Chapter 15
Carter
Day six. That thought alone was enough to sour my mood. I’d been trying not to count, trying not to keep track of the hours Devon had been here, but my wolf kept track for me.
It marked each day in a way I couldn’t ignore, pacing in the back of my mind, restless, waiting for something I couldn’t give it.
And still, no word from Cooper. I’d half-expected him to call right away, to tell me no, to order Devon back, but there was nothing.
Just silence. Silence was worse because it left me dangling, gnawing on the uncertainty until it festered into a low burn under my skin.
I told myself not to dwell on it, not when there were pack matters that needed my focus.
I had a list on my desk as long as my arm. Border patrol reports, supply requests, renovation progress on the clinic.
However, none of it seemed pressing enough to stop my mind from circling back to the one thing I shouldn’t be obsessing over.
Devon.
I pushed away from my desk, trying to stretch out the tension that had coiled tight between my shoulders.
My thoughts kept snagging on Eli and Jeremy, on the way they’d been hanging around during the construction work earlier, looking like they were helping, but I wasn’t fooled.
No, they weren’t there to be helpful. They were watching Devon.
My wolf had bristled the moment it caught on, hackles rising, every instinct screaming to plant myself between them and him. They hadn’t done anything. Not directly.
The way Devon handled it calmly and politely made me proud and furious in equal measure. They didn’t get to harass him. Not here.
Not while he was under my roof, in my territory.
My Devon—
I froze. Damn it. No.
Not mine. Not yet. Maybe not ever, if Cooper decided to pull him back tomorrow. That word sat in my chest like a brand, both right and dangerous at the same time.
I scrubbed a hand over my face and let out a low growl, startling myself with the raw edge of it. The office felt too small, too stifling.
There was nothing urgent in the pack right now, nothing that couldn’t wait a few hours. So maybe, just this once, I could give myself something else to focus on.
I left the office and started toward my cabin, the decision already settling into my bones. If tomorrow was Devon’s last day here, then tonight I wanted him to myself.
No cafeteria noise, no pack business hanging over us, no eyes watching. Just him and me.
I’d make dinner for us. A surprise. The thought steadied me, gave me something tangible to cling to instead of the endless cycle of worry.
Cooking wasn’t exactly a skill I got to practice often. Usually meals were communal, prepared in bulk by pack members who rotated kitchen duty.
But I could handle myself in a kitchen. I used to cook for Dean and I when we were younger, and I remembered more than enough to pull together something decent.
Better than decent. For him, I wanted it perfect.
I stepped into my cabin, shutting the door behind me, and immediately started moving through the motions.
Fridge, pantry, cupboards, I took stock of what I had, what I could make.
A roast. Potatoes. Fresh vegetables from the stores.
I even found a jar of honey I’d been saving, and my chest tightened as I thought about how Devon’s eyes might light up when he tasted it.
I set everything out on the counter, rolling my sleeves up. My wolf settled a little as I worked, content in the quiet rhythm of peeling, chopping, seasoning.
It wasn’t the same as fighting or running, but it soothed me in its own way. Because every slice of the knife, every stir of the spoon, it was for Devon.
I imagined him sitting across the table, that little smile he got when he was pleased but trying not to show it. I imagined his laugh filling up the space that too often felt empty.
I imagined leaning across the table, brushing a crumb from his cheek, maybe stealing another kiss if he let me.
My heart gave a hard thump. Too much imagining. I forced myself to focus on the roast, sliding it into the oven, setting the timer.
The scent began to fill the cabin, rich and warm, and I leaned back against the counter with a slow exhale.
Tomorrow he’d be gone.
The thought stabbed clean through my chest. I’d told myself I was ready for that, that I could handle it.
That this week was temporary, a loan, nothing more. But my wolf knew better.
It prowled inside me, restless, unhappy, every part of it rejecting the idea of letting him walk away. Yet, I couldn’t hold him here. Not against his will. Still, I dreaded it.
Tomorrow, while Devon was packing his things, I wouldn’t even be here. I had to take two enforcers and meet with the neighbouring Ashridge pack to deal with a territorial dispute.
I hated that I’d be gone for his last day. Hated that I wouldn’t be able to see him off, to catch one last look, one last touch before he went back to Pecan Pines.
My wolf snarled low, angry at the thought. I pushed away from the counter, pacing the small kitchen while the oven worked its magic.
It wasn’t enough. Dinner, one night, a few stolen hours…it wasn’t nearly enough to make up for everything I wanted but couldn’t have.
I caught sight of my reflection in the darkened window, the set of my jaw, the hard lines around my eyes. I looked like a man bracing for loss.
Maybe that’s exactly what I was.
The oven timer dinged softly, breaking me out of the spiral. I moved quickly, pulling the roast free, checking the vegetables, plating everything with more care than I’d admit to anyone else.
By the time I was done, the cabin smelled like something out of a memory.
It was homey, warm, inviting. I stood back and took it in. It wasn’t much, but it was mine to give, and I wanted to give it to him.
For tonight, Devon wouldn’t be the healer on loan, or the wolf I wasn’t supposed to want. He’d just be here, with me, sharing a meal.
The table was set, the roast steaming gently on the platter, vegetables bright against the white ceramic bowls.
I’d even found a half-decent candle shoved in the back of a drawer, flickering now in the middle of the table.
For a man who spent most of his time worrying about patrol schedules and border disputes, the whole thing looked…domestic. Too domestic.
My wolf gave a satisfied rumble in my chest, like it had been waiting all along for me to do something like this. I was straightening one of the plates when I heard the knock.
My pulse jumped. I wiped my hands on a dish towel and crossed the cabin, pulling the door open.
Devon stood there with his healer kit slung over one shoulder, hair a little mussed, cheeks pink from the evening air. He smelled like herbs and pine, grounding and sharp all at once.
“Hey,” Devon said, smile tugging at his mouth. “I didn’t know if—” He paused, sniffing the air, his brow furrowing. “Is that roast?”
I tried for casual, leaning against the frame.
“Maybe. You hungry?” I asked.
The smile broke across his face, brighter now, and my chest squeezed tight. “Always. But, wait. Did you cook?”
“Don’t look so surprised,” I said, stepping back to let him in. “I can manage more than ordering around people.”
Devon walked inside, setting his kit down by the door. His gaze swept over the table, the food, the candle.
“Oh,” Devon said softly.
Just that. Oh. And I knew then it had been worth it. All the fussing, the second-guessing, the restless wolf pacing inside me all day.
That sound in his voice, that warmth in his eyes, was more than enough.
I cleared my throat, suddenly awkward. “It’s nothing fancy.”
“It’s…” Devon trailed off, still staring, and then looked back at me. His expression gentled. “It’s perfect, Carter.”
Something inside me threatened to break. I turned quickly, busying myself with pouring water into the glasses.
“Sit down before it gets cold,” I ordered.
He did, sliding into the chair opposite mine. For a moment it felt almost unreal. The quiet, the candlelight, the way he settled into my cabin like he belonged. My wolf purred, pleased.
I served him first, setting food on his plate, then filled my own. For a while we ate in silence, the comfortable kind, punctuated only by the clink of cutlery.
Devon hummed low under his breath after the first bite, and my body reacted like he’d touched me.
“This is really good,” he said after a moment. “Better than good.”
I shrugged, trying not to grin like an idiot. “Glad you like it.”
I looked away first, focusing on my food, but the silence that followed wasn’t empty. It stretched between us, heavy with something unspoken.
We talked after that. Small things, lighter things. He told me how the garden was coming along, how the herbs and plants were finally starting to thrive.
I told him how one volunteer had been sweeping the clinic floor, only to kick up a cloud of sawdust that coated them from head to toe.
Devon laughed until he nearly dropped his fork, and the sound wrapped around me, loosening knots I didn’t realize I carried.
By the time the plates were empty, the candle had burned low, casting the cabin in a soft glow. Devon leaned back in his chair, relaxed, looking more at home than I’d ever dared imagine.
“Thank you,” Devon said suddenly.
“For what?” I asked.
“This.” He gestured between us, toward the table. “For making tonight feel…easy.”
Easy. My whole life had been anything but. But with him sitting there, eyes steady on mine, I almost believed it. I stood before I could think better of it, collecting our plates.
“Come on,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended. “Let’s get comfortable.”
Devon followed me to the sink, and when I tried to take the dishes, he shook his head.
“You cooked. I’ll clean,” he offered.
I let him, leaning against the counter, watching his hands move through the motions.
Something about the sight of Devon in my kitchen, sleeves rolled up, humming under his breath, hit me harder than it should have. My wolf rumbled again, pleased, possessive.
When Devon finished, he dried his hands on a towel and turned to me. We were close, too close, and neither of us moved.
“Carter,” Devon murmured.
That was all it took. I closed the space between us, my mouth on his, heat sparking immediately. He kissed me back, slow at first, then deeper, hungrier.
Clothes came off in a blur. His shirt tugged over his head, my hands sliding down his sides, his fingers fumbling at my belt.
I lifted him easily, his legs wrapping around my waist, and carried him toward the bedroom. By the time we hit the mattress, we were already half-gone, lost to the pull between us.
His skin was warm under my hands, his breath hot against my throat, and every sound he made fed the fire roaring in my chest.
I tried to take my time, to savor him, but my wolf had other ideas. It wanted him close, wanted him marked, wanted him mine. I fought for control, reined it in.
So I slowed down, kissing every inch I could reach, letting my hands map the lines of his body.
His fingers tangled in my hair, tugging, urging me on, and I gave him what he asked for, what he needed. When we finally came together, it was with a desperation I couldn’t hide.
Heat, friction, the sharp edge of pleasure that tore through me as he clung tight. His voice broke on my name, and I swore I’d never forget the sound.
Afterward, we lay tangled in the sheets, his head on my chest, my arm around him. The room was quiet again, save for the slowing beat of our hearts.
I pressed a kiss to his temple, unable to stop myself.
“Comfortable?” I asked softly.
Devon made a noise somewhere between a hum and a sigh. “Very.”
I smiled into his hair, my wolf finally settled for the first time all day. He fit against me like he was made for it, like he’d always belonged here.
I tightened my hold, just slightly, afraid he might slip away if I didn’t. Tomorrow loomed, sharp and inevitable, but right now I let myself forget.
Right now, it was just us.
“Sleep,” I whispered.
Devon settled back against me, eyes closing, his breathing evening out. I held him, my chest aching with something I couldn’t name.