Filed To Story: Alpha's Regret: His Wrongful Rejection
I could have slowed down, made plans, gathered necessities myself, consulted Abertha.
Had second thoughts. Convinced myself that it’ll all be fine. Read kindness and good intentions that don’t exist in Cadoc’s unfathomable expression.
My adrenaline kicks up a notch. No, this is an escape in the nick of time.
My wolf, bless her heart, is just chilling, along for the ride, mildly curious about the change in scenery. We’re reaching the ridge that marks the beginning of the foothills which lead all the way up to Salt Mountain. A dry lake bed follows the ridge north for several miles at least.
Bevan slows to a gradual stop so the Airstream doesn’t ram the Land Rover’s hitch like it did when he was perfecting his technique. For a moment, we both stare through the windshield down the barren gulch that disappears past the headlights into the dark.
“I’ll go a little further with you,” Bevan says. “Until you get the hang of it.”
“I see how it works. I’ll be all right.” Frankly, I can’t do worse than he did.
“When you get where you’re going, shift and let that megalodon inside you piss all over. Just spray your entire area down. You can still shift, right? Even though you’re—” He gestures at my belly.
“Maybe? Drona and Arly could both shift until the second trimester.”
“Okay, and you also gotta hunt down a feral. Rough him up real good. Or eat him. Whatever. They’ll leave you alone after that.”
I nod. I can’t see myself actually doing it in a million years, but I recognize that it’s good advice.
“Go find the natural wolves in your territory, too. Make ’em show neck.” His brow furrows like it does when he’s thinking. “If there are any bears or mountain lions, don’t fuck with them. Just eat ’em.”
“Okay, cousin.” I rest my hand on his jiggling knee. He doesn’t want to let me go.
“I should go with you,” he says.
“You can’t.” He’d go feral. I wouldn’t be enough for him. I have a shot of making it alone because of the pup. It’s known that a mother wolf is capable of anything to protect her young. He doesn’t have that anchor, and at the end of the day, we are pack animals.
Besides, I could never ask him to give up the pretty human he’s so hot to impress or our kinfolk or his stash.
And also, despite my fear, a certainty is settling on me. This is the right path. Maybe it comes from my wolf’s blas? attitude or what Abertha said, but in the part of my not-at-all-magical-self that knows where the moon will be when the wind blows the clouds clear and where the dragon tongue grows in the thickest brush, Iknow I need to go.
“I’ll come back.” I know that, too.
Bevan shakes his head, sniffs to buck himself up, throws the door open, and swings himself down. “We siphoned a few extra cans of gas for you. They’re in the trunk.”
“Thank you,” I say as I slide over to the driver’s seat.
“What are you gonna do out there?” Bevan asks as he peels off his shirt and drops his drawers.
“Make maps. Forage. Birth a baby.” Puke. Cry. Go crazy.
“We took up a collection. You’re stocked when it comes to food for a few months, at least.”
For a moment, a sadness intertwined with love replaces the iciness in my chest. A cut in rations will hurt the Bogs even more if I’m driving away with our surplus.
“Tell everyone I love them.” I jam my feet on the pedals and draw in an edifying breath. It’s time.
“If you see any of our people out there, give them my love, too,” he says.
I smile as wide as I can, until my cheeks pinch, because that’s what I want Bevan to see when he shifts into his wolf, howls once into the dark sky, sinks his teeth into the spindle he’s made with his clothes, and trots off back toward Moon Lake.
For a second, I stare down the creek bed into the pitch black, listening to the silence settling like a thick blanket. The beginnings of snow crystals tickle my nose. I have to go now. I need to get as far as I can before the storm starts in earnest.
But I am so scared. My hands tremble, and all of a sudden, it’s too huge, and I’m much too small, and not nearly brave enough.
I don’t know what to do, so I reach into my backpack. I take out the button tin and rest it in the passenger seat. The panic ebbs, but not enough. I dig deep until my fingers brush the wavy metal edges of my bottle cap with the eagle on it. I drop it into the cup holder in the middle console.
I can do this. I have to, so I can.
I wrap my shaking hands around the steering wheel and squint into the darkness past the halo of the headlights.
I draw in another deep breath, and without taking my eyes from the road ahead of me, I jam a hand into my backpack and root around until I find Cadoc’s watch. I slip it on my wrist, and return my grip to the wheel.
I’m ready.
I ease my foot off the clutch, throw the Rover into first, and swallow a fresh wave of nausea as the beast lurches and the engine dies. I’m on my way.
Chapter 9
9
CADOC
“How much more can he take?” Vaughn whispers to Kenny as if I can’t hear.
“Not much more,” Kenny answers.
He’s wrong. I can take hours more. I’ll run out of sparring partners before I run out of stamina. I can’t fucking flip-shift, but I can outlast any motherfucker in this pack. I can’t win against Alban Hughes, but I can’t lose to anyone else.
And I deserve to suffer.
How can it be right for Rosie to hurt?
I let a random Powell land a blow to my face. My eyebrow splits, and hot blood trickles down my face. It’s not enough. No amount of pain is enough to make hers fade in significance.
Rosie should never suffer, and never, ever at my hand.
How am I not the villain in all this shit?
Father clapped me on the back when I got to the office, and said, “Heard it was a rough day. Hang in there.”
Rough fucking day?
At least the distress in the bond is fading. Maybe Rosie fell asleep.
“Seth,” I call out. “Text Derwyn.”
Seth’s hanging from the ropes on the side of the ring in his suit and tie. We have dinner with a prospective acquisition and then a council meeting tonight. I’m a goddamn bastard, but pack life must go on.
I take an elbow to the ribs. My counterpunch is more instinct than intent, but the Powell goes down, clutching his gut.
I scan the gym. There’s a row of bloody and bruised males on a bench, collapsed against the wall or folded over, arms supporting snapped ribs.
Seth’s the only one I haven’t fought yet. I eye him up.
“No way, man. I’m already dressed.” He hops down from ringside and backs away.
“What does Derwyn say?”
He checks his phone. “Same.”
Rosie disappeared for an hour or so after the incident at the track. Her cousin attacked Derwyn, her hurt got in my head, and I let her go. It was a weak call. Her safety comes first.
I can’t afford to make mistakes because I’m distracted by feelings.
I can’t afford feelings.
“Get in the ring,” I tell Seth. He grumbles, but he slow-walks to the locker room to change. “Don’t drag your feet.” I infuse the words with a touch of alpha command.
I can’t let the pain ebb. Mine is nowhere close to Rosie’s yet.
I snap at Griff and jerk my head toward the punching bag. His shoulders drop.