Chapter 11 - Dani
Dani almost turned back twice before she made it down the stairs.
First, at the wardrobe. Apparently, she owned two looks: a witch acting at professionalism and an exhausted single mother. Neither said date with the alpha who broke your heart and then mated you ten years later.
Second, at the mirror. Same eyes, same mouth, same stupid hopeful angle to her chin. His bite on her neck, dark against her skin. She looked like someone about to do something reckless.
Again.
She ended up in jeans, boots, a dark green sweater, and her thickest coat. Hair down, because tying it up made her look like she was going to a council meeting, not…this.
Aurelia was curled on the window seat with a book, feet fogging the glass.
“You look nice,” she said.
“You have to say that,” Dani replied, adjusting her scarf.
“I could say your hair looks all wild and fluffy,” Aurelia said calmly. “But you look nice.”
Dani huffed, warmth catching in her chest. “You okay staying here? Chase is…”
“Fun,” Aurelia said. “He promised terrible old movies.”
“If anything feels off—”
“I know,” Aurelia said. “Call you, call Edith, call Layla.”
“Last one is a last resort.”
Aurelia hesitated. “I like it here,” she admitted. “And I like him. Them. He’s still grumpy, but…he tried with breakfast.”
Arthur. Of course.
Before Dani could answer, a knock sounded downstairs. Her stomach dipped.
“Wish me luck,” she muttered.
Aurelia rolled her eyes, miming being sick.
“Rude.” Dani kissed her forehead anyway. “No sugary snacks after eight.”
“Boring,” Aurelia sighed. “Go. You’re keeping the alpha waiting.”
“He can wait,” Dani said. Her pulse disagreed.
Arthur was in the hall, coat and boots on, hair tied back, a basket in one hand and a rolled blanket in the other. He looked up as she came down; something in his face went very still.
“You’ll freeze,” he said.
“We have winter in Massachusetts, you know.”
“Not this kind,” he muttered, but his gaze did a slow, unguarded sweep, hair, sweater, nerves.
Heat prickled under her skin.
“You ready?” he asked.
“No. Yes.” She squinted at the basket. “If this turns into an endurance hike I’m divorcing you and we’re not even married.”
“Half-hour up,” he said. “Gentle incline.”
Chase appeared behind him, “You two have fun,” he said. “I’ll keep the small witch alive. No horror films, no new swear words, no letting her drive the truck.”
Arthur raised a stern eyebrow, and Chase shrugged unapologetically. “Having a niece is fun.”
Dani rolled her eyes, pushing at Arthur’s arm. “Lead on, Alpha.”
He snorted and opened the door.
Cold night air wrapped around her, sharp and clean. The sky was clear, stars knifing through the dark.
They walked. Snow crunched under their boots, trees crowding close. For a while, they were just breath and frost and easy silence.
“You’re really okay with Chase babysitting?” he asked eventually.
Dani shrugged. “He offered, and I feel bad asking Edith nearly every day. Besides…he’s her uncle, right?”
“Unfortunately for us,” Arthur muttered. “He’ll teach her all sorts of mischief.”
Dani laughed despite herself, something strange and warm settling in her stomach at the easy way he had said us. “The coven’s pretty strict. She could do with some mischief every now and again.”
“How much do you wanna bet you’re gonna regret saying that?”
“He’s your brother,” she said with a grin. “If it gets too chaotic, you can just bash him back into shape.”
He laughed, low and gravelly, his shoulder bumping into hers. She tried to pretend it didn’t make her skin tingle.
The path leveled. He ducked between two firs, and they stepped into a shallow hollow carved into the hillside, rock cupping them on three sides, the sky open above. Below, Skymist glowed in scattered lights; beyond that, the sea was a dark scythe.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “You win. It’s pretty.”
Arthur had the good grace to not look too smug as he set down their things. He shook out the blanket and began unloading the basket, stew, bread, chocolate biscuits, and a flask that steamed.
“Hot chocolate?” she asked.
“Spiked coffee,” he said with a grin.
They sat. Their shoulders almost brushed. The coffee burned pleasantly.
They talked about small things first. The town. Salem. Aurelia. It was surprisingly easy. Underneath the easy was a taut line, humming, but she could almost pretend they were just…normal.
Almost.
“So,” she said eventually, turning her empty mug in her hands. “You dragged me up a hill, fed me, and didn’t mention hybrids once. I’m guessing we’re about to do the honest talk.”
“The honest talk,” he echoed.
“We’ve been avoiding it long enough,” she said with a slightly sheepish smile, “and earlier, at the pier, you said you wanted to explain properly. Well, now’s your chance.”
Arthur sighed, brow furrowing, before he rolled his shoulder back and straightened as if preparing for battle. “Aye,” he said, “I suppose it is.”
She stayed silent, let him collect his thoughts, until finally he spoke.
“My father got sick during our last year of school,” he said. No preamble, just a drop into the deep end. “Properly sick. Inside. Couldn’t heal. One day, he was wrestling lads in the yard, the next, he was coughing blood.”
Dani stilled.
“He told me before he told anyone else,” Arthur went on. “The morning after we slept together. Shut the office door, showed me the handkerchief. Said I had a year or two to pull myself together.”
“Pull it together how?” she asked.
“Become the alpha he wanted,” Arthur said. “An alpha worthy of leading the Nordan. He looked at me and saw…the bits he didn’t trust. Too soft. Too”—his gaze flicked to her, then away—“distracted.”
“By me,” she said.
“By you,” he agreed, “By the idea of you. He smelled it. The pull. Before I even understood what it was. He liked you fine when we were kids, just playground friends. He decided he hated you the minute he realized I wanted you.”
Her stomach twisted.
“He told me attachment to somebody like you, somebody who couldn’t shift…it was weakness,” Arthur said. “That if I tied myself to you, the pack wouldn’t respect me. It would split. He made me promise I’d never choose a female over my wolves.”
She stared at him. “And you said yes.”
“I was eighteen,” he said quietly. “I’d just learned that he would be dead within a year or two. That I would have to lead, to take the mantle as one of the youngest alphas in our history. The pressure I would be under to prove I was strong enough...”
Her fingers dug into the wool at her knees.
“So when you finally came to me three days after…after that night,” she said slowly, “and I thought—”
“I panicked,” he cut in. “The bond wasn’t sealed, but it was there. Strong enough, my wolf wouldn’t shut up. Strong enough that when you smiled, I felt sick from wanting you. And all I could hear was him. Saying if I chose you, I’d bring the pack to ruin.”
Anger flared, sharp and bitter. “So you chose him,” she said. “You chose fear. You chose not to choose me at all.”
He didn’t look away. “Yes.”
Silence dropped, thick as snow.
“He died a few months later,” Arthur went on, voice rough. “The last thing he ever said to me was that I’d be fine as long as I remembered wolves come first. Everything else is temptation.” A humorless tug at his mouth. “He meant you. Didn’t have to say it.”
“You could’ve changed your mind after,” she said. “He was gone. You were Alpha.”
“I know,” he said. “I thought about it. Every day. But you were gone. And I had to establish my position. Not all the alphas in the pack were happy when I became Alpha. I needed to make sure my people were safe and my pack was at peace.”
Ten lost years sat between them.
She hugged her arms around herself. “I needed you,” she said, “I gave birth all by myself, in a strange motel bathroom, with no idea what to do or where to go. I nearly burned the place down when my magic woke up with the pain of childbirth. I had no idea what was happening or why. I had to run; I had to work everything out myself. ”
Pain crossed his face, naked and quick.
“I know,” he said softly. “I’ve had a decade to sit with the fact that I broke the only good thing I’d ever been handed. I’m not telling you this to make it better. I just…” He inhaled, slow and shaky. “You deserve to know it wasn’t because you weren’t enough. It was because I was a coward.”
Her eyes burned.
“You were cruel,” she said. “You called me a mistake. You made sure I wouldn’t crawl back.”
“I know,” he said again, voice catching.
His hand hovered between them, useless.
Her own hand moved before she decided. She set her fingers in his.
Heat slid up her arm. The bond flared, pleased and sharp.
“You don’t get points for honesty,” she said, because if she didn’t talk, she’d cry. “You don’t undo it that easy.”
“I know,” he repeated. “I’m not trying to. I’m just done with you thinking I let you go because I didn’t want you.”
His fingers closed around hers, big and careful.
“Because I did,” he said quietly. “Want you. More than anything.”
Her breath stuttered. “You’re ten years late, wolf.”
“I know,” he said, helpless and honest.
She looked at him. At the new lines carved into his face. The way he watched her like she might vanish. Her anger was still there, solid. So was the stupid, stubborn wanting that had never really gone.
“You broke me,” she said, softer now. “But I built other things. Her. My place in the coven. Myself. I’m not giving any of that up for you.”
“I’m not asking you to,” he said. “I’m asking if you’ll let me in. With you. With her. Pack and coven and all. Even if part of me still flinches when you use magic. I’m trying to drown that part. Every day.”
She gave a wet little laugh, “Let me know when it starts working.”
Wind knifed through the hollow. She shivered.
He shifted closer, still holding her hand, his other palm cupping the side of her neck, thumb brushing the edge of his mark.
“You’re freezing,” he muttered.
“Your fault,” she said, voice thin.