Filed To Story: Alpha's Regret: His Wrongful Rejection
When it comes down to it, no one begs me to stay. Nia cuddles with me on the sagging couch in Uncle Dewey’s trailer and peeks out into the darkness every so often to see if there’s any sign of Bevan and Pritchard. Drona has sent the pups to bed, and she’s sitting in Mama’s old rocker, hot-boxing Rae’s cigarettes.
Rae, Arly, and Dewey are off rousing help—Rae and Arly have gone for our female kin, and Dewey is collecting whatever males he can muster.
Derwyn is in his usual spot outside. We hear there are others in the woods surrounding the Bogs—Kenny, Lowry, some others.
“I don’t see why I can’t come,” Nia grumbles.
“Because Pritchard would follow, and one of us might be able to get away clean, but three is an easy track.” It’s not the first time I’ve said it, and each time, I say it with less heart. I don’t want to run away on my own.
I’ve never been alone. I’m no lone wolf. I’m a pack animal, through and through.
“It won’t be forever,” Drona says, her voice clipped and her eyes shiny. “You can come back when the pup is grown. They grow quicker than you’d think.”
I poke around for the little glimmer low in my belly. The tiny thing that is. I ignore the bond.
I saw a natural wolf once who had somehow landed on a rusty spike, driven it straight through the pad of his hindfoot. He couldn’t get the spike out so he tucked the leg up and limped along on the other three. It must have hurt like a bitch, but he was picking through a pile of buck bones when I saw him, and he didn’t seem to be giving it any mind at all.
I’m going to be that grizzled wolf. It hurts like hell if I think about it, so I won’t. No mating, no bond, no Cadoc Collins.
No bullshit wishful thinking that the alpha heir will realize that I’m worthy, and he’ll come racing to my rescue, rank and wealth and power be damned. There are no footsteps pounding down the boards, only the usual creaking and sloshing until there’s a sharp rap on the back of the trailer.
Bevan and Pritchard are back. All day I’ve been at my limit, but somehow, my adrenaline spikes and my heart lurches.
“Rosie-cakes,” Nia whispers and brushes a lock of hair off my forehead. “Name the baby something nice, would you?”
“Like Nia?”
She grins. “Or Niall if it’s a boy.”
“I will.”
“And come back.”
“I will.”
“And be safe.”
“I will.” I’ll make all the promises that I don’t know I’ll be able to keep.
Drona rocks in violent jerks, back and forth, and jabs her cigarette in the ashtray. “If you see Ma and Pa out there—“
She leaves the rest unsaid and winds her arms tight across her chest so I don’t dare hug her goodbye.
There’s another quick tap on the back wall, and Nia and I stand.
“It’s showtime, then,” Nia says, and we exchange a grin. I grab her neck and press our foreheads together, thinking my love as hard as I can. She squeezes her eyes shut.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s do it.” I sling my backpack over my shoulders and make for the window in Danny’s room.
Nia waits until I’m halfway out before she flings open the front door and shouts, “Derwyn Collins, you sexy motherfucker, I can’t contain myself anymore!”
And at that signal, a dozen naked females descend on Derwyn out of the tall grasses, Kembles and Goffs and Wogans, and others who must’ve heard the plan and come along as a lark. I catch a quick glimpse out of the corner of my eye as Pritchard helps me into the canoe—bare boobs bouncing everywhere and Derwyn struggling under groping hands, but if he’s complaining, you can’t hear it over my kinfolks’ squeals and laughter.
Pritchard shakes his head and sets to slipping his oar silently into the back water. At the front of the canoe, Bevan does the same.
We hold our breath until we clear the Bogs and the howls of wolves begin to ring out in the forest surrounding our side of the lake. The male scavengers that Uncle Dewey gathered are running my guards to ground, chasing them along the northside of the lake back to their downtown and away from Abertha’s shack.
My nose twitches, alert for the spicy scent of wood that doesn’t quite belong. Except for the impending snow, the air is clear.
My mate is probably home at the very top of his tower, looking out of a penthouse window down at the matching packmates in their khaki pants and button-down shirts, scurrying home like ants to stare at their human screens until their brains go numb.
If I cross his mind, I bet he winces in shame.
I bet I don’t cross his mind.
Sadness drags my heart, threatening to drown it, so I straighten my spine. That’s the past. I’ve gotta think about the future. Figure out how to stitch a new one from whole cloth.
I’m seated on the yoke of the canoe, and the bar is digging into my ass. I’m hungry because I haven’t eaten anything today since the baked apples, and I’m also nauseous, especially as Pritchard navigates us further from shore and waves rock the canoe. It doesn’t help that my brain occasionally vomits up Brody Hughes saying “virgin holes,” and Cadoc saying nothing at all.
I squeeze the metal bar and grit my teeth. Soon enough, Pritchard and Bevan pick up speed to land us ashore. We’re right where the trail to Abertha’s veers from the lakeside path.
Bevan hops out with a splash and drags the canoe onto the narrow, rocky beach. I pick my way down the seam, careful not to tip us. When I’m on shore, Bevan heaves Pritchard back out onto the lake, and we watch him paddle back toward the Bogs, speedy and silent except for the slice of oar in the water.
Without speaking, Bevan and I trot uphill, listening to the baying of the scavengers, sniffing for any unfamiliar shifter scents filtering through the moisture in the air. We’re not doing anything wrong—at the moment—but you don’t put guards on a person if they’re free to go where they want. Derwyn might be protection, but the others spread out in the woods—that’s a cordon.
I’m escaping. It’s a strange feeling. I’ve never wanted to be free, not like Nia. I’ve only ever wanted to be safe and home.
When we get to Abertha’s shack, her car is gone, and the porchlight is off, but there’s food left in Apollonia’s dish even though the cat’s nowhere to be seen. Abertha didn’t leave that long ago.
I’m sad I won’t get to say goodbye, but somehow, I know that she’d approve. She respects a good harebrained scheme.
“Was Abertha here when you came earlier?” I ask Bevan.
He grunts no.
“Wow.” My mouth drops when I catch sight of what he and Pritchard must have accomplished in a couple hours. All of the plants have been removed from the Airstream and placed on the picnic table and surrounding ground.
The Airstream itself is hitched to a matte black Land Rover.
Bevan holds up a set of keys, baby blue eyes alight, and jingles them. “You can drive, right?”
I shake my head. When would I have learned?
“Shit.” He blows out a breath. “Guess I’m the getaway driver, at least until you can pick it up.”
My stomach knots. I don’t want to drag Bevan further into this than he already is. The Bogs are already going to suffer for what they’re doing for me tonight. I can’t imagine what the nobs will do to a scavenger who stole a car.
“How do you know how to drive?” I give him a sidelong glance as I hoist myself up and into the Land Rover passenger seat.
“TV commercials,” he grins. “Buckle up, baby.” He turns the key, slams the stick forward, does something with his feet, and the vehicle lurches forward, sputters, and jerks to a halt. The Airstream slams into the rear of the vehicle. We both cringe.
“Gotta work out the kinks first,” he says, repeating the process, and this time, we surge ahead, and he manages to get up speed before he causes a horrible grinding and the engine dies again.
“Are you killing it?” I ask.
He frowns in concentration, leaning far forward, chin well ahead of the steering wheel, as if that’ll help him better coordinate his feet and hand. The knack seems to be easing off the pedal at the right point in time as you shift the gear. Bevan seems to be under the impression that the key is oomph.
“It’s harder than it looks,” he mutters.
“It looks impossible.” The nobs speed along the boulevard that circles the lake, winding in and out of lanes, swift and sleek. They drive like we run as our wolves, which about sums up our differences.
Eventually, Bevan smooths out his technique, and we go hundreds of yards before we judder to a halt. We’re following the remnant of an access road that used to lead to Quarry Pack territory. The further we get, the more the scavengers’ howls fade.
I glance over to Bevan. “What do you think Madog Collins will do?”
“Cut our rations for a while.”
My queasiness turns into a sharp ache. “Tell everyone I’m sorry.”
“Ain’t a soul who wouldn’t say it’s worth it to help the alpha heir’s mate escape. This is a legendary caper.” His eyes sparkle with genuine glee.
“This is an escape, right?” In this moment, it doesn’t feel like one anymore. There’s no one after me. Quite the opposite.
Time isn’t of the essence. I’ve got a long time before I show. These are early days, and everyone knows a lot of pups don’t even stick. I bet if I hadn’t staged the world’s most dramatic pukefest by the side of the track, no one would’ve noticed for months.