28. Twenty-eight
Twenty-eight
October 2022
Phoenix Campbell
A fter Cee leaves, I can’t seem to settle. Even once I’ve loaded and set the dishwasher off, wiped down all the sides, and changed Magnus’ litter, he’s still not home. I may as well go and feel sorry for myself in bed where it’s comfortable. I make a little 'psp psp' noise at Magnus for him to follow me up to bed, but the traitor looks at me as if to say he’ll come upstairs when his person comes home.
I really hope he does come home.
I wouldn’t put it past him to run all the way to Niamh and Will’s, just to get space from me. Logically, I know none of this is Will’s fault, but even the idea of Connor going to Will for comfort and telling him what a shitty husband I am, makes me want to peel my own skin off.
I climb into the shower to kill some more time. Unfortunately, standing under the hot spray of water with nothing but my own thoughts is not the distraction I was hoping for. Maybe if I scrub hard enough, I can wash this entire night away—if only.
My skin has gone pink from the scalding water, so I steal some of Cee's moisturiser and rub it into my arms and chest. I throw on some boxers before I climb onto the bed and bury my face into Cee's pillow. His scent is strong on it, and the smell is both comforting and makes my chest ache that he's not lying in the bed next to me.
What if I’ve really fucked it up this time? He managed to forgive me when he thought I had actually agreed to marry his sister, only to find out I’d kept the truth from him all this time. I’m not sure I’d forgive me if I were in his shoes. I should have listened to Jasper and come clean sooner. He should have heard the truth directly from me, not from overhearing a conversation with Alice.
With my spiralling thoughts circling the drain, I accept I won’t be getting much sleep tonight. I grab my phone and stick on a podcast, curling up on Cee's side of the bed because it smells of him. I really hope he comes home soon so I can make this right.
I must have dozed off eventually. But when I wake up, I realise something is desperately wrong. My eyes are streaming when I open them.
They’re streaming because the room is filled with smoke.
Thick, lung-clogging smoke.
My brain is screaming at my muscles to move, to flee, to escape, to do anything except lie here, motionless. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, but my body is frozen in place. I can’t move a muscle. It’s strange how quickly I accept my fate; all I can hope for right now is that if I die in this fire, Connor isn’t the one to find me.
The horrible sensation dredges up an old memory I had long forgotten. I was only a child, maybe eight years old at the time. I had woken up in the middle of the night, unable to move a muscle or make a noise. Silent tears soaked my cheeks as I hoped and wished my dad would come and find me and make the awful feeling of being locked in my mind go away.
The next morning, when I had reawoken, this time to the sun shining through the gaps in my jungle-themed curtains, it felt like nothing more than a bad dream. The nightmare had faded into the recesses of my mind, and this was the first time I’d thought of that night since.
This feels almost the same but different. It’s worse somehow that I can open my eyes and look around the room, but my muscles are frozen in place.
In my periphery, the flames are spreading along the carpet, licking at the hem of the curtains, hundreds of fiery tongues eating through the fabric rapidly. Too rapidly. My eyes close instinctively, the thick, relentless smoke making them red-raw.
If I’m lucky, the smoke will kill me before the fire does. Bile rises up my oesophagus at the thought of being awake when the flames engulf me. I’ve never considered myself to be particularly morbid, rarely dwelling on how I might eventually die. In contrast, I now find myself evaluating and ranking what kind of death would be preferable over another. In the face of being burned alive, I can confirm I would take most of the alternatives right about now.
Except maybe a death involving a deadly spider—I really hate spiders.
With nothing to do but lie here and wait for it all to be over, my overactive brain won’t switch off. I find myself praying the authorities discover my body before he does. Nobody should have to find their loved one’s charred remains in the bed they shared together.
Part of me regrets that we argued earlier, and he’s pissed off with me, but that’s why I’m alone while he’s out running off his bad temper. So I've also never been so grateful for his short fuse because although it won’t be fun to die here by myself, it would be a hundred times worse to watch him suffer by my side. He’ll be furious with me for dying before him, but I’m grateful he’ll have a long life ahead of him.
When I reopen my eyes, the curtains are fully ablaze. The bedroom window makes a loud cracking noise, shattering from the intense heat. I try to take deep breaths, inhaling as much of the smoke as I can, willing it to end my life before the fire does. My chest rattles when I cough, and my eyes burn and water furiously.
Closing my eyes once more, I decide it’s probably best to keep them that way. All I can do is wait and see what takes me first—the smoke or the flames.
Connor Kelly
Karma is real, and she’s a fucking bitch.
I was so smug and self-righteous about how graciously I’d forgiven Fee, and now it turns out I’m the arsehole!
Okay, maybe not that graciously, but still, I’d gotten there in the end.
However, now it seems I might have avoided both of us spending over a year, heartbroken, if only I’d answered my fucking phone.
But also, no, fuck him. He could have found a way to tell me.
Realistically, my resolve to stay angry over this won’t last very long. Once I go home and Fee wraps his big, sexy arms around me, I’ll melt faster than an English snowman. So I’m running all the way to Kettlewell to at least give the pretence I’m not going to forgive this easily. I used to be so good at holding grudges, great even; this one feels like water slipping through my fingers too quickly to hold onto.
I can’t quite decide if that makes me more stubborn or less so.
A rabbit darts suddenly in my periphery, and giving into my instincts, I chase it. I’m not going to kill it; just spook it a little. When I was younger, my mum used to tell me off for chasing prey animals, but I won’t actually catch it. The rabbit disappears down into a burrow, so I slow down. It’s late, must be past midnight, and the ground feels cold under my paws.
Slightly further on from Kettlewell is Starbottom, which never fails to amuse me, even when I’m determined to be a mardy bastard. I huff a laugh at the sign and debate whether I should turn back and go home. Fee has to be up early for work tomorrow, and I know he won’t sleep properly until I get home, so that makes the decision for me.
Am I growing up? Look at me being a fucking adult for once.
The truth is that as much as I have a penchant for stewing in my own anger, I don’t really want to stay mad at Fee over this. Between losing my mum as a kid and Archie just last week, I know first-hand how much we aren't guaranteed time with the people we love. With my mind a bit clearer from my run, I can see how the whole thing was just an almighty clusterfuck.
Fee did what he felt he had to do. And with the information I had, I did what I felt I needed to do. Realising I really don’t want to squander any more time being bitter about the past, I hightail it back home.
Barely over halfway home, as I’m skirting around the edge of Grimwith Reservoir, a sharp pain like a bolt of lightning shoots through my chest. Looking down at myself, I half expect to see blood, but the air is completely still, and to look at me, nothing is wrong.
But everything is wrong.
A phantom hand wraps around my heart, squeezing it painfully in a vice-like grip. My head starts to pound. I search my mind for my pack bond with Fee, and the feeling of sheer terror hits me like a bullet train through the bond. My stomach swoops, adrenaline coursing through me faster than I thought possible. With no time to waste, I choke down the panic and set off sprinting for home at breakneck speed.
My mind is racing with all the different possibilities of what could be wrong. I keep searching the bond for more information, but nothing comes. All I know is he’s in danger, and I mean mortal danger. Even with every muscle in my body straining at the speed I’m running, it’s still not fast enough. Not you, too, Fee. I can't lose you too.
My mind keeps playing over our last conversation. If I wasn’t so determined to get back to him, I’d bash my own head in for my stupidity. All he asked of me when I left the house tonight was reassurance I would come back, and my response was fucking manipulative. Finding out the truth had hurt me, so I hurt him back. I’d wanted him to agonise a little, worry I might leave. I need Fee to be okay just so he can punch me in the face for being such a raging arsehole.
Ten minutes from home, and the smell hits me.
Smoke.
I’ve never felt this much dread and fear in my life, and my limbs are screaming at me from the exertion, but I push on even harder. All the while desperately hoping the smoke isn’t coming from our home, and knowing it almost certainly is.
My worst nightmares are confirmed when I make it up the last hill towards our cottage and choke on the thick black smoke the wind is blowing towards me. My heart is in my throat when our house finally comes into view.
No.
No, no, no, no, no. It can’t be.
In the front garden, Magnus is mewling, and I’ve never been so glad that while I was desperately keeping busy to distract myself after Archie’s death, I fitted a catflap in the front door. My relief at seeing Magnus is short-lived when I realise there's no sign of Fee out here. The little cottage we’ve called home these past six months is engulfed in flames. I know there’s a good chance I’m already too late, but I have to try and save him.
I stay in my wolf form because I’ll heal faster this way, and I make a run for the front door, my hefty weight knocking it off its hinges. The smoke billows out, and the heat is stifling. I can’t see a thing as I try to navigate my way through the house from memory alone.
Unable to shout out Fee’s name, I howl loudly, hoping for some sign of life. It’s unlikely Fee would have ended up trapped in the house if he’d been downstairs, so I make my way to the first floor as quickly as possible.
Breathing becomes harder and harder as I inhale the thick smoke, choking on the fumes. Trying to keep my body as low to the ground as possible, I aim for our bedroom. The wooden door splinters as I barge through, and I finally dare to open my eyes again.
Fee is lying utterly motionless on the bed. The curtains are completely ablaze, and the bedsheets are already alight. His skin is pink and shiny from the obscene temperature, and I’m petrified I’m already too late.
Then the smell hits me. It’s not just smoke in here.
I can smell burned flesh—Fee’s burned flesh.
I swallow the vomit that rises up my throat and focus on how I’m going to get him out of here.
Shifting quickly, I punch my fist through the window, which already has a crack in it from the extreme heat. Thankfully, it shatters easily. I turn Fee onto his side and shift back. In one swift movement that will possibly kill us both, I bite down onto his shoulder for purchase and dive out of the window.
Making sure to land on my back so I’m cushioning his fall, several of my ribs crack at the impact. For the time being, the adrenaline coursing through my veins is enough to mask most of the pain.
I shift back again and carry Fee’s limp body further from the house as debris keeps landing all around us.
“Fee, love, I need you to wake up, okay? You need to wake up and shift so you can heal.” I jostle him in my arms. Pressing two fingers to his neck, I can feel a pulse. It’s faint, but it’s still there, and I need him to hang on in there.
He’s so badly burned; his usually beautiful olive skin is covered in blisters, and the wounds are deep. I dread to think of what the smoke damage has done to his lungs. I don’t think he’ll heal quickly enough in his human form. He needs to shift, but he can’t if he remains unconscious.
Once I lay him back down on the ground out of further harm’s way, I really begin to panic. This can’t be how our story ends; we were meant to become crotchety old men together. I refuse to be a twenty-five-year-old widower.
“Fee, you need to wake up. You don’t get to leave me behind, okay? When we go, we go together, and it’s not going to be today, so you need to fucking wake up!” I’m yelling in his face with tear-stained cheeks, but it’s no use.
“Phoenix Campbell, I’m Ordering you to shift right now!”
My own voice reverberates around my skull in a way I hardly recognise. It’s familiar but not a sound that has ever come from me before.
It’s a voice I grew up with. It’s the authoritative voice of my father.
Not only that, it’s an Order.
An Alpha Order.