Filed To Story: Alpha's Regret: His Wrongful Rejection
Finally, he mutters, “The whale spit Jonah out.”
What? What does that even mean? And why is he just standing there, picking up a trash bag and talking nonsense. We need to make a nest.
My insides are uncoiling now that he’s here. They’re simmering.
Why haven’t I thought about the nest?
There’s the cot in Abertha’s shack, but it smells like patchouli and ointment for joints. There’s a cave a quarter of a mile away where a stream cut out its bank and then ran dry, but it’s small. It’ll have to be the Airstream.
My instinct tells me I need to go, start this, end it, whatever, but I can’t seem to move. I can only huddle in the chair, shaking, wishing this had never happened, or that it was already over. My ability to think is slipping away, and I am so scared.
Cadoc steps closer, stopping by the bottom stair to the porch, the black trash bag slung over his shoulder like a sack. He glances behind him at the black walnut trees where the wind rips through their highest branches, knocking the very last nuts loose to tear through the dry leaves and thud into the hard ground.
“It’s cold out here, Rosie.” Cadoc almost seems wary of me. He keeps his distance, tracking my every move as I creak back and forth, shivering.
“I’m burning up,” I say through clattering teeth. The wind dries my sweat, leaving my exposed skin clammy.
“I, uh, I have a place we can go.” His face tightens like he’s embarrassed to offer. I bet it’s a sterile room in some vacant building on the nob’s side of the lake with white walls and a hospital bed.
I curl my arms around my belly. My innards are being wrung out like a damp dishcloth. “I don’t want to go anywhere with you.”
My eyes sting. I know I have to do this. I can feel my will dissolving, an insistent drive taking over. I’m hanging on the edge of a cliff, my claws losing their grip, centimeter by centimeter, and the only person I can look to for help is the enemy.
Or is he?
His harsh lips are turned down. He’s unhappy, but not at me. I know it as if his feelings were a scent or a sound in the air. I don’t even need the bond to read him now.
He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He reaches into his pocket and takes something out.
Whatever it is, it’s small. He’s holding it loosely in his palm, but I can’t make it out. What does he have? I squint and tip the rocker forward.
He holds it up between two fingers so I can see. It’s a rock no bigger than a stamp. Common siltstone.
I reach out my hand. He closes the distance between us and sets it in my palm. I fold it in my fist.
“Is that the rock from yesterday?” I ask.
“Yeah. From the field.”
“It wasn’t a field.”
“What was it then?”
“A glade.”
“What’s the difference?”
“One’s made by humans, the other’s not.” I grit my teeth to stop the chattering. This conversation is nuts, but the stone is warm from his pocket, and the fear is quieting.
“This is the marker?”
He nods.
“You went back for it?”
“My wolf, uh—” He shuffles from one foot to the other. “He, like, held it in his mouth.”
“He cheeked it?” Cadoc lifts a shoulder while I flip it in my fingers. The edges are smooth. It’s a good rock. I tuck it into my pocket.
“I know you don’t really want to do this, Rosie.” He addresses my rubber-toed sneakers. “But I’m not going to hurt you.” He raises his eyes to mine, and they’ve got a touch of silver to them. Is it a reflection from the moon? “And I’m not sorry it’s you. I want to do this with you. So you know.” He drops his gaze again.
A wave of heat rolls over me, and on its heels comes a strange calm.
I fell.
I couldn’t hold on anymore, and now I’m floating in space, another Rosie who doesn’t have time anymore for words or worries.
He’s the one, and he’s here now. Nothing else is important. I inhale his scent and ride the rush.
He’s a good mate. He smells right.
“Come on,” I say, standing up, shaky-legged. I grab his hand and lead him across the dirt yard to the Airstream. He has to duck and turn sideways to get through the narrow door.
“Stand there.” I point to the front by the counter with the plant cuttings. He does what I ask, hunching because of the low ceiling, and I move to the back to examine the bed.
The mattress is old, but it’s full-sized. The linens are threadbare but clean. I wash them myself every so often, so that I can bunk here when the nobs party late in our trailer with Drona and Arly. I shove the quilt and flat sheet into a pile. It’s a start, but it’s nowhere near enough.
I snap my fingers at Cadoc. “Give me your clothes.”
I’m already peeling my sweater off and shucking my pants. I leave my socks on. My feet are as hot as the rest of me, but I don’t want them to touch the bare floor. The thought makes me cringe. I sweep sometimes, but it’s been a while.
I kneel on the edge of the bed and hold out my hand. Cadoc passes me his hoodie and jeans. I hold them to my nose and inhale. Woodsmoke in the crisp air right before a snowfall. My wolf growls her appreciation. These are good, too, but it’s not enough. This is a sorry nest.
Tears spring to my eyes. “Cadoc, what can we do?”
“What do you need, Rosie?” His voice is a deep, reassuring rumble, smooth on my frayed nerves.
“More.” Why doesn’t he know that?
He opens that trash bag, and—oh—it’s lovely. The smell of home fills the trailer, intertwining with the scent of growing things and my mate’s musk. Everything is familiar and safe. This is much better.
“Hand them here.”
He passes me a purple crocheted blanket, and I rub it against my cheek. Auntie Madwen knit this. I’ve had it since I was a pup. He gives me more—patchwork quilts and pillows and flannel sheets, a down comforter, thin but warm and soft. I pile them just so.
Almost perfect.
Not quite.
I shove everything to one side and start again.
Cadoc is watching me, and that’s fine. I don’t need him yet. Not until I get it in order.
I’m half aware that this is strange, and I’m naked except for my socks, crawling on a bed, fussing with a heap of old blankets, but I don’t care. This is necessary. Essential.
Cadoc can see my breasts swing; he can see the slick pink flesh between my legs when I kneel and stretch, and I don’t mind. I like it. Blood rushes to my pussy. I’m swollen and wet, and I want him, but not yet.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him slowly stroking his thick, reddish-purple cock, gray eyes glittering. He’s breathing hard, but he stays where I put him. He knows.
I do, too, and I don’t know how. I was never taught, never told, but I know exactly what I need to do. This pillow needs to go right here.
Now.
Now it’s perfect.
I sit back on my heels and smile proudly.
“You got it the way you want it?” Cadoc rasps, sending tingles all over my flushed skin. I’m blushing all over, a rose blooming across my breast and belly, rising up my neck to my red face.
“Yes.”
I’m supposed to present now. Get on all fours, ass in the air, chest pressed into the mattress. My body is ready, but my mind isn’t all gone yet, and the fear lingers.
Cadoc’s nostrils flare. “I won’t hurt you,” he growls.