Filed to story: Alpha's Regret: His Wrongful Rejection
Cadoc watches intently as I arrange the jacket. Like he watched me build my nest. My cheeks blaze, and I stop messing with it. He goes back to trying to start a campfire.
After three matches, Cadoc finally manages to get it going. He settles back to watch me again. He doesn’t seem inclined to speak. It makes me want to scream, but also, strangely, it eases the panic that seized me when I saw him.
If he was going to drag me right back, he wouldn’t bother building a fire, right? He was never the type to toy with a male when he delivered a beatdown. He did it, and it was done.
“How did you find me?” I ask.
“The Land Rover has a stolen vehicle recovery system.”
“Your car has a tracker, too?” I should’ve figured.
He lifts a broad shoulder. He looks so weird with a beard. Less imitation human and more shifter. Like a lone wolf.
I shove the thought away. Cadoc Collins has never been alone. He’s had an entourage since he learned to walk.
Where are they now? Surrounding us, lurking far enough away so that I can’t scent them? I scan the distance, but I don’t see any motion in the trees. The terrain is hilly, though. There’s a dozen places he could have back-up hiding.
“I’m not going back to Moon Lake.”
He nods. “We can stay here.”
“We’re not doing anything.
You can get the hell out of here.”
He nods again. He’s not taking me seriously. I bet he’d do more than nod if I threw a flaming log at his head. I breathe through the urge, resting my hands on my lower belly, not entirely conscious of the gesture until his gaze tracks it and the bond comes alive with energy.
“No,” I say. “Don’t.” I draw my knees up to my chest. It’s a reflex. Protect the pup.
He exhales, his nostrils flaring, his gaze dropping to the fire. He pokes at the logs again, not doing much but making it smoke. Eventually, he firms his jaw and meets my eyes again. “You’re okay? And the pup?”
I shrug. I’ve mostly stopped puking. My stomach feels weirdly gelatinous to the touch, but it’s not put me off food, so—
“Why are you here?” I ask again.
“I’ve been here.” He says it in such a matter-of-fact way that it takes a second to sink in.
“How long?”
“I found you the day after you got here.” When I don’t say anything—what can I say?—he goes on. “I cleared the predators out of a three-mile radius, established a perimeter, patrolled, laid down scent.”
“Why?”
“I located fresh water sources. Scouted defensible terrain. Identified natural shelters. You picked well by setting up here.”
I don’t want warmth to spread through my chest. He can shove his compliments. He doesn’t even know how to start a campfire.
“Are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?”
He raises his gaze from the fire. “I made a choice. I chose you.”
“No. You don’t get to.” The anger is back. That’s what it is. Not hurt, not a festering wound, not a bitter disappointment. All I feel is rage.
His voice was so steady and unaffected, he might as well be telling me the time of day. Mine breaks, and I hate him more for it. “T-too l-late. I don’t want you, and I don’t need you, so you can go back where you came from and wear suits and drive your car and take pictures of fishes.”
He arches an unconcerned eyebrow. Oh, does he want to know if I’m done?
Not yet.
“And fuck you,” I add, clambering to my feet and tripping over his nice, warm jacket. I scoop it up and shove my arms in the sleeves. My fingertips don’t even clear the cuffs. “You better be out of here by the time I come back out.” I stomp to the trailer. “You don’t think I’m much, but my wolf could kill you like that
—” I snap, stepping into the Airstream and slamming the door. It’s so lightweight, the snick is totally unsatisfying, and I burst into a fresh bout of tears.
I stumble straight for the mattress and accidentally crash flat on my stomach, landing on my achy boobs. I shove my face into the cold sheets until I can stifle the sobs. I’m not crying over this asshole. Not one more tear.
It takes a minute, but eventually, I’m not lying to myself. I flip onto my back.
What’s he doing now?
I strain to listen. There’s no sound.
Is he already gone? Or is he sitting by the fire like he has nowhere he needs to be?
What the hell is he doing here?
I made a choice.
Between what and what?
I army crawl over to the window, lift a brittle plastic blind with my fingertip, and peek out. He’s mucking around with the tripod and the kettle. A cinder must land on his thigh, because suddenly, he slaps himself and examines his pants. He doesn’t glance around to make sure no one saw, and he looked like a damn idiot. Maybe he did leave Seth and Derwyn at home.
I drop the blind and roll onto my side, gathering the quilt. The bond is humming. It’s not loud, but it’s persistent in a way it hasn’t been. He’s been here all along? Where? Why?
I’m cranky and sulky and trapped indoors by my own unmanageable emotions, and I don’t care why he’s here, and I can’t rest until I know. My thoughts chase themselves like squirrels up and down tree trunks until all the sleepless nights overcome me, and somehow, I drift off listening to Cadoc drop shit and cuss under his breath.
I wake up to the smell of chamomile and woodsmoke. I struggle upright. Sun is streaming in the window at the front of the trailer, and Cadoc is crouching at the foot of the bed with a cup of tea in a saucer. It’s one of a set I found wrapped and stowed in a big shoebox way back under the sink. The newspaper was so old it disintegrated in my hands.
“Here.” Cadoc offers me the tea.
I rub my eyes. My brain is thicker now than when I woke up this morning.
“I put sugar in it, but I didn’t see any milk.” He holds it higher.
I swing my legs over the edge and take the cup. His gaze darts to the wall behind me. There’s a slight indent, not from when my shoulder hit it the night we mated, from something years ago, but his face blanches white. He scrubs his mouth, mussing his beard.
My spine straightens. “Don’t say sorry. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to think about it.”
He sits back on his heels, and his gaze moves to the mattress. Unlike the last time he saw it, there’s only the one pillow, one quilt, and a flannel sheet with moose and fir trees on it.
He’s breathing heavier, his sculpted pecs rising and falling, and I squirm, raising the cup to my lips. The steam scalds my cold nose. It’s too hot. I set it back on the saucer.
Cadoc turns his head, staring at the sunlit slits between the shut blinds.
“That night was the best night of my life,” he quietly says to the window. His jaw tightens, and then he exhales, plucking the cup gently from my fingers and blowing across it, sending steam curling into the air between us. “Now it’s better.” He hands it back.
I take a sip. It’s still hot, but it doesn’t burn my tongue. “I don’t understand why you’re here.”
He’s too close. Even sitting on the floor, he’s taller than me, and broader, too. And it’s too strange—me perched on the edge of my nest, him a foot away, intentionally casual and nonaggressive, but blocking my exit all the same.
All these weeks alone have made me jumpy, but he feels more like protection than a threat, and that’s pure self-delusion.
My wolf’s no help. She’s conked out, snoring like a whistle. She didn’t seem the least surprised to see him.
Cadoc glances behind me again. At the wall? The window? I don’t turn to check. I watch his slate gray eyes, search for a feeling to read, but they’re blank as he says, “It came down to a choice between you and the pack. I chose you.”
My teacup rattles in the saucer. I set it down on my lap. “I don’t get it.”
“I walked away. I spoke to the Council and put forward Brody Hughes as my replacement to buy my father time, and I left.”
“Why?” It’s the first question I can get out of my mouth, but a million follow, flooding my brain so I almost miss his answer.
“You’re more important.” He lifts a shoulder. “The most important.”
There’s no way my brain can stretch around that. “And you’ve been here the whole time?”