The Wildflower Series

by Rachelle Mills

  Don’t read these letters. Don’t read them. They aren’t for you and you’d only be hurt more.

  I want my chance to say the goodbyes we didn’t get to have.

  A proper goodbye.

  Kennedy

  Chapter 7

  Words Felt in Velvet

  The tread of tires on asphalt is all that’s heard for the longest time within the truck.

  The sound reminds me of the way his truck would pull into the warehouse, almost silent except for the grind of tires. He was meticulous with the hunts, a new location every time. Never the same men. Never. Two men waited by the doors, excitement noted in their dilated eyes. Rich men, powerful men waiting for me. Crossbows in gloved hands—not silver-tipped, injuries will heal. I have to make it look believable that they killed me. That they were the hunters and I was the prey. My mother, father, brother, mate all killed by his loss of control. He waited out my shift then it was my turn to be stalked, to run, to try and escape, but “never too hard,” he would say. Don’t try so hard. I can still feel the scream against my skin because it was always met with the lash of silver. The stinging bite that he would purposely not go too deep, but he’d eventually lose his temper and those times I was left on the top of the bed, bleeding into the mattress, waiting to see if I would heal. I always did, but barely. I was this bleeding girl spread out like a crime scene for these men of particular taste to fawn over with congratulations on their good kill. Some would come alone; others would come in pairs or threes. It was different every time. What wasn’t different is him with an open duffle bag counting bills with a smile spread like cold ash across his face. A silver bracelet on my wrist to prevent my Wild from teaching him, them who was a hunter and who was prey in those early days when I thought I could win. They had no idea what I was, but he knew what I was. He knew it all, his fucking miracle.

  “Sorry, Specs.” His voice slides my eyes away from the window to look at him. Memories of old bones and blood fade.

  He frowns. “You’ve been through a lot, and I’m putting you through more. I’m selfish. It feels better not being by myself on the drive home.” His hand reaches out, tightening the knot up in my throat.

  His hand on wrist, my skin explodes in the sudden sensation.

  “I can feel your heartbeat. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

  I can’t say a word; my teeth won’t allow it because of a knotted-up throat. Difficult to let even a swallow down. My glasses fall off the bridge of my nose, and I don’t put them back on, not right away. I like the blurry. I like the feeling of my wrist held in the palm of his hand. The weight of him, gentle and caring. A shiver shuffles between spinal bones. This is enough, I think. This is more than enough for now. Him holding me. It’s enough. For now.

  “Were you thinking about the evil queen?”

  Drilling my top molars into the bottoms, I give him a nod, yes.

  “You know she can’t get you, right?”

  I don’t nod my head yes. I keep still and silent, but the throb of my heart is in my ears because of the wrist grip. Desire devours in the feel of his skin on mine.

  “One day you’re going to need to tell me what happened. Not today. One day.”

  There is nothing to say back to him. Not a no, not a yes. Nothing. What could he do with the secrets I would tell him? Nothing.

  The side of his thumb draws circles around my wrist bone, over and over again, reminding me of the way he first got me away from the window on a Sunday waiting for Belac to come back to me. He gripped my wrist, thumb drawing circles, and his steady voice gave me the first story of the evil queen. He talked for an hour, I listened. The Wild within turned her head and observed this male beside her. She angled her ear to mouth, not listening, more noting the infliction of his voice, the rise and fall of sound that brushed her fur down and calmed the stiffness of her curled down tail. She relaxed around him, and so did I in that hour of storytelling. After that, we paid more attention to Cassius. We followed him and settled around his space. The stories kept coming, and before long, I thought of his space as my space. This would be enough, I thought. For now, that was enough being in his space, but something began to happen between my thighs, something that felt tingly and alive—full of unrelieved pressure.

  His breath is felt pressing along my inner wrist; he’s brought my hand to his mouth. He sniffs. I’m still not wearing the glasses, and it feels nice having the road blur by and his breathing is all that I can focus on.

  “It gets ahead of me. You make me scared, sometimes.” He releases my wrist with a broken breath out, picks up my glasses, and hands them back to me. I can hear the hard grip of the steering wheel.

  I want to ask him how could I make him scared? He’s never once made me scared, not once. Never.

  The light on the clock says it’s 12:45 a.m. It feels earlier than that, more a ten o’clock feel than after midnight.

  “I shouldn’t put you through that.”

  A stretch of self-inflicted silence as he seems to be chewing on unsaid words.

  “He was right about the twins. He has a point.” I can hear the grind of his words. Some words can feel soft and kind, while others can be textured rough and abrasive.

  “I shouldn’t waste my time with him. I should be spending it with them.” He takes a big breath in, filling his lungs as his words fill the space inside the truck.

  “He was right about a lot of things, Specs. A lot of things he was right about.” He’s not looking at me; he’s focused on the road ahead of him. He puts his turn signal on, and we move to the next lane.

  “I have to come back here once more, and after that, I’m done. I’m fucking done with all this.” Anger and sorrow weave and spread across his face.

  Everything is dark when we enter the house, and Cassius goes straight to the picture of Kennedy. He stares at her unchanging face while I stare at him, and everything else is forgotten.

  One picture that has him tied to the past to keep the present distant.

  He’s not at ease within the world.

  “I need to change, Specs. I’m no good like this. Not to anyone.” I get to watch his reflection leave the glass of the picture.

  He’s half undressed by the time I make it into our room—pants are being tugged down thighs. His socks are off before I have time to close the door. The layers of shirts are nothing but a crumpled pile by the bed. Sometimes I think I see the Wild move within him. The dark creates this delusion that has a possessive feel and lingers long after he’s crawled into bed, laying on his back over the top of the covers, his eyes facing the ceiling. I’m not ready to go to bed, not yet, not with the low light resting along his hip bones. How would it feel to climb up on his bed? I’d like to feel the soft bulge in his boxers harden. How would it feel to curl into his side and nudge my nose into the hollow of his neck, inhaling until I fell asleep?

  I undress fast, picking up one of his worn shirts, slipping it over my body—it’s still warm.

  He turns his head to the side, catching the Moon’s glow outlined within his eyes. He’s watching me standing in the middle of the room, watching him. His eyes roam from my feet to land heavy on my chest. I can feel my nipples through the shirt.

  He looks back up at the ceiling. “You need to wear more to bed, Specs. You’re too big to wear my shirts now.” He crosses his arms over his chest and turns his head once again to face me.

  “Did you want something, Treajure?” His low voice doesn’t interrupt the deep night. I watch the way his throat moves with a swallow.

  My mouth opens up, but nothing comes out.

  He breathes out through his nose, long and controlled, and I have lost my breath.

  “Goodnight, Specs.” He turns over with his back facing me and his face to the wall.

  I’d like to slip past boundaries and reach out, touch him… Instead, I stare, and this is enough for now. It’s enough for now, I think as I slip underneath the bed with my palms pressed against the baseboards, trying to
feel for the movement of his body above me.

  This is self-destruction. To love him is to love ruin. Can ruin ever love you back?

  Letter 7

  Cash,

  You wanted to talk last night. I just couldn’t talk about that. Not Kimberly. It’s a subject I couldn’t talk to you about.

  You wanted to know how could I? How could I have done that to someone I loved or thought of as a little sister?

  At the time, I justified my actions and said a baby would bring the family closer together. I’d watch the baby when Kimberly went to school. The baby would make things between Clayton and me better. His parents would have something to think about other than getting me away from their son. Clayton’s mother would see how good I was again. We would bond over the baby.

  It wasn’t some plot having Kimberly become pregnant; it just happened. That day, her mother asked me to bring her a plate of food to the secure area. I saw Jake sniffing around, nosing into any cracks he thought he could see. He was pawing at the windows, and I smelled the scent he was spraying along the side of the container.

  Kimberly and I talked a long time, and I felt bad for her; it’s something all females have to bear, the cold sweats, the pain, the cramping, the unrelenting pressure inside your cunt to be smashed into so you can burst open. Kimberly was sweating and holding her stomach. She was in real pain. I know that kind of pain. It’s what drove me to you.

  When I was going to lock the door back up, I stood there looking at the key in my hand, and I had that first thought. If Kimberly had a baby, everything would be better. The family would get closer; the heat would be off Clayton and me. Everyone would be concentrating on her and the pup. I wanted that baby, too. I wanted a baby for myself. It all came like flashes, the way I could raise the pup because Kimberly was really young, and she still has high school to finish then college. It would be years before she would be independent enough to move out with her mate, who was still at school. I’d convince the family and Jake that he needed to go back to college so he could support her. I needed Jake out of the way for the now-budding plan to work.

  The more I thought about things with that key in my hand, the more I saw this future that could be mine. I wanted that baby, and when I walked away from the secure area, I didn’t lock the door.

  You asked me how could I love Kimberly like a sister and do that to her? Simple, I loved Clayton more than his sister, and I would do anything for us. That’s how I justified it in my mind. I was building a future for me and Clayton, his sister could have more pups, ones that are hers, but this one would be mine. Sacrifices are made for love, and this was a sacrifice that would be made.

  This is easier to say writing it on paper instead of talking to you and watching your face. You have a hard time hiding your emotions, and that disgust would spread across your face and I’d see it, and maybe I’m selfish, but I didn’t want to see it, so that’s why I told you I couldn’t talk about what I did to Kimberly.

  Jake and Kimberly only needed one night, because when her mother went to her in the morning, she found them still locked up. She had to pour cold water on him to get them apart. She asked me if I locked up last night, and I said yes; it was the very first lie I ever told her. I told her yes, and she looked at me. I’m not sure she believed me, probably not. I prayed to the Moon that it would be enough, their night together. I prayed and prayed, and when her heat was done and she didn’t bleed, I cried with her, not because I was scared like her, but because I saw this as a new beginning. A new start. A baby!

  We had a family meeting that included Jake and his mother. I made the argument that he should go back to college, he needs the education to support her and the babies, or else he’s going to be working some low-paying job for the rest of his life. I knew that would dig into your mother. She hated the thought of her daughter living a lesser life than the one she has now. Her Kimberly was never without anything, she had the best of the best, and now she was looking at Jake, who was just an average male with an average future, and that female couldn’t stand that. So I drove in on the fact he needed to leave to better himself and that would better them in the long run.

  I needed Jake gone so Kimberly would have me. She needed only me.

  I honestly thought it would work out, I thought it would all work out in my mind and we would be this happy family once again, but Rya came back and everything fell apart.

  The world isn’t fair, I thought. The world isn’t fair.

  Kennedy

  Chapter 8

  Velvet Made Memories

  Cassius is still sleeping when I come out of my space. I must have fallen asleep before him.

  He’s curled up with his face to the wall, as if to protect himself in sleep.

  Caleb’s at the spine of the house eating breakfast. I love how Luna Grace calls the table the spine of the home. He hesitates for a small moment before spooning more cereal into his mouth. He chews louder—I’m annoyed.

  “Why are you looking at me that way?”

  I roll my eyes, and for some reason that gets underneath his skin, and I try hard not to smile.

  Heating up some hot water in the microwave, I have to drink this mixture the healer gave to me every morning to prevent my heat from coming again and again. When I reach for the carton of milk in the fridge, it’s empty. I look at Caleb.

  “Sorry, used the last of the milk.” My smile stops from curling while his spreads wide and deliberate.

  “No pouting, Treajure. You’re making me feel bad. You know I love you like a sister. But we know you don’t love me like a brother, because no sister will shank a brother in the ass again and again. I have real scars.”

  Dallas calls them flesh wounds, but Caleb acts like he’s dying from a little blood. He shoves another spoonful into his mouth, chews louder.

  “Have I told you that I like your earrings? I do. They suit you.” I stop making the tea to recover from his words. I can feel the rev of my heart rate. I don’t look at him.

  “Those are pretty rubies, really pretty noticeable rubies.” I pour the hot water over the loose-leaf herbs, spilling some of the water that I have to wipe up on the counter.

  “They suit you. Good choice, Treajure.” The words beam out from the curve of his mouth.

  He leans into the table. “You should wear your hair up more often. That way no one can miss how pretty they are.” The air conditioner isn’t on, but I just got a cold chill.

  “When do you think Belac will come back?” He’s stopped chewing, waiting. I could tell him she’ll be back on a Sunday. Belac is a wolf of habit; he doesn’t know that yet. He will. I could answer all of the nonstop questions about her he has. He cornered me only once, asking what’s her favorite color, her favorite type of music, food? He wouldn’t let me out of his space, and that was the second time I poked him with my silver switchblade. In the fleshiest part of his ass. It went in smooth so that, at first, he didn’t even feel it. That’s how sharp I made it.

  He demanded the switchblade be taken away from me; there are kids around here. I kept the point angled to his throat while his mother told him the only child here was him and that he was the one that made me go there. I felt threatened, and she understood I had no choice but to give him a little shove back from my space. He pointed to his ass and asked if that looked like a little shove. Shoves don’t bleed.

  “Treajure, focus, I asked you a question. Do you think Belac will be back soon?”

  I rap my nails on the cup, taking a moment to inhale the herbs, before giving him a shrug of a shoulder.

  “What’s she like, Treajure?” He keeps the distance between us, the spine of the house separating our bodies.

  I’d like to tell him she’s the warm lap you can always depend on. She’s kind and loves beyond what’s normal. She makes anyone who meets her feel important and that they belong around her. She doesn’t like cocky wolves like him. In fact, she loathes that trait in any wolf. It reminds her of her brother, and I’ve never known a
wolf could hate so much. Family brings the worst out in Belac. The worst.

  Caleb points his empty spoon at me. “Not going to answer?” He makes it a question that I don’t answer.

  “My dad told me this morning that Belac split the wild pack. She became a leader wolf, taking the runts with her. They are headed up north.” His spoon drops in his empty bowl that holds the excess of milk in it.

  “She didn’t like how the Wilds were treated, so she took them away.” He smiles, and I can’t stop thinking how clueless he really is. I want to scream, she’s a leader wolf. A. Leader. Wolf. Clapping my hands between each word for emphasis that he can grip onto.

  “Did she love that wolf?” Caleb can never say Cottom’s name; he calls him that wolf or him.

  He looks in pain, and blood floods my mouth from biting back words that could make him feel better. I do shake my head no, and I can see the relief stretch across his face. To Belac, it was fucking, nothing more, something to keep her arms full at night, instead of how empty I know she always felt. Family means a lot to her, and her family was the hollow left in her chest after the fucking. I’d hear them on top of her bed; she even asked if I wanted to join her one night. I couldn’t; I wanted to let them know I’ve never done that before. My flesh might be ruined, but I did keep something special for me to keep safe. He took everything from me, and I think he would have taken my virginity if he liked females. I would have to watch my mate be raped by him, over and over again on top of the bed. He would pray to the Moon at night not to heal from him, not to stop the blood, but he always healed until the next time.

  He died after being used too roughly with silver. The man always wanted to push the limits of our ability to heal, he went overboard one night and Oaken didn’t stop bleeding, and we talked that night until he couldn’t talk anymore. He made me promise to try and escape, he made me promise if I did escape to find someone who could protect me. He made me promise to try and forget about this when I escaped, and every chance I got, I tried to escape. But he was too fast for me before I shifted. He always caught me. When I shifted, he blew silver dust in my eyes to hobble me. I was never faster than him after that, and sometimes I would lose hope that I would never fulfill the promise I made to Oaken.