The Wildflower Series

by Rachelle Mills

  “It could have been at our house. He was there once.” Carson now shifts in his seat, and Tommie takes another sip of wine.

  “You went to their territory with him?” Tate, the alpha’s son, speaks faster than my pulse.

  “What’s that supposed to mean—with him?” Cassius’s tone claws around the table.

  “Nothing, I’m just surprised, that’s all. I never knew he had friends outside the pack,” Tate explains, and it makes it sound as if he thought Tommie was a loner.

  “Did you ever have your head shaved?” Rya still pursues the fact she’s seen Tommie before.

  “Yes, I shaved it all off once.” Tommie’s shoulders straighten out; it makes his shirt tighten across his chest.

  “Why did you shave your head?” Hazel’s tongue seems thick in her mouth. The words are mashed together.

  “It tells their pack females I was available to them. The males shave their heads, and it says they are available, but when they find their mate, then they let their hair grow out. Not available. The females wear red showing that they are willing to entertain a male.” Tommie tries to explain this to Hazel, who gives a cold stare toward Cassius.

  “You shave your heads if you’re available?” Hazel speaks directly into Cassius’s hair.

  “We do.” Cassius gives a stern voice back.

  “Then why isn’t your head shaved?” Her voice is saturated in the wine she’s just consumed.

  “Because I’m not available yet.”

  “Then why all of this if you aren’t available?” Hazel looks at everyone in the most disrespectful way. Why isn’t the Luna taking her to the backyard?

  “I’m here because of your eyes,” Cassius speaks—I cringe. Hazel finishes the glass of wine.

  “So my eyes brought you here, not me?”

  “Yes.” Cassius’s honesty makes me feel as if today won’t have me burning up into ash.

  “What a waste of my time.” Hazel’s eyes molest into his.

  “This was a mistake. I apologize for taking up your time and my family’s time. Obviously, you aren’t who I thought you could be.” Cassius stands and walks out of the house.

  My bleeding has stopped.

  “That’s all right, I’ll send you my bill in the mail, because unlike you, my time means something.” She sways in her seat.

  Tommie stands. His hand digs deep into his pocket.

  “Here, I’ll cover his bill. I expect change back, because your time really doesn’t have much value now, does it? Look at you. You really have no respect for yourself.”

  Everyone pauses.

  Mouths come back together after a few seconds.

  “He’s just mad I stole his stuff. Don’t pay him any attention. His thong is riding up his ass.” Hazel reaches for the five-dollar bill, shoves it down her pocket.

  “I won’t be giving him any change because I’m worth the whole five.” She stands, gives a few sideways steps, takes a bottle of wine for each hand, bows to us with a smile as sharp as a scalpel’s edge, and leaves.

  I jump toward the big window to watch that wolf. She is drinking right out of the bottle, and when she passes by Cassius, she gives him the middle finger to his face, and a big fuck you.

  “Treajure, it’s time to go.” A hand to my shoulder and Rya ushers me toward the door.

  The engine idles even after all the other cars have pulled away.

  We sit together quietly before he pulls out of the driveway.

  Hazel is on the side of the road with a crooked walk. Bottle to lips.

  “I want to take another look at her.”

  The truck rolls by her slow. A muted, slurring taunt from her mouth that has this smile on Cassius’s mouth.

  The window rolls down. “Fuck you,” Hazel says before placing the bottle back to her mouth.

  Cassius has to feel that; I felt it. It’s full of pain, rage. It’s biting down to the bone. Her words don’t hide behind a wall of teeth.

  She speaks to leave bruises.

  I feel that fire rise again with the way his bottom lip forces the curl of his top lip up. My lips are forced own, hard. The flame is too much; the scorch is too great. I’m burning—bleeding.

  I don’t want to burn—I’ve bled enough.

  Letter 4

  Cash,

  With Clayton, the beginning was easy; he was always there. We slept together early, too early for some. Our parents knew what we were doing and didn’t care. They were so sure we were mates, that when I moved into his room, no one questioned it.

  When our parents found out we weren’t mates, they demanded I go to my own room. Clayton fought them on that. He fought and fought and fought for me, for us. He promised me that he would love me forever, and I promised him I’d love him forever.

  I have to apologize for what I said to you about my tattoo when you fucked me that day. Clayton doesn’t own my pussy, but neither do you. I put his name there so he understood how much I loved him and wanted to be with him. I knew that when I met my mate, I would reject him, just like Clayton rejected Rya. I wanted to show him that I was serious about us, just like he was serious about us when he got my name tattooed across his back.

  You really stood no chance, Cash. None.

  I’m sorry for laughing in your face. I didn’t know that was your first time doing anything with a female. What I did was cruel to you. You’re not defective, you’re not disgusting, you’re not repulsive. You’re perfect, and I should have told you that instead of writing it now in this letter.

  Everything is right about you, from your hands to your lips to your cock. I’m sorry I was cruel. My love for Clayton brought out the cruelty in me that I never thought I had inside me.

  I was lying when I told you that you couldn’t satisfy me the way Clayton could. I lied to you when I said I couldn’t even feel it inside me. I lied. I could feel every thrust, every pump, and it makes me wet just thinking about how good your cock felt inside me. I lied to you that I was faking it when you called me a liar that I couldn’t get off from you. Not once did I have to fake anything with you.

  Also, you’re not a shit kisser. I lied about that too. Sometimes I want to kiss you so bad, but it was never the right time. I thought you would kiss me again. You never tried again after I laughed in your face and told you everything there was wrong with your mouth, your tongue. Your mouth is perfect, and your tongue is something that I have dreamt about at night. I wake up wet from those dreams. I haven’t had a dream about Clayton in a long time. I’ve been dreaming, fantasizing about you and what could have been if I wasn’t such a bitch to you and you weren’t such an asshole to me.

  Clayton was always kind to me. He put me first. He was gentle and caring; he included me in every aspect of his life.

  With you, I wasn’t treated kindly. You weren’t gentle or caring, but neither was I, right? You didn’t include me in anything.

  You took everything away from me, and I made sure you understood that you were nothing to me. I’m sorry, Cash.

  Kennedy

  Chapter 5

  Scarlet in the Color of Blood

  Tension is held into the deep muscles of Cassius’s back. No matter how much he tries to roll his shoulders out, it remains dug in.

  He’s not smiling.

  I’m trying to figure out how to tell him that Hazel’s not the one.

  His face seems marbled. Difficult to read, but not feel.

  He’s a deep bruise in the color of an overripe peach. Fading soft tones that are replacing the darker ones. There is a want at times to shout out, “Bruises are good, you can heal from bruise—they are only a discoloration of flesh, not mutilated skin. You’ll heal, Cassius. You will heal.” The words get stuck behind the armor of teeth that leave no space for anything to slip out of the cracks.

  “Do you think that was a mistake, Specs?” He’s watching the road, not me.

  I say nothing.

  Cassius clenches the steering wheel with a tight jaw. Molars pressed.

>   He swallows.

  “I saw her, and she reminded me of Kennedy.” A barely heard voice over the crunch of tires on asphalt. In the cab of the truck, it’s a shelter, away from his family, away from the twins. I can see him through the lenses of my glasses. He’s perfectly seen in the shifting streetlights that we pass by. A shudder runs between the blades of my shoulders, perfectly straight down, honestly felt.

  We drive. He turns on the radio, and low music fills the space inside here.

  The leather cushions the back of my spine as I get comfortable to listen to him. He talks more to himself, if I am honest. I wish it was to me, not some confession out loud to be heard by no one. Sometimes I wonder if he thinks I’m no one?

  “She’s mouthy…violent.” The edges of his eyes get smaller, reminding me when he’s about to smile. He does. I want to add, “She wouldn’t be a good fit with the twins. Mouthy and violent don’t mix with precious and vulnerable.” My mouth remains shut, but my mind is screaming, loud and clear.

  Torment eats away that newly formed smile; he frowns instead. “What am I doing, Specs?” His hand drops to the side. The edge of his baby finger could touch my thigh. So close—it’s unnerving.

  “I should apologize to her. It was a mistake to go there. She’s not Kennedy. I was lying to myself. I saw her eyes and thought she could be Kennedy. I was wrong. Really wrong.” He grips the wheel. Tight.

  “Do you think I was a dick?” Now he looks at me, and I nod yes. I want to shake my head no, but I’m no liar.

  “I’ve got to do something.” The streetlights brush his shadow away momentarily before casting his side profile back into the early night. Hidden and dark, until the neon light comes again, flashing his profile in brilliance and awe.

  I shift in the seat, thighs pressed together.

  “I’ve got to change. I can’t live like this anymore. It’s not good.” The music is playing, and I’ve noticed he hasn’t turned off the songs like he usually does when it’s just him and me in the truck. It’s like he can’t stand to finish what’s playing on the radio. He doesn’t really enjoy the sound of music like most wolves do.

  Alone like this, the flame is starting underneath my skin. Warmth turning to heat.

  “Can we go for a drive?” Cassius licks the dry cushion of his bottom lip. I try not to lean closer to him.

  No answer from me, he must feel it means yes.

  The truck turns on the highway heading in the opposite direction of his territory. I know where we are going.

  This is his self-destruction…

  I’ve been on this route several times before. All those times left scars to both of them. Real flesh wounds that tore through the bruises that have been left against their skin, gouged deep to the bone. Kennedy’s death has left Cassius and Clayton bone-scarred.

  Hard lines with sharpening eyes start on Cassius the closer that we get to Kennedy’s birth pack, reminding me of the very first time we came here together.

  The first time the Alpha had to come and get Cassius from Clayton, he told his son that nothing was here but ghosts that couldn’t be seen. Cassius screamed back, She’s not a ghost. He told his father that he wished he could see her one last time to make things right. One last time, he cried into the Alpha’s chest when he was dragged away. It was his crying wish.

  He smelled of salt clinging to his wet cheeks all the way home that night.

  “I’d give anything to have her back to say goodbye. I didn’t get to say goodbye.” Despair pushes out from a mouth that tightens into a punishing line. I want to tell him we have no magic to make wishes come true. We can hope, pray, but wishes are only wishes from the needy.

  Right now—he is needy.

  The shadows are starting to paint him haunted; the light lets me see his need.

  He blinks harder, trying to watch the road the closer we get to Clayton’s territory. Another long blink crushing the lids of his eyes downward. Nothing leaks out.

  We take the back way in; his breathing has changed. So does mine.

  This isn’t good. This never has a good outcome for either of them with Cassius showing up at random times of the night.

  We come to a halt in front of Kennedy’s old home. Only waist-height weeds remain. The engine shuts off.

  Behind his lids, there is movement from eyes that aren’t seeing the outside, but the inside of his mind.

  What does he see in those memories? Will they be the color of mint like the sweet story he told me of how Kennedy was an artist? Her favorite medium was working with charcoal. Her fingers would be stained in black and would smudge everything she touched. That story trailed off, sweet green turned into a jealous green in the same breath. He then told me, she liked to smudge him, draw pictures on his body with her fingertips. He hit the wheel hard; a bruise bloomed on the meat of his closed fist. It was purple, black, but faded fast to the color of an overripe peach. Then the color turned to rose petals and started to blaze. Solid, deep red when he got out of his truck, slamming the door and screaming for Clayton to come to him.

  He wanted his turn. He was promised his turn. He was promised a turn. He’s been in line long enough.

  Clayton showed up, spitting sparks himself. This was their moment. No one to stop the grown males from destroying themselves. Not each other. Themselves.

  Two males for the same female—fighting. Except the female is a memory, a ghost. Neither gets her if they win the fight. When Cassius decided to fight with teeth, Clayton told him, “I fight with fists only. I can’t kill you, even though I want to. I respect your father and Dallas too much. Caleb is my best friend. My only friend. I’m not ruining that. We can fight with fists whenever you need to, but never teeth, Cash. Never. Teeth.”

  Cassius spit blood, screaming, “I want your throat.” Clayton stood there facing Cassius.

  “You can’t have my throat, only fists, Cash.” Clayton called the Alpha to pick up his son. The wait was long. I peed my pants. Not once but twice.

  Violence is my trigger.

  It wasn’t them that I saw fighting or their blood scented on the breeze. It was silver sliding against my skin, my blood in my nose and down my throat. It was them that I heard. Heavy breathing the closer they got. Slipping, falling, tripping over and over against. Crawling to get away. Running.

  Shadows were changing shape. Someone was behind me; I was sure of it. Shapes became the bodies of men. The scent of urine in my nose, laughter. The hiss of pain was my own. Sound was dangerous, but I didn’t learn that until much later with my captures.

  I didn’t understand that he loved the sound of pain, misery. He loved the sound I made at the height of when pain almost took over completely, right before the body folds upon itself and shuts down.

  He thought if he could make memories of pain that I would stop trying to run. I never stopped trying. I never stopped when he thought I was dead. They were upset with him as he put me in a plastic garbage bag; they left me for dead at the dump. The sound of Clayton’s voice was what brought me out of that memory. He kept speaking to me until I looked at him.

  “You, female. I won’t hurt him. Calm down. You’re Treajure, right? I was told about you.” It was the first time Clayton spoke to me. I couldn’t answer him because the smell of urine and plastic was everywhere. I could taste the smell of that memory. I made a sound deep in my throat, and Cassius stopped fighting with Clayton.

  I was frozen.

  Nothing wanted to move on my body. Not even my head or my hands to pick up my glasses that dropped at my piss-stained feet. Clayton had to handle Cassius for hours before his father came. The Alpha stormed into the territory loud enough for my bladder to release itself again. He picked me up, and I climbed his body, trying to press myself underneath the Silverback’s neck.

  “Specs, are you all right?” The voice of Cassius shuffles those memories away.

  Blinking.

  I’m sitting in a dark truck with him, looking at waist-high weeds where a house used to stand not
long ago.

  His hand is on my thigh, a rub, a squeeze of flesh from the pad of his fingers. I wish his fingers would leave some kind of mark on my skin. He’s too gentle. Always so gentle with me. I think he’s afraid to hurt me. I could never be hurt by his touch.

  “You smell afraid.” I turn my head toward his voice.

  Shaking. Not from fright.

  He’s gotten close.

  His hand raises—I flinch.

  Chaos when his skin touches mine. The pad of his thumb drags down my cheek, to press against the skin of my neck where my pulse feels thready and weak.

  “Tell me what’s wrong, Treajure?” There is a lowness to his voice that makes my desires drive forward. He’s started to use this sound on me, and it makes my knees shake, and my belly grows hot.

  Opening my mouth, forming the words, I can’t shove the sound out. The effort of speech goes against everything I’ve been self-taught.

  Shaking hard—but trying even harder. I want to talk. I want him to hear me.

  No sound…

  He leans in. I get closer to him.

  A finger traces my mouth that still is open.

  “Why are you scared right now? Don’t you know whatever you’re scared about has to get through me first? They can’t get through me. Not the evil queen, not her warriors. Nothing can get through your knight, Treajure.” For a fragment of a second, I think he might kiss me. Here, now. In this truck.

  I lean in, closer. He doesn’t pull away.

  “See me,” I scream in my head, “see me.”

  The windows have fogged up. It’s getting hot in here.

  “You don’t have to be afraid anymore, Specs.” My chin is gently held in his hand. The edge of his thumb draws small circles on the line of my jaw.

  Closing my eyes, I feel unbalanced.

  “Don’t be nervous. I’m here with you.” His calm sways my body.

  A kiss is placed to my forehead, staying longer than a brush of skin. When he pulls away, my face follows his lips.