Chapter Ten
Caleb
You stabbed her, my wolf reprimands me.
That’s a weird way to thank someone for defending them. Are you forgetting she stabbed us first?
My wolf doesn’t care. She’s scared. Besides, fairness doesn’t apply when it comes to our mate.
If he had it his way, there would be no consequences or rules. Behind me, a trail of my own blood stains the floor, and I curse. People will know someone spilled the blood of the future alpha. That can’t get out now. I find a rag and bundle it tight.
You and I are supposed to be a team. What’s it going to take for you to speed up the healing process? You could apologize to mate, then mark her, he says.
Ha! I’d rather bleed to death.
I can arrange that, he says.
I apply pressure to my wound. What would I say anyway? Sorry I stabbed you with the weapon you snuck in and tried to kill me with first? No, thanks.
I inspect my wound. Damn, she got me good. Any more to the left, and she would’ve nicked a major artery.
I’ll need stitches.
I make my way down the corridor to the kitchen pantry and pull out the first aid kit.
My mom keeps a sewing kit in here. I pull out a needle and thread and loop the thread in.
Once it’s secure, I pinch the skin folds together, push the needle through to the other side, repeat and gently tug the wound closed.
My wolf paws at my attention.
What do you want now?
What about mate? She’s bleeding.
I roll my eyes. With him, it’s always about her. Even when we’re the ones bleeding. I ignore him.
He paws at me again. Go help her.
No. She got what she deserves.
Once I’ve stitched my wound, I put my shirt back on and move to return the kit where it belongs. I hiss, then groan through tightly closed lips.
Our wolves have an incredible ability to heal us faster. I’ve had injuries worse than this that didn’t hurt this bad for this long.
My wolf outright refuses to lend me a hand, so I can heal faster. I’m bleeding through my shirt.
Yikes, that looks bad, he comments.
Yeah, it is. Wanna help me?
Help mate, and I’ll help you.
I rather suffer through it.
Suit yourself.
Whatever. He’s bluffing. This is just as painful for him, too. I just need to wait him out. Slow and careful, I reach for the kit on the top shelf, keeping my movements small so my stitches don’t tear.
If you don’t help her, I’m going to scream.
I stop cold in my tracks, knowing how he can get. His constant howling is insufferable. Don’t. You. Dare.
My wolf drawls out a long and loud howl that echoes in my brain.
I try to ignore him, but just a few seconds like this creates a dull headache.
I can’t take it anymore. I yell over him, Enough! Fine, I’ll help her.
He ceases his howl. Satisfied with himself, he joyously pants and wags his tail.
I’m about to make my way back down to the dungeon when my mother calls for me. “Caleb? Sweetheart, is that you?”
I follow her voice to my dad’s study. In his desk chair sits my mom. It’s odd since she’s rarely out of bed when she’s home. Even more shocking is finding her here, in a room she’s avoided since the attack. With reading glasses perched on her nose, she appears to be . . . working?
My mother’s eyes widen when she sees my wound. She rushes over to me. “Sweetheart, what happened to you? You’re bleeding!”
I’m taken aback by her concern. Lately, her grief has taken away her capacity to care for anything. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
My wolf has thankfully started to lend me his healing support.
Now, I’m wondering what has my mother acting more like herself again.
“It doesn’t look fine. Did you give yourself stitches? Let me see,” she insists.
I maneuver away from her, so she can’t mess with it. “Mom, stop. I’m fine, really.”
She raises her hands in a fake surrender. “Okay, I’ll stop.” She retreats behind the desk, returning to work, just like that. Like I’ve been encouraging her to do for months. “What’re you doing out of bed?”
Her eyes stay trained on papers in her hand. “What do you mean?”
“I mean . . .” I want to be careful with my words and don’t want to say something that might make her regress. “Usually you’re still in bed. I’m glad to see you’re up.”
I’m fishing, and my mother knows it. “So, was it her?”
Oh. That’s why she’s up.
“Was what who?” I ask, feigning naivety.
“Your mate,” she beams. “Was it her?”
It kills me to see her so hopeful—even more because I have to lie to her. I get that tingling feeling that always appears before I do. I rub my eyes. “No, just some rogue.”
That’s another thing. I didn’t tell my mom that, when I scented my mate, she was a rogue per se, but that she must’ve been passing through. Thankfully, my mom bought it.
Her brow knits. “I’m sorry, honey.” She sighs heavily. “I thought for certain it would be her. Where is she now?”
“In the dungeon,” I say.
We hardly ever use the dungeon, so it’s not a surprise when she whips her head at me.
“What is she doing there? Why didn’t you execute her?”
“I figure she might know something about who killed Dad. I’ll see if I can get some information out of her.”
Mom tears her glasses off her face and tosses them onto the stack of papers in front of her, pinching the bridge of her nose. “How do you plan to do that?”
I’m not sure she really wants to know. Her strong ties to her faith couldn’t handle it. She would never do it herself, but she won’t hesitate to turn a blind eye.
I stare at her long and hard.
When she notices I haven’t said anything, she peers up at me. She swallows hard, and the papers shake in her hand as she slowly sets them down and rubs the moonstone pendant hanging around her neck.
“And after that? What’re you going to do with her?”
What started as a reactive response became official pack protocol to eradicate intruders as you run across them. With defense not being our strong suit, going on the offensive seems to be the wiser choice.
“The same thing we’ve been doing with rogues,” I say simply, but my wolf claws at my insides thinking she’d meet the same fate as the rest of them.
She clutches the pendant and whispers a silent request for forgiveness from our goddess, then kisses it.
Her gaze slides over to a family photo of the three of us on the desk, from last year’s pre-Hunt festivities.
My parents had been so hopeful I’d find my mate and take over.
Eventually giving them grandpups. Together, they would have made the best grandparents.
I still can’t believe he won’t be here for any of it.
She rubs the stone with her thumb, smiling somberly at the memory. “You know your father took in a rogue once upon a time . . . Taught them our ways—”
“Mom, please,” I say.
Regardless of what my father might have done before, I can’t take this rogue in.
“One day, you will be the alpha. You’re going to make your own decisions—and I’m trying not to stand in the way of that—but you might want to think twice about your decision to execute over reform. People can change,” my mother says.
Jay’s two attempts to kill me in one day might suggest otherwise.
Frustrated, I scratch my scalp, trying to itch away my unfiltered response before I say something I regret.
I take issue with two things she’s now said.
The first being that it was my decision to execute rogues.
It wasn’t. Actually, it was one of the first things she uttered when she clutched my father’s mangled body to her chest. But if I tried to correct her, she’d say, “I don’t remember it that way” or “That doesn’t sound like me. ”
Which is why when she said she’s trying not to stand in the way is the second reason I’m having to bite my tongue.
I’d be thrilled if she did more. I’ve had to make tough decisions without the authority of an official alpha, or the backing of the royal council.
It only makes everything harder. Everything I do is questioned, but I get why.
I also understand why my mother hasn’t been helping.
My mother isn’t lazy. She’s grieving. But so am I. And none of this is my responsibility. Not yet anyway. It’s a heavy burden to carry, but I don’t want to make her feel bad. She’s dealing with enough.
So instead, I say, “Not this one.”
She runs a finger lazily over my father’s smiling face. She rests an elbow on the armrest and her chin in her palm, exhaling audibly. “I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder if we’re doing the right thing.”
My father was a goddess-fearing man. Every decision he made was with Her in mind, including not teaching his people how to fight as he believes She wouldn’t approve.
He instilled these values in all of us, and I still believe in Her, but Jay isn’t the only one I blame for his passing.
He may not approve but, “I think Dad would understand . . .”
“But would he agree?”
My gaze drops to the floor, and I shove my hands in my pockets.
“I don’t think he would, either,” she says.
The bitter taste of sorrow and uncertainty lingers in the air.
She groans her frustration and wipes her face, slumping. Immediately uncomfortable with the way she’s sitting, she grunts as she sits up.
When I see her struggle, I take a step forward. “Are you okay?”
She waves a hand in dismissal. “I fell off the step stool trying to get all of this.” She gestures to the pile of stuff on her desk. “From the top shelf in the closet.”
I dip my chin. “Mom—”
“I’m fine, just a little sore.”
I step closer, cranking my neck to see what “stuff” was worth hurting herself over.
From my view, it’s a box of mementos from old photos, invitations, save the dates and more.
“Hey.” I reach for a white band, and the pain from my movement is already much more bearable. “Is this my hospital bracelet?
She smiles at it in my hand. “Yeah. You were so tiny. Carried you for three months and endured twelve hours of labor just for you to come out looking just like your father.” Mom trades me the bracelet for another photo. “And look at this.”
I laugh at a photo of my dad lying on the hospital floor with a nurse trying to fan him awake. “What’s he doing?”
“I told him to stay by my head, but he didn’t want to miss a single second of you.”
Placing the photo down, I grab a small velvet onyx bag. I point to it. “What’s that?”
She clutches in the bag her hand. “That is the reason I went searching for this box in the first place. It’s something I thought I’d pass down to your mate.”
Moments of silence pass as she gazes longingly at the jewelry bag, caressing and rubbing it gently with her thumb.
“I really thought it could be her.”
My chest pinches at her disappointment. It hurts me to see her hold out on hope over something that will never happen.
Jay may have killed my father, but I’m killing my mother.
I can’t let her continue to let her believe that my mate might appear.
I have to do something. “I’m going to take a chosen mate. ”
“Oh, honey, that’s not necessary. I’m just a little disappointed. I’ll get over it. I’m fine.”
That might be more convincing if she hadn’t said that already.
“You’re not fine.” I turn her arm over. “If you were, these bruises would’ve healed by now.”
She jerks her arm out of my grasp and uses her hand to try to cover a bruise but is barely able to. “Your mate is out there. You’ll find her. Then you can take my place,” she says.
“I’ve been looking for months and there’s been no sign of her.”
She contemplates my words, biting on the inside of her cheek as the wheels turn in her head. “No. We’ll wait. You’re not giving up your fated mate.”
“I want you to be happy is all.”
I move toward her, resting my hand on hers. “Mom, I will be.”
Her tear-filled eyes look up at me.
“You can’t keep going like this, and I can’t sit back and watch you.
The disappointment is only speeding up your condition, and it won’t be long until the council sees this and insists you abdicate.
We’ll lose everything.” I pause. “I can’t lose you so soon, Mom.
Don’t you want to be around for your grandpups for me? ”
She averts her gaze, covering her mouth, trying not to cry.
I move around the desk to embrace her.
She cries into my shoulder. “I’ll submit to the council my letter of approval for you to take a chosen mate.”