Chapter 11 - Caleb
There’s a particular way the stench of defeat lingers in the forest after a failed attack, and right now, it’s all over the east border, woven into the last of the snow, the bark on the trees, and the broken spell markers I’m supposed to help repair.
Day two of border detail and I’m already so sick of the stench that I want to rip the skin from my face.
Even the other wolves can’t stand it; Fern’s mate, Connor, has been trailing me with a grim silence that says he’d rather be anywhere else, but he’s not about to leave me alone on a day like this.
The perimeter is worse than we first thought, and it’s taken longer to repair than we anticipated yesterday.
Every quarter mile, the magical wards are fouled, the posts slashed or snapped, surveillance destroyed, and runes obscured.
The running theory is that a few of the old Cheslem holdouts are trying to ghost in and out, not to start a war, not yet, but to remind us that the peace we’re enjoying is still a fragile situation.
It’s not the kind of threat that makes the pack jumpy, but it’s enough to keep us out here, lacing the woods with new sigils and fixing cameras; chasing out tails over their bullshit.
I’m supposed to be checking the posts, but what I’m really doing is thinking about Alora.
I can’t help it. Every time we stop, I picture her in the house with Dina, her little face turned up, waiting for me to come back.
The thought burrows under my skin, a tick I can’t shake.
The responsibility is a stark contrast to the memories this Cheslem mess is stirring.
She deserves so much more than the impact of my history haunting her or stalking her home alone these borders.
I’ll be damned if that evil will take any more.
Connor notices; he’s always been a watcher, not a talker, and right now he’s letting me lead, as if all this is some kind of penance I need to sweat out. Maybe it is.
We walk the line for an hour, maybe more, before we come to a stretch where the dirty old snow is churned up with fresh tracks.
The hair on my arms stands up, and my wolf rises so close to the surface that the world instantly tilts, every noise and movement sharpened.
Connor hangs back, scanning the underbrush.
The tracks run straight for a hundred yards, then vanish at a spike of ground where the wards are completely trashed.
I sigh, kneeling and tracing the ruined sigil with my finger.
The magic’s not just gone; it’s corrupted, the way vinegar ruins milk.
I know who did this. I can smell it even under the rot and chemical stink.
It’s Cheslem, but not one of the old guard.
This is someone younger, angry, still living on stories about the pack’s glory days.
I grind my teeth and start mending the post while Connor deals with the surveillance.
I suspect it’s pointless because they might just come back and do it again, but it makes me feel better.
“You want to talk about it?” Connor says, finally, voice low.
I don’t, but I know he’ll keep hovering if I don’t say something. “It’s just the same shit, over and over,” I say. “They’re never going to let it go. Doesn’t matter how much time passes, or who’s in charge, or who gets left behind. They’ll always come back.”
Connor pauses what he’s doing, sighs. “You’re not wrong.
But sometimes I think it’s less about chasing ghosts and more that some people need to keep them alive because they don’t know what else to do.
If it wasn’t this, it would be something else.
” He gives me a look, the kind that says he knows exactly which ghosts keep me up at night, but he’s not going to say it out loud.
I grunt, not sure I want to get into feelings on the clock. “Yeah, well. If they want to come back, let them try.”
He doesn’t smile, but the air gets easier. Connor’s not big on pep talks, but he still somehow knows how to make a point.
We finish the repair, and I’m about to move to the next marker when the sound of a truck engine cuts through the forest. Connor’s head snaps up, alert.
The engine is careful, slow, and is pack, not threat.
A minute later, a black crew cab rolls up over the ruts, spitting mud.
Bryan’s driving, Thomas riding shotgun; both have the look of men who’d rather be anywhere but here, but are resigned to the job.
Thomas hops out first, boots crunching ice. “We’re here to relieve you,” he says, scanning the area before his eyes land on me. “Nick said you’ve been at it since sunup. Go home and get some rest.”
I almost want to argue, but I see Connor’s eyes flicker with a hint of warning. It’s not a suggestion; it’s an order. Bryan’s already checking the log on his phone, and Thomas is at the back of the truck, grabbing a fresh box of surveillance gear.
“Go,” Connor says, softer than before. “I’m sure Alora wants to see her old man.”
I nod, realizing I’m actually grateful for the out.
Connor and I gather our equipment and head back to the trucks.
I wave him off and start the drive back, up the ridge and down the old logging trail, the window down to let the cold blast my face.
I don’t want to bring the Cheslem stink home to Alora, but it’s on my skin, in my hair, and the more I try to ignore it, the more I feel it winding its way inside me.
By the time I clear the last stand of pines and reach the main road, my mind has looped back to Dina.
To that night, fuck, it’s only been two nights, but it feels too long ago.
It probably shouldn’t have happened. We both knew it, but we let it happen anyway.
I keep replaying it, over and over, trying to figure out the moment when it all went from argument to inevitability.
It wasn’t just the chemistry; it was like the universe finally called our bluff, and we both caved.
My wolf is still clawing at the inside of my skull, wanting more.
I’ve never felt so calm after sex before.
Not once, not ever. There’s always been an emptiness; it just wasn’t a big deal to me, and I never felt any kind of connection beyond scratching an itch.
But with Dina, all I felt was this weird, silent certainty.
I wasn’t sure about the magic at the lottery, but in that moment, I could have sworn it got us right.
But then reality hit like a sledgehammer, and I had to acknowledge who we really are.
Nothing has changed, not really. And she made her feelings pretty clear.
Cheslem still clings to me like rot in her eyes, and I represent everything she lost.
I pull into the drive and cut the lights, sitting in the cab for a minute.
The house is lit up, every window glowing, and I’m struck by how inviting the old place looks these days.
The sight makes something inside me unclench, and I realize how much I want to be in there, how little I want to be anywhere else.
I run my hands over my face, grinding the heels of my palms into my eyes, trying to reset before I go in.
The last thing I want is to bring the stench of bad memories into Alora’s world, or into Dina’s orbit.
She’s had enough of that for a lifetime.
I walk up and pause at the door. The laughter inside is gentle, muffled, and for a second, I wonder if I’m about to walk into something beautiful that I’ll ruin.
But when I open the door, it’s like I never left.
Alora’s on a blanket in the living room, surrounded by a barricade of pillows and a legion of soft toys, and Dina’s sitting next to her, back against the couch, knees hugged to her chest. She glances up as I come in, eyes dark and unreadable, like always.
She doesn’t say hello, but she doesn’t look away either, which feels like progress.
Alora lets out a squeal when she sees me, arms waving, and I drop my stuff and join them on the floor, letting her grab my fingers and try to eat them.
Her gums are sharp as razors, but I let her gnaw away.
I look up at Dina, searching for some trace of the woman I had in my arms two nights ago, but she’s got her walls up.
“You’re earlier than I thought you’d be,” Dina says quietly.
I smile at Alora and then risk a glance at Dina, who’s watching me carefully, “Yeah, Nick had Thomas and Bryan take over. I’ll head back out tomorrow if there’s more to do.”
She opens her mouth to reply, or maybe ask a question, but then looks away at Alora. I wonder if she deliberately decided not to ask about the border issues. Not to raise the specter of Cheslem between us.
We run through the handover routine. I heat some bottles while Dina fills in the log she keeps of her days with Alora.
We move around each other in the kitchen with a kind of choreography, never touching but always aware of where the other is.
At one point, she brushes by me when she moves her bag, and my wolf nearly loses it.
I want to reach out, tangle my hand in her hair, and pull her flush against me.
I want to feel the weight of her, the heat, the resistance.
Instead, I pour formula into a bottle, hands shaking just a little.
I glance over and realize Alora has fallen asleep, and tell Dina I’m going to move her to her crib.
When I come back out, I’m surprised to see that Dina has tidied the living room.
I half expected her to bolt the moment I turned my back.
Instead, she’s lingering, arms crossed, foot tapping a nervous rhythm into the floor.
I clear my throat. “You want to talk about it?” I mean the border, the mess, the whole damn thing, but she hears the subtext. She always does.
Dina’s face flickers. “There’s nothing to talk about,” she says, but her voice is softer than it should be. “We made a mistake. That’s all.”
I almost laugh, because if that was a mistake, it was the best one I’ve ever made. I want to tell her that, but she’s already wrapping herself tight in her armor.
She heads for the door, and I move forward, driven by my wolf’s insistent need to stop her from leaving like this.
I’m not sure what my plan is when I step in front of her, but it’s not to make a joke.
My mouth opens, and instead of something easy or clever, what comes out is just raw: “You know, I don’t think I ever really knew how to be happy until Alora.
Or maybe I just never thought I deserved to be. ”
Dina’s eyes widen, and I feel my cheeks burn. I’ve never said it out loud. Not to anyone. She doesn’t say anything, but I feel something soften, and I know I need to get this out before I lose my nerve and ruin it by flirting or making light of the entire situation.
I take a breath and open my mouth, but a high-pitched wail from Alora’s room rips through the room before I can say another word. We both freeze, and I hold my breath, wondering if she’ll go back to sleep, but the crying continues, “Please, just stay while I sort her out. Please.” I say.
I see the war behind her eyes, and I’ve no idea what she’s thinking, but finally, she puts her bag down and nods. “Ok, I’ll wait.”
That’s all I need to hear as I turn and head for Alora; I’ve no idea what I’m going to say when I go back out there, but the fact she’s willing to stay to find out makes my wolf feel strangely satisfied.