Chapter 5 - Cade
I’m a bastard, but at least I know it. Having her here, under my roof, only reminds me of the fact.
I spent most of the night prowling my own house with my wolf on high alert, letting the dark and silence press in from every angle.
The security system, which was overkill, according to my beta, Grey, who helped me install it, flashed blue all night.
I’d set it to max lockdown level remotely before uncuffing her wrists and frog-marching her in, and still, every muscle in my body kept reporting in, certain she would try something.
I didn’t expect to get any sleep, and I didn’t.
I’m making breakfast now because that’s what you do with hostages, apparently.
There’s eggs and bacon and coffee, and the smell punches through the morning haze like a drill sergeant.
I crack the eggs with unnecessary force, letting the shells clatter into the sink, and I pour the mix into the pan and let the sizzle drown out my thoughts.
I don’t want to think about what I’m supposed to do with her. Or, worse, why it bothers me so much.
She’s a hunter, or at least has been living with them; she might have information about the Order. She can confirm what the group of hunters is doing near the city; they didn’t appear to be trained fighters, so what are they doing?
That’s all this is. Interrogation.
She hasn’t moved from the guest room yet, even though I left her door unlocked.
The room has security cameras, which are designed to offer some privacy while still showing the door and the side of the bed.
I checked on them on and off during the night, and she was just curled up on the edge of the mattress, arms wrapped tightly around her knees.
I’m not sure she slept much, either. I got the impression she was awake, too.
I watched for a while, waiting for her to try the window or spend the night bashing the door, but instead she just lay there, motionless, just waiting for whatever comes next, I guess.
Maybe that’s what gets to me. The resignation. I expected more of a scene after that stunt she pulled with the truck door. A fight. But there’s none of that. Instead, she’s gone still in a way that feels somehow more dangerous.
I try not to dwell on it, because the memory of her scent is still in my nose, still making my wolf scratch at the back of my skull.
That’s the part I can’t explain. She’s human, but her scent throws me off.
There’s something about it that makes my wolf bristle.
I’ve never had a reaction like that to a human, and it’s infuriating.
The phone buzzes on the countertop. I pick it up and thumb out a quick message to the alliance alphas before I can second-guess myself:
Hit Order compound last night. Minimal resistance, but they handed over a hostage. The whole thing was weird. Possibly a plant. Not sure what she is. She seems like a regular human, but her scent is off. Need backup for questioning.
The replies come in thick and fast. Rowan is first, and I’m not surprised.
The alliance works through mutual respect, so I can feel him tempering his reply through the screen, and it makes me smirk.
I think he knew exactly what I was going to do when I left the meeting, and I’m glad I didn’t disappoint him.
I’m about to drop the phone back on the counter when the second message comes through. Brooks, of course. No punctuation. No context. Just: You sure you weren’t drugged lol
I ignore him. I can’t shake the feeling that something about last night is going to haunt me, and not just because of the way I manhandled a girl half my size through my own front door.
There’s something about her I can’t get past, and my wolf won’t let it go.
If she were a plant, they would have made more of a show of it.
If they wanted her dead, they would have done it themselves.
I can’t decide if that makes her more or less dangerous.
The coffee pot gurgles, and the smell of it drags me back to the present.
I pour a cup of black and burn my tongue on the first sip.
I think about taking the whole tray up to the guest room, but I don’t.
I don’t want her thinking she can set the terms here.
Instead, I make a plate and set it on the table, then walk halfway down the hall and knock on her door.
Not hard, just enough to let her know I’m not coming in.
"You awake?" I call. "There’s breakfast if you want it."
I wait. A minute passes. I think about opening the door, but I also think about how hard she tried to get away last night, and I don’t want to start the morning with another round of wrestling.
The silence stretches, and I almost walk away, but then I hear the floorboard creak.
She’s up. I go back to the kitchen, pour another mug, and set it on the table across from my own.
When she finally comes out, she’s moving slowly, cautiously, eyes darting everywhere.
She’s small in my flannel shirt, the one I shoved into her hands before I shut the guestroom door when I realized she had no belongings with her.
It hangs off her, sleeves rolled three times and still too long.
I’m not sure if she realizes it or not, but the miles of long, slim, pale thigh she’s flashing sends my wolf half crazy.
I look away for a moment and take a long drink of my coffee, forcing myself to get a grip before dealing with her.
Her hair is a halo of soft auburn waves, but her eyes look tired from lack of sleep.
Mine probably look the same. She holds my gaze with an intensity that makes me want to look away first. I don’t.
She says nothing, just sits across from me and glares at the food like I might have poisoned it. I don’t blame her. I push the plate a little closer and gesture with my chin.
"If you don’t eat, you’ll pass out before I can get anything useful out of you," I say, trying not to sound like a complete asshole. "Food’s safe. Promise. I wouldn’t go to all this trouble just to kill you with a bacon roll."
She seems to weigh that for a moment before picking up the fork, turning it in her fingers, and then taking a bite with exaggerated suspicion.
I watch her, pretending not to, and I’m glad I made extra.
She chews slowly at first, but then eats like she’s not sure when her next meal is coming.
She was clearly hungrier than she wanted to admit, or maybe even realized herself.
I don’t ask questions right away. I just let her eat, and for a while, the only sound is the scrape of her fork and the low hum of the coffee pot. I make it halfway through my third strong coffee before she looks up.
"You always lived with those hunters?” I finally ask. “Maybe you're with one of the men?”
I don’t miss the way her cheeks burn at the suggestion, which is interesting. She doesn’t answer straight away, taking a sip of the coffee first.
“No, I’m not with any of them. Not like that.” She says it like it’s a slur, and the look she shoots me makes it clear: I’ve insulted her on a level I don’t completely understand. “I don’t belong to anyone.”
She looks back at the plate and starts breaking up the toast with her fingers, not eating, just tearing it apart like it’s something that wronged her.
Her jaw clenches and unclenches, and I see the way her hands tremble, just a little.
She’s pissed at me, at the situation, and probably at herself for being here.
I’m not sure why, but it makes me want to push her more.
“So why stay with them?” I ask, voice low, soft enough that it almost sounds like I care. “If you’re not one of the Order, but you’re living in their compound? They treat you like shit, then toss you to a shifter the first chance they get.”
She shrugs, eyes fixed on the torn-up toast. “Where else was I supposed to go?” The words are barely more than a whisper.
I lean back in my chair, folding my arms across my chest. “So, you’re telling me you just drifted in, stayed because you had nowhere else? That’s bullshit.”
She looks up at me, and there’s something molten in her gaze, a flash of anger so raw it almost catches me off-guard.
“You ever had a place to go that wasn’t decided by someone else?
You ever tried starting over in a city where nobody wants you?
” She spits the words, then shoves her chair back, standing so fast the mug rattles.
“I was a bartender. I poured drinks, picked up the mess, and slept in the basement. That’s all. ”
I watch her pace the length of the kitchen, then come to a stop at the window, arms wrapped tightly around herself. She’s stonewalling me, but I can’t tell if it’s a habit or a strategy. My wolf is restless, gnawing at the inside of my ribs, and I realize I’m getting nowhere.
She talks like she doesn’t care what anyone thinks, like she’s used to pushing back and getting away with it.
It should be irritating. It is irritating.
And still, I find myself watching her longer than I should, noticing things I have no business noticing. It’s a distraction I don’t need. I should shut down before it becomes something worse.
“So, you just let them run your life?” I prod again, needing to find the edge. “You don’t seem like someone who lets people push you around.”
She barks a short laugh, not amused. “You don’t know me. I’ve got nothing for you.” Her voice is rough, and I briefly wonder if I’m pushing too hard when I’m not even sure what I’m looking for yet.
We stare at each other in a standoff. I decide not to press further.
Instead, I stand, clear the table, and start rinsing the dishes.
The sound of water, the scrape of ceramic on steel, fills the silent distance between us for a moment.
I see her watching me from the corner of her eye, and I wonder if she’s thinking about how easy it would be to grab a knife and try her luck. She doesn’t.