Page 41 of Her Second-Hand Mate

“Guilt,” Vera said, and we all turned to her. “Can you imagine how he must feel as an Alpha? His mate brought her to his pack and then crippled her while driving intoxicated.”

“That doesn’t mean he needs to babysit her,” Sonya drawled in her trademark accent. “Let her run to town in her wolf form if she can’t drive, who cares.”

“Luckily, you don’t have a pack depending on your soft, merciful heart,” Florence teased her friend. “But I understand where my son is coming from. His father taught him to always keep his word. He feels responsible, but he doesn’t see how he’s hurting Penelope.”

Was it obvious to everyone that I was hurting? I felt my face heat with humiliation.

No one commented on it; instead, Vera said in a low tone, “I know this is probably unprofessional of me to say, but you are my Luna, so I have to. There is something off about that female, but I can never get close enough to her to get a read. She was supposed to have gotten counseling after her accident but she refused.”

I spent the rest of the day mulling over everything that was said during lunch. When Dominic came home smelling like lavender after the car ride with her, I’d had enough.

“I don’t like that Heather is monopolizing so much of your time,” I blurted out and was glad that it was over. There. I said it.

“I drive her to PT every two months; I’d hardly call that monopolizing,” he replied, and it got my hackles up.

“You are her Alpha, not her driver. And she has interfered with our time together on several occasions. Not to mention shewaltzes into both your home and your office uninvited, which bothers my wolf!”

I was panting with anger now, saying out loud some of the things the angry voice kept whispering to me. At some point during the last few months, I stopped thinking of it as ugly. Ever since Margaret had told me that anger was good, that it was protective. The voice only drew attention to things that harmed me, hurt me, or went against me. It had never been ugly; it had always been a shield.

“Penelope,” Dominic was breathing hard as well now. “Heather is crippled. It was my mate that crippled her.”

“I thought I was your mate.”

“You know what I mean!” he shouted. “I gave her my word. I won’t go back on my word.”

“Not even at the expense of our mating?”

“I’m not doing anything wrong, I’m just helping a sick pack member.”

We just kept staring at each other, our wolves confused, our human sides fuming.

“I’m going to bed,” he said over his shoulder as he was leaving. I stayed downstairs until I was sure he’d fallen asleep and then went upstairs too.

9

Ihated thinking it, but November in Massachusetts was the ugliest month I'd experienced here so far. Whereas October had been full of different hues of fallen leaves and was fragrant from the abundant harvest of our pack gardens, November was its cold, barren sister.

The trees were mostly naked now, the air was hurting morning skin with its icy teeth, but there was no snow to provide a clean slate to the world each morning.

Overall, the weather wasn’t helping my mood. I’d done a bad thing. When Isaac stayed with us last weekend, he told us that Father would be visiting him again and invited Dominic and me to join them. And I just... ignored the invitation.

The whole day, my stomach churned with unease, and I kept glancing at the door, half-expecting Father to burst in and berate me for disrespecting him. But lunchtime came and went, and no one came.

The unease turned into misplaced disappointment. Of course, I’d known Father would never come to see me, even when he wasonly 40 minutes away, and yet, as it turned out, I still hoped he’d come after me, at least demanding to know why I hadn’t joined them. Like I'd told Nana once, I could know that something was true and still not fully believe it. The heart and the mind didn’t always cooperate that well, at least not in my case.

All I got for my worry was a bunch of mistakes on a budget form. I didn’t have any correction fluid, so I made my way to the assistants’ office, but no one was there. Then I knocked on Dominic’s door, but he was absent as well, so I let myself in. The office smelled like him, and I immediately felt better about everything.

No matter how things were between us, our bodies would always respond to each other. Charlotte was attending a class on mates and labor as part of her midwifery studies, and she told us that the proximity and touch of your mate during contractions (and in general) lessened your pain. Physical pain, I amended mentally.

I sank down in his chair and stroked the armrests, thinking of the countless hours his body must have spent here.

Correction fluid, right. It was right there, in the bottom drawer, next to the picture of the two of us that I’d gifted Dominic for his birthday. It was just so carelessly shoved in there, face-down.

My mate chose to enter his office right as I was cradling it in my arms like a poor, abandoned pup. In two long strides, he was next to me. I could see from his face that my emotions were seeping through my coat.

“Give me my photo back, Penelope.”

“No,” I said as I stood up. “I’ll keep it on my desk if you don’t want it.”

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