Page 63 of Wolf's Providence

And I knew she wasn’t going to like it.

NINETEEN

Willow

Whoever taughtCaleb Foster how to use his mouth on a woman’s body deserved a medal.

He started making love to me right after dinner, drawing one orgasm after another until I was nearly sobbing, almost begging for him to stop. When he finally slid inside me and began to move, my body felt weightless, floating through the waves of sensations he stirred within me. Needless to say, I slept so soundly that I woke feeling completely renewed.

I’d slipped out of bed, careful not to wake him, and as the early morning light filled my studio, I settled into my work.

The charcoal seemed to move almost of its own accord across the page, creating rough sketches that were already half-formed in my mind. Over the past few nights, I’d felt the pull, the need to draw, and I knew that the scenes I was creating were not of my own making. Images of places and times I didn’t recognize but that felt unmistakably familiar.

The itch beneath my skin from Caleb’s blood had lessened when I was with him. Sometimes I would be aware of a slow hum, but that was usually when I wasn’t near him. Like my blood needed him near to cure the need I had for him.

He’d definitely cured me of the itch last night. Pressing my thighs together, I remembered my cries filling my bedroom as he squeezed every moment of pleasure from my body.

But the urge to draw had been niggling me, and this morning when I woke, I knew I wouldn’t settle for the rest of the day if I didn’t draw. Every stroke of the charcoal brought another scene from Caleb’s past to vivid life.

In the first quick sketch, a younger Caleb laughed with others around a bonfire. He looked so relaxed in a way I’d rarely seen him. The imposing log cabin stood in the far corner, so I knew he was on Shadowridge Peak, and the others in the sketch would be part of his pack.

Even from my sketch, I could tell the air around them was thick with the kind of camaraderie and belonging that he had never shown me. The dimple on his left cheek was deep when he laughed as he was in the scene. He looked so happy,alive, immersed in a world of shifters.

He belonged there.

In the next sketch, he stood in a vast, open field, the moon high above him, a wolf pup in his arms—was it his? Pushing past the moment of the unknown, I considered him as he stood there. He looked…at peace. Content in a way that pierced me deeper than I wanted to admit.

My chest tightened as I ran a finger over the outline of his form, smudging the harsher line, making it softer. Shading the familiar strong line of his jaw, catching the gleam of happiness in his eyes. I’d never seen thislightnessin him. He hadn’t been simply surviving in his pack, he’dthrivedin it.

It was becoming clearer, the more I drew, that he had belonged on that mountain, his world, more than he would ever belong in mine.

I dropped the charcoal as I looked over the three sketches I’d made this morning. Rubbing my hands together as if to shake offthe cold sinking into me, I wondered if I could give him what he needed.

A pack.

My stomach twisted as I thought back to what Raymond had said to Caleb yesterday. Caleb had told me everything, and it was clear that Lily’s dad hadn’t minced his words about what he thought Caleb should do. Caleb hadn’t pulled any punches when he told me what happened, and then I think, to make up for the harsh words, he’d sexed me into a stupor. But looking at Caleb with his pack, I remembered what he had said to me.

“It’s not like he doesn’t care about you,” Caleb said, his voice tense, his eyes guarded. “But he’s aware of what I am, and because of that, he knows the risks.” Caleb shrugged, almost dismissively. But I could see he was angry, in the way he held his back straight, his shoulders squared.

“‘Aware’? What does that mean?” I’d asked, feeling indignant on his behalf. “You’d never hurt anyone here.”

Caleb had looked at me, the look in his eyes filled with guilt as he remembered he had hurt me. He sighed, his hand rubbing over his face. “That’s not the point, Willow. To him, I’m a threat just by being here. That’s all he sees, a creature who can bring danger to his world. Hisdaughter’sworld.” He’d looked away, jaw tense. “And can we say he’s wrong?”

I’d wanted to argue, tell him he did belong here, that he was more than just a threat, but the words wouldn’t come. Because deep down, I’d wondered if Raymond was right. Not about Caleb being dangerous, but about him not truly belonging here. After all, how could he feel at home in a place where he was always watching himself, never being histrueself?

Feeling numb, I picked up the charcoal again, almost mechanically. The next image flowed from me effortlessly—a scene of Caleb, older, wiser, surrounded by shifters and wolves, the alpha of his pack. The ache in my chest grew as I shaded inhis proud, confident stance, seeing how he would’ve looked in a life where he was free and had a pack to lead.

With a sniff, I hastily brushed away the tears before they had a chance to spill over. Standing, I turned to the door to freshen up before he woke, but he was already there. Leaning against the frame, watching me, his expression unreadable.

“They started again?” he asked, nodding towards the sketches.

“Yeah,” I murmured, hoping he couldn’t see them. “Been fighting the urge to draw, which meant they came out faster than ever.”

He walked into the room, looking over my shoulder easily, as his arms slipped around me, pulling me close to his chest. But I was still able to tilt my head and look up at him, seeing how his gaze softened when he looked at the sketches. A small, almost wistful smile curved his lips. “You’ve been busy,” he said quietly. “I haven’t thought of that night in years,” he told me, reaching out and picking up the sketch of him at the bonfire with his pack. His friends.

He said nothing as he looked at the one with the wolf pup, and the quiet stretched between us, heavy with unsaid words. I pushed myself closer to him, knowing he was looking at the sketch of him older with a pack. Hating myself for wanting to demand if he was happy here, if hecouldbe happy here…with me.

“This is my little sister,” he told me, breaking the silence. I moved so I was turned to the sketch pad. He kept an arm around me as he looked down at the drawing. “She was a late addition to our family,” he added softly. “Mother called her ‘her little surprise.’”

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