“It was humiliating,” I confess to her back. “He asked what I’d done to earn the rank I claimed.”
He’s an asshole, but in the end, he’s right. I’ve won no challenges. Matter of fact, I’m zero for one.
Abertha snorts. “For all that Killian Kelly’s a thousand times smarter than his father was, he still knows nothing. He’s gonna learn, though. Or maybe I should say ‘remember’.”
I can’t follow her mysticism right now. I eye the plate, but instead of taking the offering, I lay my head in my hands. I don’t have enough energy to grab the butter, and I can’t eat a three-day old muffin dry.
“He’s going to live happily ever after,” I mumble into my elbow, yawning. “Getting pawed at by females and barking orders from a metal folding chair.”
“I doubt it.” Abertha plops a crock of home-churned butter in front of me and drops into a chair with way too much oomph for a sixty—seventy?—year old woman. “I yanked the mate bond out of you.” She waggles her arched eyebrows. “Didn’t touch his now, did I?”
Abertha lets me sleep in her bed—just this once, she’s careful to say—and in the morning, I’m stiff and sore, but the scalding humiliation is—well, it’s freaking awful, but at least it’s a little less visceral. I’m not glowing red anymore.
I lay still for a minute, staring at the bundles of herbs hanging from the cottage’s exposed beams to dry, inhaling the lavender and sage as I listen to Abertha snore.
I want to sink through this sagging mattress, under the floorboards, down and down until I pop out the other side of the earth.
How do I face the pack?
I went from top of the lowest quartile to dead last in rank the instant Haisley’s fangs sank into my shoulder.
How do I serve in the lodge, or hell, pass Killian in the commons, without cringing to death?
The thorn patch is a blur, but I remember forcing my beaten, bloody carcass to present. For my mate who never came. I wish you could scrub memories from your brain with sandpaper.
I count to three. That’s how many more seconds of self-pity I get.
I’m alive.
I’m healing.
The humiliating heat is gone.
I’ve picked myself up after worse things before. Like the attack that mangled my leg.
I force myself to remember what I can. I was only seven. Da had already passed, and Ma was bedridden and failing fast. There was no cure for wasting sickness back then.
Ma had sent me out to play in the commons so I’d stop making a racket in the cabin. Rowan Bell and I were weaving dandelion crowns. Rowan was supposed to be watching her baby cousin Mari, but she didn’t want to, so she stuck her in a straw laundry basket.
Mari was the sweetest little critter with the perfect button nose, wobbly chin, and blue saucer eyes. I wanted to hold her, just nibble her fat cheeks, but Rowan wouldn’t let me. She didn’t want to play with Mari, but she didn’t want to share her, either. I contented myself with staring.
I was painfully lonely, even then. I hadn’t learned to live with it yet. I wore it on my sleeve. It made me weak. Easy to dominate.
Rowan had wandered off when Mari’s father, Thomas Fane, staggered down the lane, drunk and raving. He was shouting about his mate fucking Declan Kelly. She may well have been. Killian’s father considered it his right as alpha to rut any female in the pack if she wasn’t in heat.
Thomas Fane probably would have stumbled on past if Mari hadn’t cried out, but she heard his voice and startled.
He stomped over, peered down at her and sneered. I will never forget his expression. He said, “No child of mine.”
Then he kicked the basket, flipping it, and as he aimed again, this time to stomp, I ran. My wolf was a pup. I couldn’t shift. I was only as quick as a human, but somehow, I landed between his boot and Mari’s small body. I huddled over her and braced, but the second kick never came. Instead, there was a snarling and cracking and unholy howl. And then claws and teeth.
I don’t remember anything else. Ma told me that I kept Mari tucked to my belly, wildly kicking while Thomas Fane mauled me. Eventually, Declan Kelly came and killed him. They thought the leg would heal, but I suppose I was too young, or maybe there was something in Fane’s saliva that infected the wound.
The bite and claw marks faded into scars, but the muscles never knit together properly again. My hip bone mended wrong, too, but I walked again in time.
When Ma passed, I moved in with the Malones and then the Butlers and then the Campbells. They were all kind, but back during Declan’s reign, you ate if you won fights, and eventually, every male would have a string of bad luck, and I became one too many mouths to feed. That’s why I learned to do for myself. Hunt mushrooms, gather berries. Trade for meat.
I get knocked down a lot. I always get back up.
So what if this feels unbearably heavy?
No one promised me an easy go of it. No one’s ever promised me anything.
I swing my good leg over the side of the bed. My shoes are long gone. In the thicket? No, they’re in pieces back at the lodge.
At least I have clothes for my walk of shame.
I force myself to stand and take the first step to the door.
I used to dream about running away. I’d go to Moon Lake with their sparkling mansions on the lakefront. Or I’d run all the way to North Border and live with the elk and bear. But a shifter can’t run. You need the pack. Lone wolves go feral, kill innocents, and destroy themselves.
Long ago, I came to terms with the fact that running was a child’s fantasy. I make sure to close Abertha’s door firmly behind me.
There’s nowhere to go but home.
Besides, my girls are there. They’re worried. And we’ve got business. I might have gone off my rocker, but the mushroom deal is still on. I hope someone remembered to get my phone from behind the crockpot.
I take my time walking back. The sun is still rising, and there’s dew on the grass. It’s quiet. Peaceful. It feels like a fever has passed, and I’m shaken, but gaining strength by the minute. The place where the bond was is raw, but not painful.
The closer I get to camp, the stronger the sweet scent of toffee. It’s nice, but it’s not what I crave. My stomach growls. I need meat.
My wolf prances, sniffing the breeze. She seems oddly unaffected by recent events. She’s super excited to go back to camp. I want to let her out, but I wince thinking about shifting again so soon. Maybe this evening. That puts a spring in my step.
I skirt the commons and follow the ridge, approaching my cabin from behind. Only elders are up this early, and I really don’t want to see them after yesterday’s naked mortification. Or was it the day before? Time’s a little fuzzy.