My Fated Alpha's Cruel Game (Elena and Marcus) novel Chapter 259

Chapter 259: Chapter 259 Blurred Lines

Marcus’s POV

I slip away before anyone can offer their gratitude.

Once I reach home, I strip off my clothes like they carry poison. Mud tracks across the hardwood floor. Blood has dried under my fingernails from gripping the emergency stretcher. I stare at my stained palms too long before cranking the shower to its highest heat setting.

I step beneath the spray without hesitation.

The water burns against my skin. I let it.

I scrub until my flesh turns bright pink, then angry red.

Soap, shampoo, more soap. I work under every nail. Behind every ear. I remain standing there well past clean, skull pressed against cool tile, until the temperature begins to fade and exhaustion weighs down my limbs.

When the stream finally turns icy, I stay put.

I allow the cold to penetrate deep until my wolf retreats inward, silent and alert. I sink down the tiled wall and settle on the shower floor, knees drawn up, water cascading over my back and spiraling toward the drain.

This is what retreat looks like.

Not tranquility. Just softer disasters.

The tap on the bathroom door comes light and measured. That tells me it’s Asher. He never approaches like I might lash out. He approaches like he believes I’ll respond.

He doesn’t force entry. Doesn’t make demands. Simply waits.

I shut off the water and secure a towel around my waist, flesh pebbled and sensitive. The mirror has steamed over completely, offering merciful opacity. When I pull the door open, he’s positioned against the doorframe, arms folded casually, eyes studying my expression like he’s interpreting storm clouds and calculating whether lightning will strike.

"You planning to air dry," he asks, "or is this some new form of self torture?"

I laugh despite everything. The sound comes out rough and unused. I snatch another towel and drop onto the bed’s edge, rubbing my hair aggressively until my shoulders burn and my scalp throbs.

He holds his silence initially. That’s his pattern. When Asher delays speaking, it means he’s selecting brutal honesty over wielding it like a blade.

"Word reached me about the boy," he says at last.

My teeth clench. "He’ll survive."

"I’m aware."

I continue working the towel through my hair. Keep my focus on the floorboards like they might reveal secrets if I concentrate hard enough.

"I’m not here to point fingers," he continues. "You’ve handled that yourself."

The observation cuts deeper than any accusation could. My movements freeze momentarily before I force them to resume.