Chapter 47
JULIET
My house is quiet without Roderick in it. Not that he’s a loud man. But his presence fills the space, negating this echoing emptiness.
The first noise is my own sob wrenching from my chest.
I hurt him. Damn it to the gods, I know I did.
But mating?
Even the thought makes me want to retch.
I can still remember the first time I heard the word in the context that Roderick meant it.
I was lying in bed with Cory in our new house, thinking how excited I was to make the space into a home. It had been so long since I’d felt like I had a home.
“Next month will be a good time to get mated. The weather will be warmer, so I don’t have to freeze my balls off during the ceremony.”
“Mated? What do you mean?”
Then Cory proceeded to explain how mating was like a werewolf marriage, but more permanent. At first, I felt a warm flutter in my chest, flattered that this handsome man wanted to mate me.
But the idea of forever sparked discomfort. I loved Cory, but I was only just settling in, working an entry-level job at the Bear Valley library. Committing to moving in together had been stressful enough, and a house I could always leave. But mystical werewolf marriage?
“That sounds amazing, but can we hold off a little while longer? I feel like so much is happening so fast. I just want to take the time to enjoy the moment.”
Cory didn’t like my answer.
He shoved out of the bed, muttering curses and claiming I was leading him on. Using him. Then he left the house, and I curled up under the sheets, feeling raw and broken.
The next day, he came back and was his sweet, loving self again.
And so the cycle started. Cory would bring up the idea of mating, I would say I wasn’t ready, and he would explode. His explosions took different forms. Sometimes, it was yelling, sometimes grabbing and shaking. Most often, it was guilting and insults.
My ex did his best to break me down.
But it was my last bit of control. The piece of me I held on to for years.
And it was hard. There were so many times I almost convinced myself that this was the one and only thing upsetting Cory.
That if I agreed, if I just said yes, then he would remain the charming, caring man I’d first fallen for.
That he would never have a dark moment again.
There were days when I convinced myself that I was the problem.
Still, I never gave in.
And over time, it clarified that, while my refusing to mate him was his biggest set-off, there were plenty of other things he was happy to pick at me for.
But even with the realizations I’d stumbled onto over the years, for the longest time, I couldn’t fathom leaving him.
The good moments were really good. But more than that, I was sure, if I ever tried running, he would hunt me.
He would find me. And the pain and humiliation I’d known would be nothing compared to what he’d do then.
The abuse wasn’t what drove me to act.
It was condoms.
Three condoms had broken. Cory made excuses, claiming that our lovemaking was simply getting more passionate.
But after the third, I’d realized the truth.
He was tampering with the contraceptives. Cory was trying to get me pregnant. Because if he couldn’t tie me to him with a mating bond, then a kid would probably do it.
And that caused an avalanche of fearful images of my future. Mine and this phantom child’s that I luckily wasn’t going to get knocked up with when I had my birth control implant in my arm. But the implant would run out of juice eventually, and then what?
Even if Cory was the most wonderful man in the world, I still felt young and vulnerable and not in any way ready to be a mom.
And Cory wasn’t that man. Not only would a child create an unbreakable tie between us, but it would also place an innocent life in the same house as a supernatural being with no interest in controlling his rages.
That fear was finally enough of a push to set off my planned escape.
But even though I got out, the damage is done. Even the word mating twists my stomach. I hear it, and I think of the way Cory would whisper harsh accusations or yell cutting insults. The subject of mating meant I would be wearing long-sleeved shirts the next day to cover bruises.
Roderick didn’t scream at me. He didn’t grab me.
But I could see he was angry.
And, gods, the way he said it.
“When we mate—”
As if it was decided. As if I had no choice in the matter.
I want to scream again. I want to sob.
My house’s silence starts to hurt my ears. I need noise, something, even if it’s just the hoot of an owl or the squeak of bats flying overhead.
I shove out the back door, and the cold night air stabs at my exposed skin and even finds a way to pierce the fibers of my sweatshirt. Shivers rattle through my body as I wrap my arms around myself. For warmth. For support.
I feel broken.
A light tickles the edge of my vision, and down the way, I realize there’s a glow from the kitchen window at my neighbor’s house. The warmth of it calls to me, and I find myself stepping over my crumbling back fence and jogging through the grassy expanse separating our houses.
Reaching her front door, I knock, knuckles hitting the door hard enough to hurt my pathetic human skin.
I hold my hands to my lips, pressing them hard as the sobs threaten to return. My throat aches from holding them back.
Then the door opens.
When I see Hester, words fail me.
Why did I run over here?
These are my problems. I doubt my neighbor really cares.
In a voice colder than the Colorado winter, she asks, “Who hurt you?”
“I—” The word cuts off on a sob.
I hurt me, I meant to say. I did this.
“Come inside. Now.” She’s no-nonsense, a surprisingly strong grip wrapping around my upper arm.
She leads me into a sitting room decked out like a parlor from some period film. Like I stepped into Downton Abbey. The scene is taken a step further when she returns a minute later with tea.
“Drink this entire cup, then tell me who hurt you so I know which weapon to prepare.”
I snort out a watery chuckle, but when I meet her eyes, my neighbor looks entirely serious.
And her intensity comforts me.
The tea tastes of a strange mixture of spices I can’t parse apart, but the final note has some sort of heat to it. Like cayenne. The burn helps clear some of the thickness in my sinuses.
Hester’s eyes pierce mine. “Tell me,” she commands.
And I do. Starting with my feelings at the diner and finishing with the memories of my ex. I leave out the names and places from my past, but I give her enough so she understands not only what happened, but the horrible tangle of thoughts I can’t seem to pull from my mind.
When I’m done, my face feels swollen and tight from crying. My body feels empty.
But there’s also a small sense of relief. Comfort that I could speak these words aloud, and now someone else knows.
Hester let me talk without interruption, and now she studies me, her fathomless eyes seeming to pick apart every piece of me.
“Your past has shown you darkness the wolves can possess. Though not too different from humans, I’d argue.
” She sips her own tea before setting it on a saucer with a delicate clink.
“There are plenty of good men in this world. Plenty in this town. Some are even wolves. But being good does not mean he has the right to your body, your mind, or your heart.”
A good man does not have the right …
Not really a sentiment women are taught. And that’s why hearing Hester speak the words means so much to me. To know that she won’t tell me to mate with Roderick just because he’s kinder than my ex.
But even though the Pine Falls pack leader doesn’t automatically have the right to every piece of me, there’s a part of me that doesn’t mind giving him access. As long as he asks my permission.
After a pause, I answer, “Can’t I let Roderick have those things without being my mate?”
“Temporarily?”
Again, I allow myself a moment to think. Then I shake my head. “Maybe forever.”
Hester steeples her fingers. “Well, that’s what mating is. Did you think it was something else?”
Defensiveness tightens my shoulders. “There’s a difference between having and controlling. I can’t let someone else control me. Never again.”
Her lips tighten, and her shadow, thrown over the wall by the lamp on the table, seems to darken and lengthen.
But that can’t be right. I’m tired, and my mind is playing tricks.
“Give me a name.” My neighbor uses a coaxing whisper. “Tell me who hurt you.”
And I almost do.
But what would she do with it? Pass it off to Roderick for some werewolf revenge? Not going to happen.
“Who they are doesn’t matter anymore.” At least, it doesn’t matter as long as no one knows. “The problem is that I can’t get what they did to me out of my head.”
Hester leans back in her chair, reaching for her tea again. “You, of course, are aware that I am not a nice person?”
A small hint of a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. “Of course.”
She nods. “So then, you know, whatever I say to you is not in pursuit of placating a fragile male ego.”
“Sure.”
“Your best course of action, while it will likely cause a great deal of immediate discomfort, is to speak to your wolf.”
I open my mouth, but she waves me silent.
“You do not need to mate him. Obviously. I would advise thinking long and hard about the idea before ever agreeing to such a thing. However, you seem fond of the man, and from the state you’re in, I would hazard that hurting him hurts you.”
At this, I can’t help nodding.
“Tell him what mating means to you,” she says.
“What your past has taught you regarding the definition of the word. Offer him a chance to rewrite that definition. If you do not like his answer, maintain your ground. You say you want control of your life? You have it. Use it to make yourself as fulfilled as possible.” Her stare captures mine, unyielding.
“But if you are not honest with your wolf, he may not be yours for much longer.”
The warning sits between us, dragging away the slight comfort I began to gather in her presence.
But Hester is honest, and I can’t fault her for that.
When I denied Cory’s demand to mate, he made it his mission to wear me down, whittle away at my resolve until I submitted.
Roderick is not that kind of man. He’s the type to listen to the word no, and if I say it loud enough, he’ll leave me be.
But, gods, does that idea sting. My resolution not to mate doesn’t arise from some urge to be alone. To live my life solo. That’s not how I feel at all.
What I want so badly is to belong somewhere. To build myself a family, even if the members aren’t related by blood.
After my grandmother suffered a stroke that took her from us, my grandfather, who loved his wife more than anything else in the world, wasted away fast. He died not long after. Three days after my college graduation.
I think he held on for that.
And the only family I’d ever had was gone. Ever since the day I got the call about my grandfather, I’ve felt a dizzy anxiousness in the back of my brain. I’m a rowboat whose knot came untied from the dock. There’s nothing claiming me, keeping me steady.
And that’s what I want so badly. To find a new dock. A new home. A new family.
But I’ve learned my lesson, not to just grab on to the first thing that seems steady.
I want ties, not shackles.