Filed To Story: Alpha's Regret: His Wrongful Rejection
Darragh also wants to check in with the command center set up in the lodge. He says that the humans are from the branch of their government that “administrates” us. I have no idea what that means, but apparently, they’re more on our side than the hunters, and they have resources we don’t when it comes to tracking them down.
Darragh drops me off at my cabin. It takes everything I have not to beg him to take me with him, and it takes him a few false starts before he can leave me. He says he’ll be back in a few hours. When he goes, Fallon and Lucan are at a respectable distance out on the porch, but as soon as he disappears down the path, they slip inside to play video games with Kennedy.
I’m distracted. I shower, reapply cream to my burns and put on fresh bandages, and excuse myself to lie down. Despite the exhaustion I’m still feeling as my body finishes healing up all the scrapes and bruises, I can’t nap.
Now that I’ve got the thought in my head, I can’t stop worrying at it—what if Darragh’s wolf isn’t mad?
Or what if he used to be, but he’s changed?
Or what if he never was, but he’s been made that way from the years of solitude?
Shifters are pack animals, especially in our wolf form. What would it do to a wolf if he shifted too soon, no more than a pup, ripped from his only family and sentenced to a life in exile? What does that kind of loneliness do to a soul?
I think it’s made Darragh rough on the outside and burnished as smooth as diamond in his heart. Why should his wolf be so different?
I should let it go, focus on the fact that I might have a real mate now, and a new home, and maybe, possibly, a little critter in my belly. That’s enough to freak out over, for sure, right?
But I keep flashing back to that moment when I was strung from the tree, suffocating and scared out of my mind, and Darragh blew through the tree line, bolting for me without a second’s hesitation, arms thrown wide to protect me from the darts he must have heard coming, knowing it was a trap, knowing he didn’t have a chance, but still racing for me full tilt, brave and stupid and unstoppable.
I don’t know what love is. I had ideas when I was young that mostly revolved around a palette of faded pastels, bittersweet acoustic songs, and the vague notion that love would be pretty and delicate and simple.
I don’t think I had it right at all. I think it’s the opposite—ugly and messy and tough as gristle. It’s not a miracle, not a gift out of nowhere, not a vibe. You make it out of thin air, from nothing, by what you do.
Like when I was a baby and Una threw her body over mine.
I think you can crush it, too. If you aren’t strong enough. If you don’t hold onto hope hard enough.
I lay in bed and stare at the bare walls where my fairy lights used to hang, my hand resting lightly on my stomach where maybe there’s a new life growing, another love conjured up out of nothing at all, and I know in my bones that Darragh would die for us both.
I am not leaving half of him behind.
Not like I was left.
Like my mother left me.
I close my eyes, but I don’t sleep. I plot, but mostly, I pray, and when Darragh’s wolf howls from the path outside for my wolf to join him in the wee hours of morning, I know exactly what I’m going to do.
I only hope that once it’s done, he forgives me.
Chapter 15
15
Chapter 15
DARRAGH
All those times I drove my ass out to Salt Mountain and let my wolf run, knowing he’d be too run down by the time we reached Quarry Pack territory to fight me for our skin—the fucker was paying attention.
He’s been biding his time with his head down, waiting until I’d been up for almost seventy-two hours, pumped full of tranqs and descended into rut, until I’d made love to my mate twice and been forced to talk for hours to a human from the government named “Dan” and another named “Steve” who ask the same fucking questions over and over, each time like they’re expecting a different fucking answer—oh, did I notice tags on the truck bed? Why, yes. I didn’t tell you the first ten times because I’m a dumbass, but here you go—
The whole time, my wolf was skulking, and the instant he smelled an opening, the second I nodded off on my feet for a split second, standing in front of the lodge for a breath of fresh air, he busted out of our skin like the Kool-Aid man and tore off for Mari’s cabin.
I dig my heels in, straining to wrestle him back, figuring he’s gonna throw himself through the picture window or ram through her door, but he doesn’t.
With a few bites and claw swipes, he runs off the two young males stationed on the porch, taking a hunk out of the slower one’s ass, and then he circles the place a few times, sniffing the foundation and pissing on the flower beds.
He doesn’t like that there’s a male wolf in there, but he remembers his scent from the night four years ago when he saved our mate, so he’s letting it slide. He wants Mari’s wolf out here now, though, but he doesn’t howl to the sky. He’s proceeding with a caution he’s never shown before. He doesn’t want her mad.
That’s his concern. Not that he’ll terrify her small animal, but that she’ll be pissed at him, and she won’t want to come with him.
He’s so different than he’s been my whole life. The rage is there, bubbling under the surface, the need to hunt down the humans who paid to terrorize my mate and eat them, feet to head, but he’s not driven by it. He wants something else more.
He pads to the front of the house, plants himself in the middle of the path, lifts his muzzle, and howls, but only once, and with what I can only call restraint. If he could speak, he’d be calling her name. Respectfully.
I tighten my grip on the reins, bracing myself, ready to heave back with all my might if she refuses to come to him, or worse, if she’s foolish enough to step out on two legs.
But she doesn’t make him wait long. A hidden person cracks the door, and her little white wolf wriggles out and dashes down the steps, right up to my wolf, fearless and panting with excitement, her tiny pink tongue dangling from her mouth.
My wolf stands still as she bustles around his legs, running her nose along his flank, checking to make sure all his limbs and tail are accounted for. He leans down to bump her with the flat of his head. She nips his neck. He tenses, and very deliberately, bares it to her, waiting on tenterhooks, a raw growl resonating in the back of his throat.
She casts him a sidelong glance, paces a few steps away, sits as if she’s at a tea party, and lifts her snout in the air.
My wolf chuffs, amused. He shakes his fur like he’s not bothered, and then herds her down the path, away from the commons and toward the foothills.
She fusses, yaps out a few barks, but soon enough, she falls in beside him. Just like he did when we were fleeing the hunters, he matches his pace to hers, but since she’s going at a gentle jog now, he’s basically walking. He doesn’t mind.
We’re totally alone. My wolf has long since cordoned off Quarry Pack territory to predators of any size, and even the smaller rodents scurry off when they catch my beast’s scent. There’s no living being to see Mari’s wolf trot at my side, but my wolf is as puffed up and proud as if we were running with the pack.
He keeps darting glances at our bite mark, the pink peeking through her clean white fur. He’s pleased that she’s not matted and bloody anymore, but he wishes it wasn’t healing so quickly. He considers sinking his fangs in again, matching the marks, but even before I lunge for the skin, he discards the idea. She’d fuss. He doesn’t want that.
As we make our way through the woods, I let myself relax a little. He’s a different animal with her. I’d call her a leash, but her company doesn’t chafe. She’s more like a balm. She eases the clamor in his brain, cools the rage that I thought came part and parcel with his soul.
He subtly guides her to the northwest, and at first, I think he’s taking her back to our home, but then I realize he has a closer destination in mind. The dens.
My chest constricts. I feel for our skin, but I can’t even get a handhold. Silent, he bares his teeth at me. If I force the shift, he’s going to fight me, and I might not win.
No. Don’t do this. You’ll scare her. She’ll run.
He ignores me. Mari’s wolf is distracted by the scents carried on the breeze and the gnats swirling in our steps. She doesn’t realize where he’s taking her.
I’m dead on my feet. At this point, I feel like a sack of meat kept upright only through sheer force of will, and here’s my wolf, impervious to exhaustion and pain as always. We run along the river for a spell, and then I drop behind Mari’s wolf, urging her to scramble up the crooked trail to the ridge leading to the old dens.
Mari’s wolf is excited. She catches the scent of our kind from the packed earth and the old fire circles that are only lit these days on solstices. She turns into a ball of energy, dashing from cave mouth to cave mouth, poking her head in each opening and racing back to me, fur bristling with her daring.
My wolf herds her toward the furthest den where my grandparents lived when I was very young, before Declan Kelly forced them down to the camp to live most of their time in their human skins and abandon the old ways. The memories are so old that they don’t seem like mine, more like a dream I had once and half remember.
I loved it up here. During the day, we’d run the woods, hunting and tracking, and at night, I’d curl up between my grandparents in a pile of packmates and pass out with my head on a furry flank and meaty breath in my face.
That was a long time ago.
I urge Mari inside, and she’s keen enough to go. The entrance is low, but the cavern opens up, and there’s enough light filtering through the opening and cracks in the roof for our wolves to see.
In my grandparent’s day, tapestries hung on the walls and woven mats lined the stone floors. Now, it’s bare except for plastic bins shoved against the walls filled with blankets for building nests. Some packmates still come up here to mate. They think it’s good luck.
Is that why my wolf brought her here?
No. Don’t try it. You’ll scare her. Take her home.
Ignoring me, my wolf takes off for the back of the cavern, rumbling for Mari’s wolf to follow. She does, obedient in a way I’ve never seen her human self be. When we get far enough from the mouth that all natural light fades, the tunnels begin to glow with light from the bare bulbs Killian’s had strung up along the walls so that no adventuresome pups get lost.
When I hear the drips, I know where he’s taking her. The pool. My grandmother would bring me down here when I was beginning to wear on the other elders’ nerves. I thought it was magic, a pool so deep underground, perfectly clear and still and cool, the stalactites hanging down like moonstone curtains.
As soon as Mari’s wolf catches sight of the water, she dashes for it, losing her footing, her claws skittering over the smooth rock floor. She lifts her paws to the side, tail flicking back and forth, and yips at me over her shoulder to join her.
My wolf stalks over to her, much more nonchalant than he feels inside. He’s amped up. Totally stoked. He lifts himself next to her. They both gaze into the pool, watching their pants ripple the water. Mari’s wolf leans over, lowering her muzzle to take a closer sniff.
Without warning, my wolf takes a paw and bats the surface, splashing Mari’s wolf in the snout. For a second, she blinks at him, water dripping from her small black nose, betrayal in her big, round eyes.
My wolf is immediately horrified by what he’s done. He actually seems to be considering handing back our skin. He’s drawing back when Mari’s wolf lets out an indignant yip and scrambles up and over the side, toppling into the pool with flailing limbs and yelps. She immediately begins to shake her coat, sending a spray of water in all directions, including my wolf’s. He opens his mouth to howl a warning and gets a cold, wet mouthful.
Again, I brace myself, squeeze the reins, but I don’t pull, not quite yet.
He raises his head, howls to the high ceiling, and then he leaps into the pool, straight over Mari’s wolf, even skinnier now that she’s sopping wet, and lands with a huge kerplunk, drenching the little white wolf huddling against the side of the pool. She sneezes and shakes her muzzle.