Filed To Story: Alpha's Regret: His Wrongful Rejection
“Like one hour?” I ask. “Five hours?” Drona says Danny took thirty-two hours, but she only brings it up when he’s being a real shit, so I’m pretty sure she’s exaggerating.
Darragh blows out his cheeks and shrugs. “I’m not sure. I’ll find out for you, eh?”
Something in his tone tells me he won’t.
Cadoc moves to rest his heavy hand on my knees, and a trickle of reassurance comes through the bond. He changes the subject to fighting and training, and I get distracted, my interest lured away by the big white tub.
I’m going to have a bath for the first time in forever. A lukewarm bath, most likely, but I’m not complaining. I’m going to wash my hair until it squeaks. I sigh in anticipation, and Cadoc glances down, his lips softening.
Darragh takes it as a cue to leave. He stands, brushes his worn and faded green cargo pants, and catches my eye. “I’ll be up past the timberline. If you have a need, howl.”
Cadoc’s chest rumbles a warning. Darragh ducks his head and grins. He’s not baring his neck, but he’s acknowledging he transgressed. “Didn’t mean to overstep, Ghost-Eyes, but the offer stands.”
“I offer you the same.”
Darragh nods. He and Cadoc share a moment of understanding that I can’t decipher. Darragh is old enough to be Cadoc’s father, but there is nothing paternal in Darragh’s manner, nor anything deferential in Cadoc’s.
Back in Moon Lake, Cadoc strutted around, surrounded by his entourage, imperious and untouchable. And he seemed nowhere near as dominant as he does now, shaking hands with a half-dressed lone wolf in the middle of the wilderness.
A warmth stirs in my belly. It makes me squirmy.
Darragh disappears into the trees with a wave, and Cadoc turns his attention to me, grabbing my wrists in a firm grip, skewering me with his gaze.
“Listen. You don’t ever call for Darragh Ryan, understand?” His voice carries an undertone of alpha command.
“I thought you trained with him?”
“I do. In human form.” Cadoc draws me closer, his grip firm but not painful. He’s making a point, though, by making me feel small, and I’m reminded that he can do this—be calm and even one minute, cold and rigid the next. A shiver crawls down my back.
“Darragh’s wolf is bronze and copper, like his eyes. He’s yay high.” Cadoc holds his hand level with my shoulder. “And he’s moon mad. If you see his wolf, run. The man isn’t inside.”
Cadoc’s gaze bores into me.
“O-Okay,” I stammer.
Cadoc pins my wrists to his chest. Every part of him is harsh—the jut of his jaw, the cast of his mouth. “Promise me,” he demands.
“I promise.”
“I don’t mean to scare you,” he says, but he doesn’t loosen his hold. He’s lying. He wants me to be afraid. I can read him at least that well by now.
“I won’t call Darragh Ryan. I won’t go near his wolf.” I don’t know where the compulsion to reassure Cadoc comes from. Maybe it’s just my nature. But I don’t like him unsettled.
He lets the silence weigh on us for a minute, and then he releases his hold on my wrists, massaging them gently. He didn’t hurt me, but I let him do it anyway.
“So, do you want a hot bath?” he asks like it’s nothing.
It’s the dumbest question I’ve ever heard, but there is no way I’m being a smartass.
“Hell yes,” I say and turn to collect every vessel we have that can hold water.
Cadoc stops me with a hand on my shoulder. “Go rest inside. I’ve got this. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”
I’m not arguing. I skedaddle and collapse on my bed. It’s been a low-key day compared to the last few, but I’m still tired. Maybe it’s the company, or the pup growing, or maybe it’s because I’m low on adrenaline after the fear and uncertainty of the past weeks.
Nothing is certain now, of course, but it feels different.
For one, the bond is stronger. The current has become a river. It’s too present to be completely ignored now, but it’s also natural enough not to be the focus of my thoughts, minute-to-minute. It functions like breathing. Or walking. If you think about it, you notice, but otherwise, it just is.
I let my mind flow with the bond as I half-listen to Cadoc fussing around the fire and tramping off to the creek and back. I don’t fall asleep, but by the time he knocks lightly on the trailer door, I feel rested.
“It’s ready.”
For the first time, it occurs to me that I’m going to have to get naked.
That’s fine. I’d cut off an arm for a bath at this point, so if I have to bare ass, so be it. My skin flushes hot, though, as I go outside and check out the set-up.
The tub is beside the fire, and it’s three-quarters full. The sun is sinking, and there’s a late winter evening bite to the air, but there’s still daylight enough to see by. Steam rises from the bath.
Oh, sweet. I don’t waste any time. Cadoc is striding off toward the creek, pots in both hands. I strip, kick off my boots, and sink into the tub.
It’s heaven, almost too hot, if that’s even possible. I sink all the way down to my chin and let my hips float. My face is cold, but every other inch of me is warm. I exhale, long and slow, spreading my fingers and pointing my toes, happy to be weightless.
Through the water, I hear a throat clear.
“I’ll turn my head,” Cadoc says, his voice gruff. “Move your feet up. I’ve got more hot water.”
I tuck my knees to my chest. There’s a splash and a warm current rushes up between my legs.
“Hold your hand over the edge,” he says.
I do. He drops a washcloth, miniature soap, and two small bottles into my palm.
“Why are the bottles so small?”
“They give them to you in hotels. When you travel.”
“What’s a hotel?” The word rings a bell, but I can’t place it.
“A place you stay when you’re away from home.”
“Oh.” This is the furthest I’ve ever been from the Bogs, even counting day trips in school.
I peel the paper wrapper off the soap and flick it into the fire. The bar smells like flowers that don’t exist—like nobs smell.
“The bottles are for your hair,” he says. “Use the one called shampoo first, then the other one.”
“I know that.” Geralt Powell brings Drona shampoo and conditioner sometimes, as well as perfumes and lotions and something called “scrubs.” Drona lets us try them out, but then she trades them for food. Danny can eat half our rations himself if we let him; food’s always a priority.
“You don’t smell like shampoo,” Cadoc says as a kind of muted apology.
“I use a bar that washes all of you. It’s not supposed to smell like anything. Arly makes it.”
“Arly’s your sister-in-law?”
“Yeah.”
We fall quiet as I scrub my skin pink with the washcloth. I’ve been doing a decent job with my whore baths. The water gets soapy, but not too dirty.
After another trip with the pots, Cadoc makes himself comfortable on a crate a few feet away, whittling a log into kindling. I poke my nose over the side of the tub. His hair’s wet. He must’ve taken a dip in the creek.
He notices me peeking and smiles softly. “Need more hot water?”
“Not yet.” I sink back and dunk my head, enjoying the silence. My tender breasts float above the water line, my nipples tightening in the cold air. Cadoc’s far enough away, and the tub’s sides are high enough, that he can’t see me. It’s weirdly delicious, though, knowing I’m naked, and he’s right there.
Knowing he’d like to see.
At least I think he would.
He couldn’t stop looking the night that we mated.
I don’t like to think about that night now. It wasn’t so bad until it was the most horrible experience of my life, but I can’t remember the beginning without living through the end again—the thud of my body against the wall, the sharp jerks as he yanked up his pants and fumbled with the button, the door quietly clicking shut, anticlimactic and humiliating.
I squeeze a dollop of shampoo into my palm and scrub my hair, scratching my scalp. I don’t want that night in my head.