Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Iwake with a jolt, pain just beginning to rear its ugly head as the van comes to a stop. How long was the drive? I fell asleep, which wasn’t planned. It must be the medication.
I thought being surrounded by shifters would make it hard to relax, but Caleb’s presence has the opposite effect. It’s calming, soothing my mind in a way I didn’t think was possible.
I push myself into a sitting position as Caleb kills the engine. He’s pulling open the back door a heartbeat later.
“Let me help you,” he says, once again lifting me into his arms. My heart flutters.
I’m sick of being carried, annoyed with my body’s reaction to his proximity, but it’s only temporary. Caleb can’t possibly carry me around forever. I’m sure he’ll stop as I begin to heal. He has to.
I flinch as he tucks me up against his chest.
“Are you in pain?” he asks.
“A little.”
“I’ll give you more medication once we get inside.” He jerks his head to the side. I follow his gaze. Holy fuck.
I didn’t have a good view out of the van window, leaving our surroundings a mystery.
The house we’ve pulled up to is positively stunning.
It’s secluded, the house nestled within a massive clearing surrounded by dense forest. The driveway we stand on is long and winding, eventually disappearing into a set of trees.
I imagine the main road is just beyond them.
I turn back to the house.
Floor-to-ceiling windows span the entire exterior, the glass reflecting an image of the clearing and surrounding woods. There’s a decently sized front porch, complete with a cozy sitting area.
“Is this your house?” I whisper.
“Ours.” Caleb chews on his bottom lip. “It’s our house.”
He carries me across the porch and pushes open the front door.
It takes several long moments to absorb the sight before me. I’ve spent a long time thinking about what Alpha Knox’s house would look like. My suspicions have ranged from a dilapidated cabin to a high-tech loft—and everything in between. Or, at least, I thought I’d considered everything in between.
Caleb’s home is exactly that… a home. The place is neat and spacious, but it’s cozy.
A small foyer opens up into the living room.
A giant, deep-gray sectional fills the space, the furniture large enough to comfortably fit several people.
It’s covered in pillows, and there’s a throw blanket crumpled up in one corner.
Does Caleb curl up underneath it? It’s an impossible image to conjure.
A wooden coffee table sits in the center, the surface cluttered with paperback books, two candles, and a decorative bowl. Behind the couch are more windows. Sheer beige curtains are pulled open to reveal the side and back yard. There’s nothing but grass and trees.
We’re truly secluded.
Along the side wall are shelves filled with more books, pottery, and plants. Framed art fills the rest of the wall. It’s curated.
I chew on my bottom lip. “Do you live with a woman?”
My question is met with a short, booming laugh. Caleb shakes his head. “No, but I did ask the females in the pack to help me decorate shortly after moving in. You’re welcome to change anything you don’t like.”
I point to the flowers on the coffee table. They can’t be more than a week old.
Caleb shrugs. “I like flowers.” He shoots me a sly, almost teasing look. “That’s not a crime, Evelyn.” A moment of silence, then a quiet, “Do you like it?”
“Yes. It’s beautiful.” It’s the truth.
Caleb sucks his cheeks into his mouth, his gaze darting to the ground. Is he blushing?
“I asked the females to decorate for my mate, for you,” he admits. “I spent a lot of time reviewing styles until one felt right. The pack teased me about it for weeks, but I think the place turned out well.”
Oh, fuck me.
Is Caleb a nice guy?
He’s proven to be a monster to humans, but is he kind to his people? It doesn’t matter. This bond is killing me. It’s making me question things I shouldn’t be questioning. I don’t care if Caleb treats his people well. The shifters are the least of my concerns.
Caleb turns, beginning to carry me up a set of stairs on the right. He pauses as we reach the top landing.
“I’m bringing you to my room,” he says. “There’s a spare room, but I’d rather you be in mine. It’s more comfortable. I’ll sleep in the spare until you’re ready to share.”
I’d rather die than share a bed with Caleb, but a woman who was abducted would probably be terrified to sleep alone. She would want her big, strong mate by her side.
“Can you…” I start, curling my fingers into the fabric of his shirt. “You don’t have to stay in the spare room.”
Caleb hesitates. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
His chest seems to vibrate underneath my hand, and a low, barely audible purr pours from his throat. Shifters fucking purr, too? I wasn’t warned about this, so I assume HPAW doesn’t know.
“You purr?” I ask.
The noise stops. “We prefer to call it a murmur. It’s a sound that shifters make when happy. Content. We don’t have much control over it.”
“Is it intimate?”
It feels so.
Caleb chews on his bottom lip. “Yes. It’s typically only made around family, specifically mates and young children.”
Maybe I won’t tell HPAW about it. The information doesn’t benefit them.
Caleb walks forward, carrying me into the first bedroom on the left. It’s as cozy as his living room, maybe even more so. A large bed takes up the center of the room, the olive-green comforter standing out against the crisp, white sheets and pillows.
Above the headboard are several paintings in thick, wooden frames, all portraying varying landscapes. Did the women of his pack decorate this room, too? I assume so.
The thought sends a pang of annoyance down my spine.
I push it away as Caleb carries me to the bed, setting me carefully down in the center. I don’t think he’s intending to seduce me tonight, but I’m still acutely aware that this is where he sleeps. If we were to have sex, this is where we would do it.
The sheets smell like him. It’s pleasant, so very pleasant, and I suspect I only notice it because of the mate bond. It’s woodsy, reminiscent of the sandalwood candles my mother used to own.
Caleb doesn’t say anything about how I continue to cling to him, my fist curled tightly around the fabric of his shirt. I release him the moment I notice, my cheeks flushing. Pretending to be enamored by him is going to be easier than I thought. It’s coming naturally.
“Stay here,” he orders. “I’ll be right back.”
He’s gone a moment later, retreating from the room.
I relax into the sheets the second I’m alone, my tense muscles truly softening for the first time in hours. My exhaustion is bone deep, and I need rest.
I can’t do my job injured. HPAW knows this. They had to injure me to make my story of abduction and torture believable, but they went too far. There was no reason to so badly bruise my ribs or sprain my wrist. That wasn’t discussed.
My anger mounts, and I force myself to take a deep, calming breath. I can be angry later.
I look around Caleb’s room. I intend to go through his things, but not today. It’s too soon, and the risk of getting caught is too high.
My hand shakes as I run my fingers through my hair, loosening one of the tangled knots, and I stare up at the ceiling before turning and peering into the ensuite bathroom. The door has been left open, but I can’t see much more than the sink from this angle.
Ten minutes pass before I start to feel impatient. Where is Caleb? My pain medication is wearing off, and this endless waiting is a form of torture all on its own.
I rise into a sitting position, wincing as I adjust so that my back is pushed up against the headboard. I’m still in my hospital gown, and it’s uncomfortable. Everything is uncomfortable.
I trace my collarbone, flinching when my fingers graze the swollen skin surrounding the break. There isn’t much to be done about it. Doctor Greg said the bone is relatively useless, and while he can reset it, it’s a lot of work for something that won’t have much of an effect on my life.
It’s going to heal like this—a permanent reminder of my time here.
The floor outside the bedroom door creaks, and I drop my hands back into my lap as Caleb steps into the room. He’s holding a tray. On it is a bowl I can’t see inside, a glass of water, and my bottle of pills. Whatever is in the bowl smells so fucking good.
“Sorry for the delay,” he says. “I thought you might be hungry.”
All I can manage is a jerky nod. I’m starving, have been for weeks.
Caleb climbs onto the bed. I stare into the bowl. Potato soup.
I could cry. I’m so sick of potatoes. I never want to look at one again, and I bite my tongue as Caleb settles beside me.
“Greg said to start you off with something light,” he says. Can he see my disappointment? “I don’t want to upset your stomach.”
The bottle of pills is sitting on the edge of the tray, the cap removed, and I grab it the second it’s within reach. Caleb busies himself getting the tray situated on my lap, overly cautious not to spill any of the soup.
I can feel his calculated gaze on me, though, as I dump two pills into my palm and throw them back with a large gulp of water. Is he monitoring my intake? Probably. Doctor Greg gave explicit dosage instructions, and Caleb was hanging on to his every word.
Caleb takes the bottle from me and replaces the cap, and I shift my attention to the soup. Fucking potatoes. The world is out to get me. Still, I don’t voice my complaint as I grab the spoon. My good arm is in a cast, rendering it useless, so I use my left to eat.
I don’t even need this cast. Doctor Greg chose not to argue with Caleb, but I could tell by his expression that he felt the cast was overkill.
“Do you need help?” Caleb eventually asks.
I shake my head. “No.” My answer is curt, so I make my following words softer. “Thank you.”
Caleb falls silent. The only sounds are my spoon clanking against the bowl and my slurping. It’s uncomfortable. I don’t like people watching me eat.
Caleb eventually touches my kneecap, tracing the old scar that travels across it. “What happened here?”
I frown, trying to remember. It’s an old injury, from before HPAW found me.
“A trampoline accident,” I finally say. “I was doing flips, and I accidentally launched myself into a tree.”
Caleb clears his throat. “Launched yourself?”
“Unfortunately.” I use my hands to imitate myself flying through the air. “It wasn’t a fun time.”
Caleb snorts, his lips curling. A deep laugh bubbles up out of his mouth a second later. The noise is loud and shocking, and I stare dumbfounded when his eyes light up as if I’ve just told the funniest joke.
I should compliment him. It’s an easy way to earn his affection.
“You’re beautiful,” I say.
Caleb quiets, his smile softening.
“You said your title was decided when you were born and your wolf showed his dominance,” I say, bringing up our earlier conversation. This is valuable information. “How did your wolf show his dominance? Is there a test?”
Caleb gestures for me to continue eating. “No test. It’s something we sense in one another. It’s instinctual.”
I continue to pry. “When did you take over? Are your parents alive?” I can’t believe he’s sharing this information with me. It’s too easy. It feels almost wrong.
Caleb’s gaze darts to my soup. I shove a soft potato into my mouth.
“I stepped into the position when my parents passed away. I was seventeen.”
I hum. “What if somebody stronger than you comes along?”
“Then I’ll no longer be the alpha.” Caleb says it like it’s the simplest thing on the planet. I don’t believe it.
“You would just hand over your title…” I snap my fingers. “Just like that?”
Caleb nods. “I wouldn’t have a choice. Wolves submit to those who are more dominant than them. It’s biology. There’s no controlling it.”
I suck my cheeks into my mouth, debating what to ask next. I don’t want to push my luck and make Caleb suspicious, but it’s hard not to pry when he’s being this open.
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask.
“You’re my mate.” He shrugs, like that answers everything. “Finish eating, and I’ll help you wash up. You’re covered in blood, and you smell like Logan and Greg.”
Help me? The mental image of Caleb helping me bathe excites me more than I care to admit. I shove the emotion aside. I’m getting good at doing so.
I gave myself a rough cleaning at the hospital, but I still feel disgusting. I need a real shower, or bath, with soap and shampoo. I’m excited for that—not Caleb’s help. That’s what I’m telling myself.