Chapter 9 - Caleb
My mother taught me not to start arguments I can’t finish, but as I watch Dina pace my kitchen like an animal trapped in a snare, I know with grim certainty that she’s going to win this round, even if it takes the rest of the night.
She’s got a glass of water in one hand, gripped so hard the rim is flexing.
She turned down more coffee, which is probably for the best because we’ve both had far too much, and my hands are already trembling in a frustrating way that won’t stop.
Her hair has half-fallen out of its braid, but somehow looks even prettier for it.
This conversation has been brewing since the lottery yesterday, but I think we’ve both been avoiding it.
If the ceremony itself wasn’t awkward enough, the festivities after were torture.
The lottery made two matches in the end, and the contrast between the us and the other couple couldn’t have been clearer.
They seemed genuinely into the idea, laughing and joking with the well-wishers as the band started and the lottery aspect faded away into a pack celebration that went on well into the evening.
Or at least, that’s what I heard. Dina made her exit pretty quickly.
I think she lasted all of fifteen minutes after the ceremony concluded, and most of that was spent trying to evade Luna and Fiona, who made a beeline for her as she rushed off the stage.
I don’t know what they said to her because I was still standing up there, frozen like a complete jackass.
But I knew she didn’t want me; being matched with me must be her worst nightmare, given how she already feels about me.
The look on her face confirmed that much.
I don’t blame her, not really, but seeing her reaction hurt more than I thought it would.
Which is ridiculous, I know. She’s the nanny, she looks after Alora and clearly dotes on the kid, but her feelings toward me have always been clear.
But that’s never stopped my wolf getting stupidly interested whenever she’s near, noticing her clothes…
or more accurately, her curves. I don’t miss how much warmer and welcoming the house feels when I get back from patrol and find Dina and my daughter in the kitchen, the lights low and music playing, or Dina’s quick-fire wit and the way her intelligence shines through.
Part of me wishes it were different. I wish she’d respond to just one of my jokes; it’s the only way I know to connect with people. Keep things light and deflect, but she is completely impervious to my charms. It frustrated me at first, but now it just keeps me off balance.
And that’s where I’m at right now…off balance. I want to say something to lighten the mood, but I don’t think either of us knows how to deal with this. We need to talk, but no one knows what to say.
We kept the handover remarkably fast this morning, but I’m home now, and I know we need to clear the air.
Somehow. The guys on patrol had a thousand questions about how it’s going, and I’m sure Dina has faced a similar interrogation when she took Alora out today.
We at least need to get on the same page.
I ask if she’s ok and immediately regret the brevity I injected into my voice.
Dina breaks. She sets the glass down so hard I’m sure it’ll shatter, then spins to face me, her mouth a tight, pale line.
“I didn’t appreciate being paraded in front of the whole pack like some kind of prize,” she says, words clipped and clear.
“I especially didn’t appreciate being matched to the person who represents everything that ruined my life. ”
I open my mouth, but she keeps going, “You get to stand there,” she gestures at me, a sweep that takes in the room and the baby monitor on the table and the framed picture of Alora, “with a second chance. You get painted as the misunderstood hero, while the rest of us struggle through each day. You want to know why I left last night? Because I can’t be forced into a family with someone who’s never actually lost one.
You have no idea what it’s like. You have no idea…
to lose the father you loved, and then have to live in a world where the people who did it walk around like nothing ever happened. ”
There’s a long, cold silence. Alora’s soft breathing comes through the monitor, a fragile counterpoint to all this emotion. My wolf wants to shrink and say nothing. But something in me cracks, and before I know it, the words are tumbling out.
“You think I don’t know what it’s like to lose family?
” My voice is too loud. I try to rein it in, but the pain is molten.
“I watched my pack eat itself alive for years. I watched my mother waste away in a house where all the windows were nailed shut ‘for her protection,’ because my own father was afraid she’d run.
I watched my cousin get dragged out for questioning and never come home.
You think I’m proud of Cheslem? You think I wanted to be that?
” I hear myself, desperate, and I hate it, but I can’t stop.
“No one ever let me forget where I came from. Not here, not even on the best days. You think I’m not grateful for a second chance?
I wake up every day expecting to find it gone.
And as for being a hero, you know exactly what I did to get here.
You know I’m still guilty, and I always will be. ”
Dina’s lips tremble, but she doesn’t look away. “That’s the thing,” she says, softer now but not backing down. “You get to be guilty. You get to move on. The rest of us…” she laughs, hollow, “…we just get to live with it.”
I want to tell her so many things: that I think about her father every time I see her, that I remember the smell of blood, and the sound of her voice when I rescued her, but all that comes out is my darkest confession, “Sometimes, when Alora sleeps, I stand at her crib and wonder if I’m even fit to raise her. ”
“You are,” Dina says quietly and quickly. The honest kindness stark against all her other words.
It seems to take the wind out of our argument, and we both simply stand there in the silence for a moment.
I suddenly feel more exposed than ever. I’ve never spoken about this stuff to anyone.
Sure, I’ve expressed my regret and hatred for Cheslem to Nick and the others, but I’ve never spoken so plainly about my guilt.
Especially not to someone who I know can’t and won’t offer me absolution.
I’m the one who breaks first. “We should deal with it,” I say, and my voice sounds strained even to me. “The lottery. The pack. All of it.” I expect her to rehash the argument, but she simply sighs, deflated.
“Yeah,” she says, “we should.” She crosses her arms and fixes me with a look that’s so direct it’s almost blinding.
“It’s obvious the pairing was a fluke. Everyone knows it; half the pack was whispering before the flame even died down.
They’ll probably want to reroll it or at least let us out of it, since you’d never…
” She falters for a second, then plows ahead.
“Look. I’m not an idiot. I know what these lotteries are supposed to do.
The magic wants physical compatibility. I’m not exactly the type anyone would genuinely match you with if you got a choice. ”
I stare at her, not understanding. “What are you talking about?”
She scoffs, but it’s brittle. “Don’t act like you don’t know,” she says. “You’re, like, model handsome, and I’m…” she gestures at herself, the arms, the hips, the everything. “I’m not. I’m strong enough to hear it, okay? You don’t have to pretend.”
It’s so far from what I expected that I don’t react for a second. When I do, it’s with a laugh that sounds all wrong. “You think I’m, what, settling for you?” The words come out sharper than I want, and she flinches, but holds my gaze.
“Not even settling,” she says, “just…being polite. You don’t have to. I’d rather you weren’t.”
I try to find the words for what’s happening in my head, but they don’t fit. “Dina, have you ever once heard me say anything about you that wasn’t a compliment?” I say, but she’s already shaking her head.
“You don’t have to lie,” she says, voice gone soft again.
“I know how people look at me. I know the look. I know I’m too big.
I get it. I just want this to be over.” She wipes at her eyes, but there are no tears there.
“I don’t want to be walking around town and have everyone knowing you’re just pretending. ”
My brain scrambles for a moment. I want to shake her, to force her to see everything she’s not seeing. And instead I just say, “You’re beautiful.”
She makes a sound, the kind that’s meant to dismiss what I said out of hand. “You don’t have to…”
“Stop.” My voice is so rough it startles us both. “I have no reason to lie to you, Dina. You already hate me. If anything, I should be trying to get you to quit so I don’t have to see you every day and feel like I’m being eaten alive.”
She blinks, caught off guard, and for a second, the mask drops. “I don’t hate you,” she says quietly.
The words hang there, the air around us suddenly thick. I step closer. I don’t mean to, I just do, like there’s a current, and I’m not even in charge of the direction anymore. Her eyes widen, but her chin comes up stubborn, daring me to say it again or take it back.
Instead, I reach up, just enough to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and for a moment her breathing stutters. My hand lingers, thumb grazing the line of her jaw, and I expect her to flinch, to move away, or maybe I’ll crack a joke and kill whatever this is dead.
She doesn’t. I don’t. We stand our ground.
Maybe it’s the exhaustion, or the guilt over wanting things I can’t have, but I decide to be reckless. I close the last inch and kiss her.
It’s not gentle. There’s nothing sweet or cautious about the way I do it; I want her to know I mean all of it. For a half-second, she’s rigid, arms braced as if she might shove me away, but then her fingers find the front of my shirt and twist, dragging me in harder.
The first kiss is a clash, all teeth and fury and relief. The second is worse, because she makes a small sound in the back of her throat, and the noise goes straight to my knees.
My wolf is howling inside me, desperate for skin and the way her body lines up with mine like we were built to fit this way. I slide my hands along her waist, and she shivers, the motion setting off a tremor that slides up my arms and into my chest.
“You don’t have to do this,” I whisper, forehead pressed to hers, but she only shakes her head, a wild, broken laugh spilling out of her.
“Shut up,” she says, and kisses me again. This time it’s different, hungrier, and more certain.
I want to slow down, to give her a chance to stop or change her mind, but she won’t let me. She yanks the hem of my shirt up, and I help her, arms over my head, and the second I’m free, she runs her hands over my chest like she’s daring me to prove I’m real.
I tug at the tie holding her soft sweater together, and it comes apart, the fabric slipping over her shoulders and down her back.
I ease her jeans down, and she doesn’t stop me.
The sight of her, strong and soft in all the right places, thighs thick and solid, breasts full and flushed, is enough to short-circuit my brain.
She’s so much more than I let myself imagine, and for half a heartbeat, I just stare.
I start moving again, pressing her back against the kitchen table, the edge sharp against my thighs, and run my lips down her neck, across her collarbone, and lower. She grabs my hair in both fists, keeping me there, like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she lets go.
I slide my hand down her stomach, slow enough to make her squirm, then between her thighs.
She’s so wet it nearly undoes me, and her hips jerk against my palm, needy.
I circle her clit with my thumb, teasing at first, but she whimpers, and I can tell she wants it rougher; so I give her what she wants, working her until her whole body arches up, every muscle pulled taut.
She bites my name, low and guttural, and I want to hear it again and again.
I slip two fingers inside her, and she’s hot, tight, and completely perfect.
She rocks against my hand, frantic now, grinding down on me as I fuck her with my fingers, each thrust bringing her closer.
She’s getting louder but muffles the sound against my neck, and it’s the best thing I’ve ever heard.
I want to see her come, want to give her that release, so I keep at it, twisting my wrist just so, and when she comes, it’s a full-body quake, her mouth open in a silent scream, her hands digging into my shoulders so hard it hurts in the best way.
I can’t wait another second. I shove my sweatpants down, hands shaking as I push her panties aside. She’s still trembling, slick and wanting, and when I bury myself in her, slowly fighting against the resistance, we both gasp; hers high and sharp, mine a curse.
I give her a moment to adjust, but she doesn’t want it.
She urges me on, grinding on my cock. I begin to move, and we fuck like we’re trying to destroy the kitchen, all motion and madness, her legs wrapped tight around my waist and my hands locked on her hips, guiding her up and down, harder, deeper, as if everything that has happened between us boils down to this moment.
She claws at my back, my neck, my chest, and I want her to mark me, want proof this happened, even if she regrets it.
The table creaks, shifts under us, and I grab her ass, hoisting her up so she can ride me, and she groans, head thrown back, hair wild.
Every time I thrust, she moans my name, and I want to give her everything, so I do; fast, relentless, until she comes again, this time biting my shoulder to muffle the sound.
I follow her over, vision blurring and growling into her neck, and for a second, I don’t know where I end, and she begins.
We collapse on the floor, tangled and panting. I palm her naked skin, feeling her racing heart, and wonder how we ended up here. I don’t regret it for a second, though, but as I feel her begin to pull away, I doubt she’ll feel the same.