Chapter 23
Chapter
Twenty-Three
JESSE
Iled Caleb to the salon.
He cast an assessing look around the room as he settled on one of the sofas. “This is a lot more modern than the rest of the house.”
“I renovated it when I first bought the place,” I said, taking the chair angled toward him. “I don’t spend much time here.”
“Too busy hunting rogues?” he asked, blue eyes steady.
The barb landed exactly as he’d intended, and I drew a deep breath. “I deserved that. But as I’ve already told you, I didn’t choose to become what I am.”
He swept his eyes over the bright walls and heavy ceiling beams before giving me another pointed look. “Is this Philippe’s house?”
“No.” Just the thought of it tightened my chest. “I can’t return to any of his properties without attracting attention.
” I ran a hand through my hair, buying myself time.
Upstairs, I’d vowed to speak only the truth, and I’d meant it.
But sitting across from him with my whole ugly history weighing me down, I wasn’t sure where to begin.
“Everything I told you about my origins is true,” I said finally.
“Philippe was my sire. He found me dying on a battlefield in France, and he turned me to save my life. He wasn’t supposed to.
Siring new wolves requires permission from the Council of Elders.
But Philippe had always operated by his own rules, and the Council wanted wolfseekers badly enough to let him. ”
Caleb listened, his forearms on his thighs and his hands loose between his knees. Afternoon sunlight turned him even more golden than usual. Every part of me ached to touch him.
“Wolfseekers are rare,” I continued. “We track rogues. We help new werewolves learn control. We help old wolves get it back. There are only four of us left in the world right now.”
Surprise flared in Caleb’s eyes, but he didn’t speak.
“We were all turned by Philippe,” I added.
Caleb sat up. “All of you?”
“Yes.” It was a story I could go the rest of my life without repeating. But I owed it to Caleb to tell him the truth.
“Paris was an exciting place after the war,” I said. “The city was alive, and people were rebuilding. Philippe had saved my life. He took care of me. I thought I was in love with him.”
Caleb’s expression didn’t change. He stayed steady and quiet, waiting for me to continue.
“He taught me how to control my wolf,” I said.
“He helped me understand that wanting another man wasn’t wrong or something to be ashamed of.
In the winter of our fifth year together, I got word that my grandfather was dying in Amsterdam.
My parents had already passed, and this was my last chance to see a family member.
Philippe didn’t like leaving France, so he stayed behind. ”
Memories rose. In my mind, lamplight glinted off wet cobblestones.
“I’d just left my grandfather’s bedside,” I said.
“I was walking toward my hotel when I felt a pull like a hook in my chest. It was another wolfseeker, but it wasn’t Philippe.
I’d never felt anything like it before. I rounded a corner and walked straight into a man who looked almost exactly like me. ”
Caleb leaned forward again, a frown creasing his brow.
“He introduced himself as Emile Laval,” I said, more memories swirling. “He looked me up and down, then laughed and said he didn’t realize Philippe had a new boy.”
Caleb’s frown deepened.
I knew my smile was tight and humorless. “I asked Emile to explain, and he gave me this look of such…pity. Like the whole world was enjoying some inside joke, and I was the only person left out. Which wasn’t too far from the truth.”
“Did he explain?” Caleb asked softly.
The briny smell of canal water drifted through my memory, and I could almost hear the rumble of old motor cars. I blinked and focused on Caleb.
“Yes,” I said. “He told me that Philippe was his sire. That Philippe had found him dying of cholera in Paris and turned him a century before me. The Council had tasked Philippe with creating wolfseekers, but he did it on his own terms. He only turned men, and they were always on the verge of death. Every wolf he sired had a certain look. Dark hair. Brown eyes. Six-foot-three or something close to it.” I gestured at my own face. “You get the idea.”
“Why?” Caleb rasped.
“His mate was killed, and it broke something in him that never healed. About a year after his mate’s death, he met a human fortune teller who claimed they’d find each other again, so Philippe spent centuries searching.”
Caleb straightened. “Like reincarnation?”
I nodded. For a second, it was like I stood in that Amsterdam alley, cold air sliding under my collar while a man with my face demolished my whole world.
Caleb looked too stunned to speak. Then he lowered his voice. “Did you believe him? Emile, I mean?”
“I didn’t want to,” I said. “But I had to know. So I went back to France and confronted Philippe. When I said Emile’s name, his face gave him away before he’d said a word.
He was skilled at hiding his emotions, but I knew his tells by then.
Once I’d cornered him, he told me everything.
Emile was the last man he’d turned before me, but there were half a dozen others.
The Council didn’t care that Philippe chose men with specific looks.
As long as he delivered what they needed, they weren’t inclined to ask questions. ”
Caleb exhaled slowly. I could see him working through things in his mind, trying to decide which question he wanted to ask first. “Did you know about Philippe’s mate before you met Emile?”
“No.” I looked at the hearth, more memories trying to rise. “His name was Marcus Verus Dorsuo. He was over fifteen hundred years old when he sired Philippe. They were mated for eighty years before Marcus was killed.”
“How did Marcus die?” Caleb asked.
I turned back to him. “He was traveling through the Cévennes during the War of the Camisards.”
Caleb gave me a blank look.
“Catholics and Protestants were fighting each other in the mountains,” I said.
“Marcus was passing through during a time of constant skirmishes. Someone saw him shift. This was in 1706, when having a funny-looking mole could rouse suspicion. They accused him of witchcraft and dragged him to the nearest church. Marcus was extremely powerful, but there were too many humans with weapons for him to fight. They burned him at the stake.”
“Jesus,” Caleb said.
“Philippe felt his death the moment it happened. That’s how it works with mates.”
Caleb’s gaze didn’t waver, but something knowing moved through his eyes.
“Philippe retraced Marcus’s steps,” I continued. “He found the church and burned it to the ground, making sure all records of Marcus were destroyed. Then he hunted down every human who’d had a hand in Marcus’s death and killed them. He did it to keep our secrets, and also for revenge.”
Caleb fell silent again, doing more of that quick cataloging that had made him such a good football player. “Why would someone like Philippe believe a fortune teller?” he asked after a moment.
“I’ve wondered about that,” I said. “The werewolf mate bond is a lot like human marriage. It can run a whole spectrum of devotion. Some pairs are together because they crave companionship. Others can’t live without each other.
Philippe and Marcus were the second kind.
When Marcus died, Philippe was desperate, and he latched onto something that gave him hope.
According to Emile, Philippe spent the first year after Marcus’s death searching for any sign of Marcus’s soul.
Then the fortune teller came along and convinced him that Marcus would return in another body with the same dark hair, same height, and same brown eyes.
So for the next two centuries, Philippe turned men who looked like Marcus, hoping to find him. ”
“And every one of those men became wolfseekers?” Caleb asked.
“Not all of them. In some cases, the lycanthropy virus didn’t take, and they died. Other times, they failed to master their beast. When a wolf survived, Philippe trained him and then cut him loose.”
Caleb was quiet for a moment. “The paintings upstairs,” he said. “The ones that looked like you. They were his other wolfseekers?”
“Two of them, yes.”
“Why do you keep them?”
I’d thought about that more than once over the years. “Philippe created them the same way he created me,” I said. “They didn’t choose what they became, and they died serving a cause they didn’t sign up for. Someone should remember them.”
Caleb held my stare. Then he opened his mouth. Closed it. “You and Philippe were together,” he said finally. “You slept with him.”
I let a small smile touch my lips. “You don’t have to love someone to have sex with them.”
“But you thought you loved him.”
As usual, Caleb was perceptive enough to cut through everything I hadn’t said and find the thing I’d been avoiding. I’d fallen for Philippe. He hadn’t returned my feelings, but he’d been experienced enough to recognize my infatuation and the imbalance it brought to our relationship.
“Philippe didn’t love me,” I said, and it was a hell of a lot easier to say now than it had been at twenty-six years old.
“But I was a convenient stand-in for what he really wanted. He was dominant in every sense of the word, and the men he turned served him completely. I understood that eventually. At the time, I was too young and grateful to see it clearly. He created me because he was still searching for Marcus, and he intended to use me until he found another dying man with dark hair and brown eyes.”
Caleb didn’t change position, but he was suddenly very alert. “Did he hurt you?”
“Not like you’re thinking,” I said. “He wanted me to be something I wasn’t both in and out of bed.
I tried to be what he needed, but I couldn’t give him what he was really looking for.
I wasn’t Marcus, and I couldn’t kneel for him the way he needed me to.
And I was too naive to understand why it never felt right.
I thought submission meant giving in. It took me a long time to understand how much strength it requires to put that kind of trust in someone else. ”
Silence settled between us. Caleb held my gaze, and I let him, neither of us moving.
“What happened to him?” he asked softly.
“We argued,” I said. “Two nights after I confronted him, he tied himself to the train tracks a mile from the estate.”
Caleb went very still.
“I found the pieces,” I said. “There wasn’t much left to find.”
“Jesse…” Caleb said, my name breathless on his lips. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say.”
My throat tightened. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I’d been in New York for two weeks when I scented you. The Council had sent me to hunt the rogue. Instead, I found you. I won’t let them hurt you, but we can’t hide forever.”
He stiffened. “Why not? I thought that’s why we came here.”
I left my chair and knelt in front of him, one hand on his knee.
“You’re immortal. Do you really want to spend centuries in hiding?
Even if you could, it’s not practical. You’ve already done things you shouldn’t be able to do.
You’ve shifted. You’ve maintained control most wolves twice your age can’t manage.
Now we just have to help you find your gift. ”
His brow creased. “You said I don’t have one.”
“I know, and that might still be the case. But I think it’s worth a try. You’ve already defied the odds by shifting.” I squeezed his knee. “You’re special, Caleb. You’re really fucking special to me.”
He stared at me, hurt and uncertainty in his eyes. Seeing it made my chest ache.
“I’m sorry for lying to you,” I said. “All your life, you’ve only known rejection.
I couldn’t bear the thought of you walking into a room where someone wanted to hurt you.
You’re my mate—the only one I want for the rest of my life.
” I sucked in a breath. “I love you. Not because of the bond. I love you, Caleb. I am so in love with you.”
His chest lifted as he drew a deep breath. “I love you, too. This would be a lot easier if I didn’t.”
Panic gripped me. “What does that mean?”
“It means—” He stopped. Looked toward the windows, sunlight limning his profile. When he turned back, his eyes were hard. “You hid really important shit from me, Jesse. You took my choices away. Worse, you made it so I didn’t even know I had a choice.”
“I wanted to protect you,” I said, and I knew how weak and inadequate it sounded. But I had to make him understand. “Our world is more violent than what you’re used to. And you’re not supposed to exist.”
Pain flitted through his eyes.
“That is not what I meant,” I said, rising and sitting beside him. I kept my palm on his knee. When he didn’t shove it off, I took his hand. And I waited, giving him a chance to pull away.
He sighed, then curled his fingers around mine. “I know.”
My heart thumped faster, hope fluttering with it. “I don’t deserve you,” I said. “I know that. I told myself I was protecting you, but it was selfish. If you knew how sorry I am—” My throat closed, and I looked down.
“Hey,” he said softly. “I’m not going to flee in the night or anything.”
I lifted my head.
His expression grew serious. “But if I did, would you come after me? I need to know. Would you hunt me down?”
My heart hammered. I didn’t know what answer he wanted to hear. But I’d made a vow, and I wasn't going to break it.
“I love you,” I said. “In the human world, you’d be just fine on your own.
You’re smart enough to land on your feet anywhere.
But we don’t live in that world. So, yes, I would come after you.
But I would never force you to stay with me.
If you wanted to sever the mate bond, I’d help you do it.
And I’ll never touch you unless you want it. Never.”
He said nothing. Just stared at me with his sky blue eyes.
I took a breath. “You might never let me touch you again. And I have to live with that. But I’m begging you to let me help you find your gift.
It’s the only way to protect you from the Council.
Let me do this for you. And when you’re strong enough to make it on your own, I’ll let you go. If that’s what you want.”
“It’s a lot to think about,” he said at last.
I squeezed his hand. “How about you let me make you dinner while you think it over.”
Something tentative bloomed between us. Not forgiveness—not yet.
But it was something.
“Okay,” he said.