Filed To Story: Alpha's Regret: His Wrongful Rejection
“You want to live in a den with me?”
“Yeah,” he says with no hesitation.
“You’re really not going back to Moon Lake?”
“No.”
“Okay, then.”
It’s that simple. As we start the long trek back to the Airstream, and a thousand worries tumble around in the dryer of my mind, I grab that quick and certain “no” and hold on tight.
I can’t tell whether I’m being brave or stupid.
Only Fate knows.
And she’s never been kind to me.
* * *
We get back to camp well past sunset. I’m too tired to eat, and honestly, if Cadoc wasn’t there watching me like a hawk, I would’ve been too tired to brush my teeth.
As it is, I give them a cursory scrub, drag my ass into the trailer, kick off my jeans, and collapse on the bed. I’m out in seconds.
It’s pitch black when a scratching on metal wakes me up. It’s late, but not too late. Maybe eleven or midnight. I stumble to see what’s at the door, but I already know. Cadoc’s wolf is sitting on the ground in front of the step, bathed in moonlight. The silver streak on his side almost glows. He cocks his head.
“Back again?”
He takes that as an invitation and nuzzles past me. I follow him, crawling back in bed as he investigates like he did last night. His last stop is the food cabinet. He knocks a few things onto the counter before he gets his teeth into a bag of jerky. This time he’s clever enough not to get the plastic stuck on his fangs.
It’s still slobbery when I take it from him.
“I’m so tired of jerky,” I say as I pop a strip in my mouth. Cadoc’s wolf settles himself on the floor by the foot of the bed and watches me eat. “If you really want to make nice, catch me a rabbit. Or a deer.”
I’d love fresh venison. My mouth waters, helping the tough strands go down.
I set the bag aside and roll to my stomach, arms folded on the edge of the mattress, chin resting on my wrist. How much longer will I be able to lay on my stomach? Maybe another couple of months. I’m not anywhere near “popping” as the females call it.
I quiet my mind a second to listen for the pup. It’s in there, dreaming or floating or whatever it is that it does all day.
“It’s weird to think that there’s something growing inside me,” I tell Cadoc’s wolf.
He listens, his sides rising and falling with his even breath.
“You put it there.” I reach out and draw my fingertips through his fur, leaving four ruffled trails. His chest rumbles softly. “And I don’t even know you, really. Where do you keep your treasures? Who do you miss? Where is your favorite tree?”
Will you hurt me again? How bad? When?
Why are you really here?
Why do I want you close to me? Am I weak or foolish or the victim of biology like every other female in history?
What will you do when they come for you?
They will.
They’ll let scavengers go for a walk and disappear, but you’re the Alpha Heir.
I bury my fingers in the wolf’s fur, feel his side expand and retract against my palm. His coat is soft and thick. His eyes have lowered to slits.
“Whatever happens, you have to protect the pup, okay?” I stroke him, and as he listens, drowsy and sprawled on his side, I spill all my worries, and I tell him, over and over, to protect the pup.
When sleep overtakes me again, I curl up with my head at the end of the mattress. I wake once more before dawn, and it takes me a minute to find Cadoc’s wolf. He’s laying flush against the bed platform, facing the door. I drift back to sleep, his furry, wolfy scent in my nose.
* * *
The next morning, I wake up to the muffled sound of Cadoc talking. No one replies, and I can’t hear another person moving around. Is he on the phone? Phones work out here?
I rub the sleep from my eyes and wriggle into yesterday’s jeans. Everything I own is equally grungy at this point. Besides, I can’t suck it in anymore, so I can’t do up the button. I’m not getting many more wears out of these.
Just like that, all the worries crash back down on me.
Diapers.
Laundry.
Cadoc.
Madog Collins.
Alban Hughes.
Brody Hughes.
New dens.
Food.
Newborn pups.
Childbirth. Oh, dear, sweet Fate—childbirth.
Inside, my wolf is yawning and arching her back in a luxurious stretch, utterly relaxed. I’d be chilling too if I were off duty for the next six months or so.
I can’t bear to put on stiff, dirty socks—again—so I shove my freezing feet into my boots and stamp outside to start the day.
The first thing I notice is that Cadoc’s moved his truck. It’s parked next to the Land Rover, now.
Cadoc himself is sitting on an overturned crate in front of a stack of boxes. On top of the boxes, there’s a laptop, a cell phone, and a rectangular black box with an antenna. He’s typing away, occasionally taking sips from an aluminum mug. If he weren’t wearing cargo pants with bulging side pockets and a green plaid flannel shirt, he’d look like the quintessential nob in the office.
He taps one last key, drains his cup, and finally looks over at me. I know he heard me come out. He would have heard my breathing change when I woke up. He doesn’t have wool-stuffed preggo ears.
“There’s hot water for tea on the fire,” he says.
I’m already stalking over to help myself.
I don’t know why I’m peevish. Maybe because I feel lost and scared and so filthy that I itch, and Cadoc’s chill rivals my wolf’s.
“Do you mind hanging around camp today? I’ve got things to take care of, and I have someone coming by.”
Company? Instantly, I veer toward Cadoc. Now, I’m interested. He grabs a crate from the truck bed for me to sit on. “Who’s coming here?”
“A male called Darragh. He’s, uh, affiliated with Quarry Pack. He’s been helping me continue my training while I’ve been up here. He’s bringing us something.”
My heart kicks up a notch. “What?”
Cadoc’s lips curve, and he glances down at his laptop screen. “You’ll have to wait. It’s a surprise.”
“A present?”
He lifts a shoulder. I’m deadly curious, but I have other questions, too. “What training?”
“Fighting.”
“But you walked away from Moon Lake Pack.” So he said. For now.