Filed To Story: Alpha's Regret: His Wrongful Rejection
Cadoc reaches a muscular arm around my middle and draws me gently but unhesitatingly between his legs, holding me with my back to his chest. He’s so strong, his grasp so unyielding, I don’t struggle for long. I don’t relax, though. If he tries anything more, it’s going to hurt him. For starters, I can probably break his nose if I slam my head back.
“You don’t manhandle me,” I say.
“I guess I’ve gone back to the dens.” He chuckles.
“You can’t let Alban Hughes hurt my people.”
Cadoc rests his chin lightly on the top of my head, his arms wound around me, tight enough to warm me, but not tight enough to hurt.
“Rosie, they’re my people, too.”
It’s such a blatant lie. “Since when?”
“Since always, even though I didn’t see it that way. Things are clearer now.”
“Yeah, why’s that?”
“You know why.” He drops his chin. His nose nuzzles my neck, his beard scratching my jaw.
“You can’t bite me now. It’s too late.”
He drops a soft kiss on a straining tendon. “Okay, not now. Later.”
We sit for a while in silence. The tension slowly seeps from my muscles, and his hold gentles. His hands begin to roam. He fiddles with the cuff of my thermal shirt. He strokes my hand, playing with one finger and then the next. He tests my nails against the pads of his fingers.
I let him, and at some point, I go venturing, too. I trace the lines on his palm. I curl my fingers around his thumb. My balled fist fits in his hand like a ball in a glove.
My eyes grow heavy. Our body heat has warmed the den, and it was a long hike to get here.
“I’m gonna forgive you before I should,” I murmur drowsily. “Just letting you know.” I’m like that and always have been. I’ll fall asleep, and I wake up remembering I should be angry about something, but the feeling itself fades. Nia thinks that makes me a natural born sucker.
I think in a shitty world, it’s a blessing.
“I’m going to make everything okay for you and our pup,” he says. “I’m going to rescue our people.”
“Okay,” I murmur.
His grip on my fist tightens. He can tell that I don’t believe him, and he’s a nob, so he doesn’t know it’s only good manners to accept a lie offered as reassurance.
“How come your eyes go silver sometimes?” I ask because I don’t want to argue. It’s too peaceful.
“They do?”
“Yeah. Sometimes they get swirly whirly.”
That amuses him. “Swirly whirly?”
“Like those big ass lollipops, but silver.”
“Do you like them?”
“I’ve got no opinion.”
“You’re really hard to impress, Rosie Kemble. How many people do you know who have silver eyes?”
“I’m not hard to impress. You’ve just never tried.”
I kind of expect to take some wind out of his sails, but he doesn’t seem bothered. He contorts behind me, digging into his pocket.
“Put your hand out and close your eyes,” he says.
He doesn’t have to tell me twice. He’s got something for me. A light weight drops in my palm. I know what it is the instant it touches my skin.
“My rock.” I smile, rolling the piece of siltstone between my fingers, feeling its smoothed corners. “I threw it at you.”
“I went back for it.”
“You were holding it for me.”
“I was.” His voice mellows. I think he’s pleased that he’s made me happy. The bond burbles, calm and steady. My wolf yawns, rousing from her nap.
I take Cadoc’s hand, and I wriggle down until I’m lying mostly flat, my head propped on his thigh. I lower my sweatpants down over my hips to just above my pubes. I tug his palm down and rest it on my lower belly. He splays his fingers.
I look up at his face while he stares in wonder at my navel. The silver whirls.
He prods gently with his fingertips. “It’s squishy but hard underneath.”
“Yeah.”
“There’s a baby in there.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Our baby.” He takes my hand, weaves his fingers through mine, and rests his palm back on the slight swell. “Yours and mine.”
His voice is awed.
My wolf yawns in contentment.
Finally, I’m cuddled in a den in my mate’s arms.
And I can hardly breathe through the terror.
* * *
We get back to my campsite just before sunset, returning a different way than we left. We pass the massive truck Cadoc must have driven out here in. The bed is piled high with supplies. I really want to poke around, but the mood between us is strange. He’s grown silent, and even though he stalks my steps, he’s careful not to get too close.
“Wait,” he calls.
I hang out while he rummages in a crate on the tailgate.
“Dinner?” He holds up two cans.
“What’s that?”
“Stew.”
He spins it to check out the label. “Beef.”
My stomach does the gurgle it does now when it’s not sure whether it’s hungry or queasy. It’s been a long day. I follow him into camp, and I don’t fuss when he lays out his jacket for me to sit on and applies himself to lighting the fire. He gets it quicker this time.
“Do you have something I can heat this in?” he asks.
“In the trailer.”
He bops inside to get it like it’s nothing—like Nia or Bevan or Pritchard would. Like it’s his territory.
He’s like that everywhere I’ve ever seen him, even on those solstices when he toured the Bogs with his parents. He strode the boards like they belonged to him, and I guess they do. Or did.
He comes back out with my huge cast iron pot and sets himself to hacking open a can with a pocket knife and cussing under his breath.
“So what are you now if you gave up being the heir apparent?”
“Same as I always was. An alpha with no pack.” He doesn’t look up from his task. There seems to be a lot of stew dripping down the sides.