Chapter 22
Rue
I’m an idiot for returning the wine. I could really use the escape right now. Ignoring Durin’s rejection isn’t working. It’s manifested itself in my actions for weeks. I’ve been eating more than we can spare and lying around when I’d normally be finding things to do. I even bleed into the jars more often, hoping to drain the hurt away.
Currently, I’m sitting on the floor of the hut, draining the pain with my tears. If I bleed more, I’ll feel sick. So, tears it is. I’m eating some of the stupid berries, ignoring the juice as it drips down my chin in sticky trails.
Durin has left a couple of packages of supplies, but I left them there. It hurts too much to think about him. Why couldn’t he have just ignored my cries? He should have left me to my heat, no matter what I said. Or at least left before I could wake up. Before I could fall for his beautiful face and eat up any lies his soothing voice fed me.
Now, I’m stuck hating him and pining over him at the same time. All while he’s off having fun with the other nobles. Eating, drinking, fucking whoever is up for it at the time...
The thought is supposed to anger me, to numb the hurt, but a surge of jealousy twists my stomach into knots. An unexpected sob makes me choke on all the excess I’ve shoveled into my mouth. I’d be ashamed of my state if there were anyone around worth impressing.
Burying the washing cloth was supposed to bring me closure. It didn’t. I’ve felt worse each day. I can’t shake the nagging thought that it may still hold some of his scent. The temptation to dig it up has haunted me relentlessly.
But maybe that’s what I need to do. His scent is surely gone. When I prove it to myself, I might be able to let him go.
I rush out of the hut and crash through the thicket, clawing at the ground where I buried the cloth. When I finally find it, I don’t even bother shaking off the soil. I press my face into it and inhale as deeply as I can, trying to find any trace of Durin’s scent that remains.
But the earth has soaked it all up, and I’m left with only dirt and withered berries. I scream as quietly as I can into the cloth, then let it fall to the ground.
I was wrong. This isn’t closure. This feels like my sanity slipping away.
Footsteps patter up behind me, and warm hands grasp my shoulders. I know it’s not him, but I stupidly wish it was. Despite my anger and resentment, I just want to smell him again.
I feel so weak and worthless as my mother lifts me to my feet. I sob as she guides me back inside the thicket around the hut where the bathing area is. I must be more of a mess than I realized. Mother helps me out of my dress as if I were a youngling again. I let her, feeling too defeated to protest.
Once it’s off, I can breathe a little better. There’s one less weight on my chest. But Mother gasps, and I open my eyes to find her staring at my stomach. When I look down, the evidence of my overeating stares back at me. Evidence I’ve been refusing to acknowledge.
I feel so ashamed that I start to cry again. “I’m sorry I ate all our food! I’ll make up for it. I bled more, so we can—”
Mother pulls me into a hug an shushes me, rocking me side to side like a blubbering pup. She holds me that way until I’ve calmed down. Then, she pulls away and grabs a cloth for me. I decide to get it together and bathe myself, unwrapping my binding so I can take over. When my mother turns back to me, her eyes widen, and she sets the cloth right back down.
“Rue, is there something you didn’t tell me about your heat?” she asks softly.
Terror grips me as I look down at my breasts and see what she’s seeing. In the bright light of the afternoon, the differences are unmistakable. My nipples have grown wider and darkened considerably. My breasts are so swollen that, unbound, I can barely see past them to my rounded belly.
But it’s there. Puffed out and proud. Not the result of overeating but an offering from Durin that neither of us knew I’d already accepted.
I thought I was just depressed and eating to numb the pain. Too miserable to worry about my figure. Is there really a little life growing in there?
Did you know about this, Omega? I demand. She remains silent, just like she always does when I need her.
I fall apart, slumping to the ground and reaching for my mother. She gives me a blanket and sits with me while I confess everything–waking up after my heat, the handsome fae who followed me here, the gifts, the kiss, bringing him to the cave... the rejection.
My tears don’t stop, but Mother keeps trying to dry my face for me. Mercifully, she’s not angry.
“It’s okay, sweet Rue,” she says, rocking me in her arms. “It’s for the best that he’s gone. He was too upsetting for you. You’ll have a pup that needs your full attention. And soon!” she adds, sounding truly excited despite the concerning situation.
Shifters have shorter pregnancies than other high fae, about five moons. It’s one of the perks of our kind.
Or is it?
My heat was over three moons ago. That means I’m already more than halfway there. The sooner the pup arrives, the sooner I have to see bits of its father. Constant reminders of the fae who used me, gained my trust, then left me humiliated and shattered.
There’s so much more to worry about than just that, though. “How will we keep it quiet?” I ask, concerned the crying will attract dangerous creatures or other high fae.
“We can get silencing potions from the market,” Mother reassures me, holding me tighter. “As well as anything else we might need to make our home secure.”
“Could it be satisfied here until we can find a pack?” I ask, picturing a bored little youngling in our tiny space, scratching at the dirt with a stick.
“You don’t need to worry about these things right now,” my mother says, taking my face in her hands. “We will adjust as we need to.”
But something truly terrifying hits me. “What about the bloodlust?” I choke out. “The pup… it’ll have it. It’s a mixed fae shifter. Madda!” I wail, burying my face in her chest.
“Rue, please,” Mother says, giving me a gentle shake. “Everything will be okay. Mixed fae shifters come along, and most of them are just fine. They take a little more attention and love, but they can grow up just like anyone else. You know that.”
I pull in a deep breath and think of the mixed fae shifters in our pack. Former pack. They’re fine. Sometimes, they act strangely or have outbursts of anger. But the pack cares for them and helps them through it all. My little one will be fine, too. It’ll be more than fine. Between my mother and me, it will have all the extra love it can handle.
Who needs a worthless fae father? Fucking no one. That’s who.