmic smack of fists meeting forearms echoing across the grass. During a rapid exchange, I misjudged a block. A sharp piece of Jace’s protective gear caught my hand, slicing a tiny cut across my index finger.

Jace paused, apologizing profusely. He offered to tape it up, but the drill instructor barked his name, calling him away to spar with another guardian.

I shook out my hand, ignoring the minuscule bead of blood, and turned to face my next opponent.

A wall of solid muscle blocked my path. Beta Ashcroft had materialized out of thin air.

"Beta?" I asked, staring blankly at his broad chest.

"You’re injured," he stated. "Go to the medical wing and get that looked at immediately."

I looked down at my finger. The tiny scratch had already stopped bleeding. "Beta, it’s just a tiny scrape—"

"Did that sound like a suggestion, Thorne?" Ashcroft barked, his voice cracking like a whip over the training field.

I snapped my spine straight. "No, sir!"

"Where are you going?" he tested me.

"The medical wing, sir!" I recited obediently.

"Good. I’m glad we understand each other. The whole team of doctors is waiting for you." Ashcroft raised one expectant eyebrow, daring me to argue.

I spun on my heel and practically sprinted toward the pack hospital.

Ten minutes later, I sat on a sterile cot. A gray-haired doctor grumbled under his breath as he wrapped a thick, ridiculous layer of gauze around my uninjured finger. I stared at the white bandage, mulling over the insane events of the past week.

"Take better care of yourself," the doctor huffed, tying off the bandage. "I don’t want to catch hell from the Alpha again."

Catch hell? My brows drew together. Did Vance truly believe I was an active danger to myself?

Logically, I shouldn't care. My existence in this pack required cold indifference. What did it matter what Kaelen Vance thought of my mental state?

Yet, a stubborn spark of curiosity ignited in my chest. The suffocating surveillance grated on my nerves. I needed to test the limits of his paranoia.

Late that night, I crept through the silent halls and slipped into the pack library. Vance kept the massive archives open for public use round the clock.

The cavernous room felt empty, save for one elderly wolf reading under a green-glass lamp at a heavy oak table. He peaked over his reading glasses, his rheumy eyes tracking my every move as I walked down the dim aisles. I scanned the dusty shelves, looking for the perfect bait to prove my theory.

My fingers brushed over a worn spine. I pulled free a thick volume titled One Hundred Suicide Puzzles. Tucking the heavy book securely under my arm, I marched right out the front doors.

I didn't have to wait long for the trap to spring.

The very next afternoon, I returned to the library. I walked straight to the back aisle. The entire shelf where I had found the book sat barren. Every single volume on that row had vanished.

The same old man sat at the oak table. He turned a page of his newspaper, his sharp gaze locked on my face.

"No books on suicide today, huh?" I asked, gesturing to the empty wood.

"No," the old man replied, his tone frosty. "The Alpha decided they were dangerous."

Dangerous. Right. Dangerous for me.

"Thank you," I muttered, spinning on my heel and heading back to the dormitories.

The moment I pushed open the door to the cramped room I shared with another female guardian, the hairs on my arms stood up. Something felt wrong. The cheap hairbrush on my dresser sat at a different angle. The bottom drawer of my nightstand hung half an inch open. I threw back my blanket. The bed had been stripped and remade with tight, military corners.

And my borrowed puzzle book was gone.

"I can’t believe he actually cares," I mumbled to the empty room, a knot of deep confusion tightening in my gut.

"There you are!" a shrill, nasally voice pierced the quiet.

I turned toward the doorway. Colette stood leaning against the frame, her arms crossed tight over her chest, a nasty sneer twisting her lips.

"If Alpha Vance knew you were such a lazy slug, he’d have a few harsh words for you," Colette sneered, tapping her foot. "Obviously, someone needs to tell you what to do with your free time."

I glanced at the clock on the wall. I was halfway through my one-hour lunch break—my only rest of the day. Colette knew this perfectly well. I clamped my jaw shut and offered no reply.

"Well?" Colette snapped. "Hurry up and follow me!"

I trailed behind her down the twisting corridors until we reached the steamy, foul-smelling pack kitchen.

Colette marched over to the industrial sinks and gestured dramatically at a towering mountain of filthy, crusty pots and pans. "Do these."

My eyes narrowed. Kitchen duty rotated, and those dishes were strictly Colette’s responsibility. She had clearly let the mess rot and pile up for two solid days while she slacked off doing Goddess only knew what.

"Hurry up," she demanded, flashing a cruel grin. She leaned against the prep counter, folding her arms.

She planned to stand there and watch me do her dirty work. I didn't utter a single complaint. Arguing with a spoiled twenty-five-year-old felt like a massive waste of oxygen. I rolled my uniform sleeves past my elbows and cranked the hot water valve.

"Ugh, you are so useless," Colette whined when the massive basin took a few minutes to fill.

I picked up a sponge and started scrubbing the dried, two-day-old scum off a ceramic plate.

"Why do they even bother keeping you around?" she taunted, her voice echoing over the running water. "You’re not even trying. Put your back into it!"

I grabbed a heavy cast-iron pot coated in baked-on grease. I scrubbed hard, my knuckles turning white, but the black stains refused to lift. The grime looked years old.

"You are one dumb b*tch. You can’t even wash a pot properly," Colette spat venomously. She stayed rooted to her spot, offering zero help.

I blew a frustrated breath upward, moving the heavy pot to the side. I reached across the metal counter, my fingers wrapping around the thick handle of a sharp kitchen knife. I needed the blade to scrape away the burnt grease.

Colette lunged forward. Her fingers twisted into the roots of my hair with a vicious yank. "You’re not finished with that pot!" she shrieked, tearing my head backward.

I jerked in shock. The sudden movement sent my hand flying up. The cold steel edge of the kitchen knife pressed directly against the frantic pulse point of my wrist.

A deafening crash shattered the kitchen.

A blur of lethal motion tore through the room. Colette flew backward, screaming as she slammed hard into the opposite wall and crumpled to the floor.

A massive hand wrapped around my wrist. Iron-hard fingers dug into my flesh, squeezing with a brutal, terrifying force. My bones creaked and ground together under the immense pressure, sending a blinding flash of agony up my arm.

Alpha Vance loomed over me, his chest heaving, his eyes burning with chaotic fury. He stared at the blade resting near my veins.

"Drop it," Vance commanded.