Chapter 24 Calder
Calder
It’s been two weeks since the branding, and still, I check on Saint every morning before dawn breaks.
Not because I need to, her wound is healing well.
It’s pink and tender but no longer the angry red that kept me awake those first couple of nights, with fear that she might stop breathing or wake up in pain.
I had developed this uncanny need to watch the steady rise and fall of her chest. It was as if that was the only proof I had that she had survived what my family did to her. What I allowed to happen.
The house is quiet this morning, just the soft sounds of her breathing and the wind testing the windowpanes. Outside, the mountains rise dark against the predawn sky, silent witnesses to everything that’s happened in this valley. To everything still to come.
I slip out of bed, careful not to wake her. She needs the rest, needs every moment of peace she can steal before reality crashes back in. Before what Roman has planned. And what I have planned.
The thought of it makes something twist in my gut, sharp and painful.
The full moon is in a few days. Roman’s been patient, for him, but his patience has limits.
I’ve been playing for time since the branding, using Saint’s recovery as an excuse to postpone what Roman calls the “consummation ceremony.” The thought of it makes rage rise up to choke me.
I know what my father expects. What the family tradition demands.
I stand at the window and watch the first light touch the mountains.
My wife sleeps in our bed, marked forever as Bishop property, and in a few days, Roman expects me to claim her publicly, with the family watching.
A final violation that will break something in her I’m not sure can be repaired.
There’s only so much I’m willing to ask her to endure, only so much I can bear.
I quietly pull on my clothes and boots. There’s ranch work to do, fence lines to check, cattle to move. Work to keep my hands busy while my mind tries to find a way out of this trap I’ve built around us both.
“You’re leaving?” Saint’s voice is still rough with sleep.
I turn, and she’s watching me with those deep, dark eyes. She’s wearing one of my shirts, collar wide enough to slip off her shoulder, revealing a stretch of skin I want to mark with my teeth.
“Just for a few hours. Need to check the upper pasture. How do you feel?”
“Better.” She sits up, the movement more fluid than it was a few days ago when every shift brought a wince of pain. “The ache’s still there, but it’s duller now. Manageable.”
“Good.” I move to the side of the bed and brush her hair back from her face. “Keep taking the antibiotics. I’ll change the dressing when I get back.”
She catches my wrist, her fingers small against my skin. “Something’s wrong. What’s going on?”
That’s the thing about Saint, she notices everything, reads the tension in my shoulders, the tightness around my eyes.
“Roman wants to see me this morning.” I don’t sugarcoat it. She deserves the truth, even if it’s ugly. “About the ceremony.”
Her breath catches. Fingers tighten on my wrist. “Do you know what he wants?”
“No, and I fucking hate it.”
“It’s soon, isn’t it?”
“A few days, but I’m going to try to buy us some more time. I need more time.”
She nods like she was expecting that answer, her face controlled but I can see the fear rippling beneath the surface. “You’re going to stop it if you can, right? You said—”
“Right now I’m trying to buy us some more time,” I emphasize.
“There’s only so much time, Calder.” She says it matter-of-factly, like she’s less concerned than I know she actually is, hell than I am myself, but I see the slight tremble in her hands and the way her throat works as she swallows.
It hits me that she doesn’t trust me, not completely, and I can’t blame her. I allowed her to face the horror of that ceremony when I knew it was wrong. I allowed my father to mark her. And I can’t take it back.
“Don’t worry about this right now. Let me try to find a solution.”
I lean down and press my lips to her forehead. “I’ll be back by noon. Stay inside. Rest.”
“Calder.” She catches my hand as I turn to leave. “Be careful. I don’t know what you’re planning, but I can see something there in your face. You can share it with me, you know? And I think I have a right to know what I’m facing, one way or the other.”
I swallow a sharp retort. She’s been hot and cold since everything happened, and now she wants me to be careful? Demands more answers when I’m not ready to give them. I sigh and nod.
“I will. There’s nothing to suspect on his front yet.” I’m not ready to drag her into this, and even if I do end up having to use her help, I don’t want to put her in any deeper than necessary.
The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but I say it anyway because it’s what she needs to hear. Because the truth is worse: Roman already suspects. He’s just waiting for me to confirm it.
The drive to the main house doesn’t take long, down the winding dirt road that cuts through Bishop land. The morning light spills over the mountains, painting everything in shades of gold and amber, making the land look softer than it is. More forgiving than it’s ever been.
Roman’s truck is parked near the house, along with Sawyer’s SUV and Kade’s mud-splattered pickup. A family meeting, then. Not just about the ceremony. Something else. None of my brothers texted me to warn me. That doesn’t bode well.
I park and head inside, boots heavy on the wooden porch. The screen door slams behind me, announcing my arrival before I can make it to the dining room, where I can already hear voices. It’s his favorite place to stamp his boot on our necks.
The talking stops as soon as I walk in. Roman sits at the head of the table, coffee mug in hand, watching me like a wolf staring down a pack of deer.
Kade and Sawyer flank him at the table, and Levi leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Elena isn’t here—no surprise.
She never attends these family meetings unless specifically ordered to.
“You’re late,” Roman says, voice clipped.
I check my watch. “I’m right on time.”
“Not according to my message.” Roman sets down his mug with a sharp click against the wood. “I said seven. It’s seven fifteen.”
Petty power plays are his specialty. I don’t rise to the bait, just pull out a chair and sit. “What’s this about?”
“The full moon ceremony. It’s on Friday.”
“Saint’s still healing.”
Roman’s eyes narrow. “It’s been two weeks. The brand is just a brand. Women have endured worse and still spread their legs when told.”
I feel the muscle in my jaw jump. Force myself to keep my expression neutral. “She’s been on antibiotics. Running a fever. The last thing we need is an infection setting in because we rushed this.”
“Rushed?” Roman laughs, the sound like gravel. “You’ve had her for weeks now. You telling me you haven’t fucked her yet? Because if that’s the case, I’m starting to think you don’t have what it takes to be a real Bishop man.”
“What I do with my wife in private isn’t family business. And besides, the fucking is supposed to be at the ceremony. I remember that much.”
“Everything in this family is family business.” Roman’s voice drops to that dangerous register that I know too well. The one that means he’s losing patience. “The ceremony happens Friday. Full moon. All the brothers present. That’s tradition, and tradition is what keeps this family strong.”
I think of Saint, of how hard she’s fought to survive everything we’ve thrown at her. Of how this might be the thing that finally breaks her. “I’m asking for more time.”
“And I’m denying that request.” Roman stands, towering over the table, hands planted on the wood. “Next Friday. Main barn. Ten o’clock. You’ll claim your wife properly, with your family as witnesses, or I’ll start to think this marriage isn’t what you say it is.”
There it is. The threat, barely veiled. If Roman thinks the marriage is a sham, if he suspects I married Saint to protect her rather than to own her, we’re both dead. Betrayal isn’t tolerated in the Bishop family. One fucking week.
“She’ll be there.” I keep my voice level, eyes locked with his. “We’ll be there.”
“Good.” Roman sits back down, satisfied. “Because I’m starting to wonder where your loyalties lie, son. You’ve been different since you brought that girl into our family. Distracted. Soft.”
“Nothing soft about me.” I stand, not wanting to spend one more second in this room with him. “Anything else, or are we done here?”
“We’re done when I say we’re done.” Roman reaches for his coffee. “Wayne’s causing problems. Says you told him Saint was dead. Says he’s wondering what else you might have lied about.”
My stomach tightens. I knew Wayne would be an issue eventually. Loose ends always are. “Since when is Wayne allowed to question a Bishop? I told everyone she was dead. He’s not special. He needs to keep his mouth shut since I paid the price for that lie. I’ll take care of it.”
“See that you do. Before Friday.” Roman’s eyes are cold, calculating. A smile crosses his lips. He does love when he sees himself in me. “Can’t have any distractions, anything going around town that we are divided or, worse, weak.”
I nod once and turn to leave, feeling the weight of four pairs of eyes on my back. I don’t turn around. Don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing the anger on my face.
Just push through the door and head for my truck, mind already racing through scenarios, contingency plans, ways to get us both out of this alive. Of course he doesn’t consider how he almost broke my ribs punishment enough.
I’ve barely made it halfway to the truck when I hear footsteps behind me. Levi is jogging to catch up.
“Hold up,” he calls, and I pause, waiting for him to reach me. He looks troubled, eyes darting back toward the house to make sure no one has followed him out. “We need to talk.”