Page 43 of Ravaged Wolf
“You okay, babe?” Cadoc asks as he gathers the two-by-fours.
“Yeah. I’ve got this,” Rosie says. “You go after Trevor.”
Before Cadoc walks away, he bends over, bumps her forehead with his own, and nuzzles her temple. His wolf rumbles in his chest. He doesn’t want to leave his mate.
I hear the four-wheelers approaching in the distance. I need to pull it together. Instead, I sniff harder, and the tears come in sheets. The spigot is broken.
I let Rosie lead me into the den, down the narrow tunnel, and then into the huge cavern that used to be empty except for excavation sites marked off with wooden stakes and string and the occasional orange cone.
Now, the place reminds me of the craft fair held every May on the great lawn in the middle of the Academy, but instead of booths, there are little tableaus—a female stirring a pot over a fire, males bent over a workbench, packmates perched on overturned buckets watching an old-timey television, the kind shaped like a box.
“You have cable?” I say without thinking. My brain is slow from crying.
“Cable in a cave? That’s nuts.” Nia’s tone is teasing. “We’ve got satellite.”
We weave between centers of activity, and unlikeoutside, most of the people are too absorbed in what they’re doing to take notice of me. When we pass a cluster of elders, they call hello to Rosie and raise their gnarled hands in greeting. Their faces fall when they see my face, and a thin male with almost no hair on his spotted head shouts, clearly distressed, “Flora, why is that female crying?”
A chubby female with glorious wavy hair pats his hand. “It’s okay, Granddad. Rosie’s got her. She’ll be okay.”
“Rosie?”
“You know Rosie. The alpha female.”
His craggy face scrunches. “The one with the wolf?”
“The one with the wolf,” Flora confirms. I know what he means. Rosie’s wolf is the size of an elephant, and ever since she chomped off Alban Hughes’ head, she’s beenthewolf.
“The female will be all right then.” The male relaxes, sinking back into his chair. “Why don’t you go make sure, though?”
“All right, Granddad.” Flora smooths the quilt covering his bony knees. Is this the elder Una was talking about, the one that Trevor fussed over?
At the thought of his name, my eyes well with tears again. He saw me and puked. He hates me. Our mating is irreparably broken, and how messed up in the head must I be to think there’s anything to salvage? I was going to be professional and collected, and I’m having a meltdown in the middle of strangers.
While I sink into despair, Nia and Rosie herd me past the pool and into an alcove decorated like a booth in a fancy Italian restaurant. Nia slides into a highbacked, curved bench upholstered in burgundy velvet and pulls me down after her. Rosie squeezes in next so I’m sandwiched between them.
“I’ll be back with a pot of tea,” Flora says, disappearing toward the cooking fire we passed on the way inside.
Two mismatched wooden chairs sit across the table, which is covered by a white fabric shower curtain. I wouldn’t have known it wasn’t a tablecloth except the metal grommets bumped my thighs as I scooched in.
Beyond the chairs, we have a perfect view of the pool. I truly thought it was magical when I was a pup. Sunshine streams through the natural skylight above it, and by some chemical process that the instructor explained but I never quite understood, the stalactites clean the rainwater. An underground river feeds it as well, so it’s a perfect clean and clear blue.
A blonde female in a bright yellow bikini is standing in the shallows, massaging the scalp of a beefy male sitting in front of her. Even though he’s kneeling, his head still almost reaches her chin. He’s twice her size, but she’s not the least bit afraid of him. His eyes are closed. She’s chatting to him, and he’s smiling dopily, blissed out.
Trevor stared at me like I was a ghost, and not the gothic kind, but the jump-scare, bent-neck, hole-where-her-nose-should-be kind.
I drop my head into my hands. What was I thinking? How did I think this was going to go?
The truth is I didn’t think. I took the ropes that Fate or Abertha threw me with no plan, bumbling along through life with no urgency, like Dad always accused me of doing. Did I figure there would be a neon green flyer posted on a bulletin board with what I should say to Trevor?
I stifle a sob, but my shoulders still shake. Nia hums like a mother to a hurt pup, Rosie sighs, and they both shift even closer to me. Their arms press against my side. Nia smells like motor oil, and Rosie smells like baby food—specifically strained peas—and it’s so oddly comforting. I’m not used to being so physically close to females.
“Well, the worst is over now.” Nia breaks the silence. “They always say you feel better after you throw up.”
Rosie hisses, “Not helpful.”
“You were supposed to have gotten Trevor away from the den already, so we could ease them into the first meeting,” Nia hisses back.
They had a plan?
