The Cat and The Bird Mend Bridges
DELILAH
I sigh, not able to focus on my Book of Shadows and the notes I’m making for the Beltane ritual. I haven’t been able to concentrate on anything all day.
Truthfully, I haven’t been able to focus since the fight.
Taurus has been gone for almost a week. Why hasn’t he called? Is he ever coming back? The uncertainty is killing me, and I don’t know what to do.
I refused to talk about it when I got home that night and since then, I’ve flat out ditched everyone. I made it clear I wanted no one from outside of our family in our house. Hell, I didn’t even take messages. I’m still pissed at Sari over the Zoo thing, Rhea’s being shunned, and I have no patience for anyone else.
He’s gone and I can’t seem to function.
This week I’ve tried to distract myself by reading, working on Beltane, updating my blog, organizing my closet… All I’ve managed to accomplish so far is brooding. One by one, the boys come up to check in, offering food and drinks and treats, but nothing has appealed to me. I haven’t been able to do anything but sit here, thinking about all of the losses I’ve suffered in the past six months.
I’m too emotional to even think about food, work, or sleep.
“Oi, woman.” Rafe peeps his head in and I try to smile for him.
“I can’t focus. Do you have days like that in your studio?”
He bobs his head, braid swinging at his waist as he does so. “I do, especially recently.”
The same night that I was getting my heart pulverized by Taurus, Rafe was destroying his own. He told Rhea and Alistair to get help or get lost. The constant lies and affronts to her mates in the name of bedding Taurus caught up to her. He gave them the boot, told the members of our house, added locks to our doors, cleaned out their things and shipped them, and locked himself in his studio.
He did it for both of us, but he’s taking the hit for it emotionally.
My primary is the only person I’ve spent any length of time with since Taurus left. Rafe begged to come up the next morning and I let him because I could feel the pain that was a twin to mine. My original mate sat here with me, explaining how he lost his temper and ended it when they showed up and tried to pretend nothing had happened.
I thought I’d be more upset about losing Alistair, but there were too many things that that clone allowed to happen despite it being hurtful. He may not have condoned Rhea’s behavior towards her mates, but he enabled it. I was surprised to find that the pain of Taurus’ betrayal hurt far worse.
We were ready to let them go, I think.
Studying my mate as he comes in and sits down in front of me, I notice that the loss has changed him. He’s taming his wild locks, keeping them bound in the sleek braid. Instead of skintight jeans and fashionable shirts, he’s donning track pants and cotton tanks. For days now, he’s locked himself in his studio, cutting himself off from the world just as I am. When he comes out—like now—he’s covered in paints, pastels, and charcoal. He’s walled himself off to deal with his pain, but here he is, checking on mine.
Rafe truly is the best of all of us.
“Usually, I start doing things like slinging paint — messy, unstructured things—that make me feel like I’m letting my emotions free so I can think again,” he says softly.
“I don’t think that’s going to help me.”
Taking my hand, he kisses my knuckles. “If not, my love, then you need to do what no one ever does for us: seek him out and force a conversation. Clear the bloody air. Don’t let the one thing that’s been making you happy amongst all this mess slip away out of fear or stubbornness.”
His smile is so heartbroken that my words catch in my throat before I can even speak. I can’t help but wonder who that pain is for: Rhea or Alistair. I have a guess and if I’m right, I understand. It’s hard to make a clean break with someone that didn’t actually commit the atrocities.
A dull, nauseating ache throbs inside me, but I don’t know if it’s from their loss, Taurus, or the shambles my life is in. Rafe is probably right about what I should do, but I don’t know if I can do it. “But…”
“No buts. You’ve been moping in this closet all week, but think about what you should have been doing. There are three member disputes that need negotiating—all of which are being raised because they sense weakness. That bloody bar opened and it's packed every day, despite the ongoing dispute with the owners and the council that still isn’t resolved. Tamara is trying her hardest to throw a party for Shea’s birthday month and having a hissy that no one wants to come because of the turmoil here. It’s a bloody mess here and you have to fix this problem with the bird. Our town needs you to lead and you are in no condition to do it. Lily cannot hold the fort down forever while you mope. Find him.”
I furrow my brows. “You’re not happy.”
“I don’t have to be. I’m not the de facto mayor of our little burg, am I? People aren’t testing my limits. They are testing you and they sure as shit are watching to see how you handle all of this.”
Closing my eyes, I nod. “I know. Pushing limits and boundaries comes from fear, too. Sari must be whipping up the froth because she’s pissed at Rhea and scared to death of the unknown that Taurus represents. It will only get worse if I can’t be open about what’s going on.”
“Exactly. So, pop off and fix it, my night bloom. Figure it out together.”
I lean in and drop a kiss on his jaw. “Only if you promise to stay out of the studio and be around the family. I don’t like you stewing alone.”
“If you insist.” Rolling to his feet, he winks and heads out, leaving the door open for me.
Hell. I guess I need to go find out how badly I’ve fucked things up.
Taurus isn’t here when I arrive, so I walk over to the bar. Fixing myself a drink, I toss it back and then pour another. It can’t hurt to have a little liquid courage. Looking down at the mini-fridge, I open it. I’ll be damned if it isn’t filled with snacks I like. I swear to Christ, he thinks of everything, even when he isn’t here. Swiping a container of freshly sliced fruit, I head over to the couch to wait.
Curling up, I try to focus on the right words and chants for Beltane. I brought my binder so that I could at least attempt to do something if he wasn’t here. Since this needs to be finished, I sip my vodka again, munching on a piece of kiwi as I scribble. I shiver a little, and I frown. Pausing for a moment, I scoot over to grab the blanket draped on the back of the couch and a scent tickles my nose.
He’s here.
I can feel him outside in the hallway. There’s a sweet scent mixed in with his usual aroma of expensive cologne and leather—fear. I don’t turn around, but I murmur, “Are you going to stand out there all night with the door hanging open?”
When he finally speaks, his voice is low and gravelly. “People think they’re in love because of how their loved ones make them feel. That’s not love—it’s selfishness because it’s all about you.”
A philosophical debate about love will not help us move past what happened last week.; I didn’t come here to be lectured.
“While I was gone, I thought about what I feel for you. I love how you make me feel when we’re together. That part might be selfish, but it’s not the only reason I love you. It’s not even the most important reason I love you. More than anything, I love you for who you are—your heart and your mind. I realized that your experiences are what have and will continue to shape who you are.”
Nodding slowly, I stay silent and sit my chin on my knees. I wasn’t the one who broke us—despite what my guilty conscience wants me to believe—so I need him to show me that he knows he was wrong.
“I’m a lesser person when the selfish bits pinch me. I’m less of a man.”
Setting all my trappings aside, I turn my head to the doorway. I hold a hand out, gesturing for him to come in. He steps in the room and gets close enough to touch my fingertips. I grasp at his fingers, pulling him closer bit by bit. He grips my hand tightly and I can feel the emotions swirling inside him.
“I’m sorry.”
I smile softly, squeezing his hand. He knows that he fucked up and he knows why. It’s more than I get from any of my other mates, so I can accept it. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” He slowly rounds the couch and joins me, wrapping his arms around me. “I forgot something during my whacked out tantrum last week.”
“What was that?” I ask curiously.
“My absolute best bloody moments are when I’m doing something that I think will make you happy. That has nothing to do with me at all. I’m complete when I’m with you, Deli.” He gives me a rueful grin. “Movie sound bite as that may be, I’m head over ass in love with you.”
Unable to think of anything except how wonderful it feels to be back in his arms, I give him a tender look. My voice is low when I respond. “I love you so very much, Taurus. I always want you to be honest with me, and you were. You went about it the wrong way, and you said hurtful things, but you apologized. So, we’re okay now.”
I should tell him that while he was gone, I struggled to function because he’s my solace from the crazy. I should also tell him how much it hurt for him to say he could deal with my past, then fling it in my face. I should let him know that with him gone, it felt like a third of me was missing and I ached with the loss. I don’t because I can’t deal with that right now.
I just want to sink into his arms and feel right for the first time since he left.
“I can’t promise that I’ll never feel that selfishness again, but I’ll be honest with you. I’ll deal with it differently, so I don’t hurt you.”
Stroking my fingers through his hair, I murmur, “No one is perfect. We’re all selfish sometimes.” I’ve had people treat me much worse for no reason, and never once did they apologize or regret their actions. I can give him a pass for being an ass because he got possessive this time.
“Are you still mine, heart of mine?”
“Always, baby.”
“Do you forgive me?” His expression is heartbreakingly unsure, and it makes my chest ache.
“I do.” How could I not when he’s clearly agonized over his transgression? I rest my forehead on his, soaking in the calm that is settling into my soul.
“I didn’t mean to worry you, kitty. I should have texted while I was gone, but I needed to do this in person.” He tilts his head to kiss my nose. “On a lighter note, I missed you like the air I breathe.”
“I missed you too. So much.”
“Want to sit on Daddy’s lap, little girl?” He smirks playfully and I scoot over to curl up on his lap as requested. He reaches for my hand, linking our fingers. Bringing them to his mouth, he nips my index finger before dropping his fangs to pierce it. Sucking gently on the single drop of blood that swells, he growls softly.
I blink, the tingling from that tiny draw making the beast stir inside. Taurus ignites the primal in me like no other, and even a small bite gets her going.
He chuckles. “I love that I get to do that whenever I want.” As if proving his words, he moves to my pinky and repeats the action, a small droplet of blood welling before he suckles tenderly.
Laughing softly, I ask, “What, snack on me?”
“Not exactly. I mean I get to be a part of you.”
“You’re a part of me all the time now, mate.”
“I know, baby, but I’ve led such a poor, sheltered life that sipping from you randomly is a new experience.” He makes a face like a poor little orphan and let me tell you, it works no better than the angelic one.
“Oh, poor you,” I chuckle, swatting his shoulder. Giving him a crooked grin, I say, “Honestly? I love when you get excited about little stuff. Things that most take for granted, you cherish. It’s endearing.”
Looking embarrassed, he shrugs. “I’m naive, huh?”
“You enjoy everything and it makes me feel special.” It took me a while to figure out why this reaction makes my heart squeeze. I haven’t felt that way in a long time—everyone else just assumes access to me is part and parcel.
“Look at that. You get prickly when someone picks on me, even when it’s me. That doesn’t bode well for you in public, beautiful.” He grins boyishly, looking pleased with himself, then frowns. “Wait. You are special.”
“Oh, yeah?” I huff, pretending to look peeved.
“Are you going to get stompy now?” He struggles not to look hopeful, and it’s a riot.
I cross my arms over my chest, my eyes narrowing.
“I love when you’re irritated. You turn an adorable shade of red,” he growls, his expression hungry,
“I do not!”
“I beg to differ, woman of mine.” His fingers trace over my jaw as if to highlight it and I fume.
“You’re only saying that to get me pissier so I’ll stomp.”
“Will it work?” he asks hopefully.
“No, it won’t.”
He looks crushed. “Well, hell.”
“Oh, fine. If it’ll make you happy.” I stand up and stomp around the room huffily before coming to stand in front of him. “Better?”
A cheerful grin splits his face. He looks up at me, his heart in his eyes. “You’re a kind woman, and I love you, my mate. ”
“Because I stomped for you? Man, you’re easy.”
“Only in part. If I tell you the rest, you really will get stompy on me.” His gaze falls on the table and he tilts his head when he sees the books and notebook. “Am I disturbing you? Were you working?”
“Not disturbing, no. I was planning the wretched Beltane thing that I told you about. It wasn’t late when I got here, but it is getting late now, so I’m tired.”
“Me too, baby. I’ve got a premature death scheduled early tomorrow. I was going to crash on the couch and let you work, but I’ll go. After the other day, I—I wanted to be near you, even if you weren’t here.”
“You can still do that; I wouldn’t mind.”
“Do you want to sleep here? With me?” He gives me another unsure look and it makes my heart thump.
“That might be nice, actually.” He looks pleased and squeezes me again. “Are we ready to clock out?”
Giving me a soft kiss, he nods. “Yes, love.” He strips down to his silk boxers, then he wraps his arms around me. Stretching us out on the couch so we’re curled close, he buries his face in my hair with a sigh.
I reach down, grab the blanket, and pull it onto us. “Night, my love.”
“Night, heart of mine.”
Yawning, I murmur, “I love you, baby.”
“I love you too, beautiful. Mine.”
With that, we both drift off to sleep.