Filed To Story: Alpha's Regret: His Wrongful Rejection
“You did after the trailer,” I remind him. “Well, your wolf did.”
“I gave him our skin.” He winds his arms tighter, curving his shoulder so I’m tucked as close to him as I can get. “I couldn’t bear being myself anymore.”
I keep listening. Somehow, I know he needs to tell me this. And I need to hear it.
“I’m supposed to do the right thing, even when it’s difficult, right? My whole life—that’s what’s drummed in my head, day after day. Leadership is sacrifice. Lead from the rear and put the pack first. Be better. Try harder.”
He’s speaking in Madog Collins’ voice again. I’ve heard this bullshit from him enough times.
Strive for excellence. Obstacles are opportunities. All sorts of other crap that doesn’t make any sense.
Cadoc drops a tentative, quick kiss on my jaw and goes on. “I wanted to claim you. Hold you. I didn’t want to leave. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And I thought the pain and the shame from hurting you and letting you down, I thought that was the sacrifice, right? For the greater good.”
I can feel his tension, in his taut muscles and flowing through bond.
“But it didn’t make sense. The only truly good thing I’ve ever known is you.”
My insides squish like warm jelly. I feel scared and naked and soft. I’m not that great, but I’m not gonna argue with him. I snuggle into his chest even though we’re so close, I’m only kind of wiggling.
His breath leaves his lungs in a hiss. I shift my butt so he’s not directly poking my tailbone.
“I’m sorry, Rosie. I fucked it up. I’m going to make it up to you, though.” There’s a cold determination in his tone that reminds me of Cadoc Collins back at Moon Lake. It doesn’t intimidate me, though. Not when his hard dick is digging into my kidney.
“What are you going to do?”
“You’ll see.”
His laptop bings, and he shakes himself off. He gives me another kiss on the cheek—awkward and affectionate and unpracticed—and sets me on my feet. Then he slaps my ass and hands me his empty cup as he click-click-clicks with his mouse.
On my way to the fire, I swish my ass back-and-forth like Arly does when she wears her skintight mini-dress, and I smile to myself when the clicks fall silent.
* * *
By mid-afternoon, the buzz of flirting with Cadoc has worn off, and he doesn’t seem any closer to being done with his work. Boredom is setting in, and I’m getting restless. I venture further from the Airstream, poking around the ground I’ve combed over a hundred times at this point, but whenever I get too far for Cadoc, his wolf barks, and my chain gets yanked. I should’ve never shown him that.
My wolf propels me back to camp like a trained dog. I had no idea she was so submissive. She doesn’t settle down until Cadoc’s wolf gives her a soothing rumble.
It’s the warmest part of a cool day when a male whistles from the tree line. A few moments before, Cadoc had clicked a few last buttons and finally shut his laptop. He must’ve scented our visitor.
My heart beats quicker. This is the most excitement I’ve had since Cadoc showed up. I hurry to Cadoc’s side, and he moves so he’s standing half in front of me.
A muscular, shirtless male emerges into the clearing carrying a huge white bathtub over his head. His biceps bulge. I shuffle a little further behind Cadoc.
The male is older—maybe mid to late thirties. His brown hair and beard are shaggy. He has the look of a scavenger about him—fur on his chest, pointed ears, claws for fingernails. He’s handsome, but he’s clearly verging on feral. There’s a strange bronze ring around his blown black pupils.
Sensing my unease, Cadoc squares his shoulders and widens his stance. It settles my nerves.
“Darragh,” Cadoc greets him.
Darragh lowers the bathtub to the ground with a grunt. It’s beautiful. Cast iron with clawed feet. It’s big enough to fit two, at least. Drona would be able to bath all three pups in it at once, easy.
I push away the sting of homesickness. This is a happy moment. I’m going to be happy.
“A tub,” I whisper. The bond burbles.
Cadoc steps forward, grabbing my hand, keeping me tucked behind his side. “This is my mate, Rosie.”
Darragh nods. He’s careful to remain still, his ripped arms hanging purposefully loose at his sides.
“Are you well, Rosie Collins?” he asks, his deep voice rusty.
No one’s called me that before. I’m not claimed.
“Rosie Kemble,” I mumble.
“Collins,” Cadoc corrects. “She’s well.”
“And the pup?”
“Growing,” Cadoc answers. It’s strange. His manner has changed. He seems older, talking to Darragh. Like an instructor. Or like his father. The thought’s unsettling. “You’ll join us for a meal?”
“What are you having?” Darragh glances at the trees around camp. He’s looking for a fresh deer or rabbit strung from a branch. He’s going to be disappointed.
“Stew. Jerky. Canned salmon. Tuna.”
Darragh hesitates before he says, “Yeah. All right. Thanks.”
Cadoc ushers me toward the fire, and Darragh trails at a distance. Cadoc sets out crates, one for Darragh on the far side of the pit, two for us close together closer to the Airstream. Cadoc clearly doesn’t want me near Darragh, and Darragh is being careful to give me distance and move slowly and deliberately.
It’s a stark difference from how Cadoc acted back at Moon Lake. Hurt twinges in my chest. No one felt the need to tread carefully around me then.
Is it different with Darragh because he’s not Moon Lake? Or because it’s really different now?
I can’t know, and the thought rubs away some of the day’s shine.
Cadoc opens three cans of salmon and hands them out with forks. I make myself eat, but even with dull human senses, I can taste the aluminum.
Darragh spears his like it’s not dead yet, and he ends up brushing fish from his unkempt beard. When he’s finished, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “So Cadoc, Killian wants to know when your camping trip is gonna be over.”
“He miss me?”
“Misses kicking your ass.”
Cadoc takes the jibe in stride. From the bond, I can tell he takes no offense—he’s amused.
“We’re moving into the old den.” Cadoc nods toward the north.
Darragh raises his thick eyebrows. “That’s a lot of space for two.”
“Pack’s growing.” There’s a note in Cadoc’s voice I can’t read.
Darragh nods. “You should be fine if you don’t go further up the mountain. Past the timberline, you’ve got a lot of ferals with grudges.” Darragh winks, wry admiration in his strange bronze-brown eyes.
I glance over to Cadoc. “I moved them along, out of our territory,” he explains.
“You made yourself a legend. They call you the ‘Ghost-Eyed Wolf’ now.” Darragh smirks, but I think it’s a good name. I used to think Cadoc’s eyes were blank, but they’re not. They’re haunted.
“Any news of Una?” Cadoc changes the subject.
“She had a male. Hale and healthy.”
Una is the Quarry Pack alpha’s mate. She trades at the human market. Mushrooms, honey, and jam—nothing quite worth the trip to Chapel Bell, but us scavengers keep an ear open in case she lucks across something hard to find.
“She’s recovered?” Cadoc moves his arm so his elbow rests on my thigh. Even sitting side-by-side, he’s positioning himself in front of me.
“She’s on her way, yeah. Killian, on the other hand.” Darragh barks a laugh. “He’s never gonna recover.”
“Why’s that?” I can’t help but ask.
“Well—” Darragh glances at Cadoc uneasily. Cadoc’s face is hard. “It took a while for the baby to, uh, come out. Killian’s not used to cooling his heels ringside, you know?”
“How long did it take?” My hand flutters to my belly of its own accord, and I lean forward.
Darragh shifts on his crate. “Not that long. I don’t know. I wasn’t there. I stay in the hills mostly, you know.”