by T. F. Walsh
Caleb reveled in a return to simpler roles; when they could pretend to be opposites, being around each other was almost fun, and as long as he could make believe that they were competitors he found it easy to touch her. When she fell he picked her up. When Caleb was knocked down, he extended a hand unnecessarily so that she might help him up. When she was tired, Caleb pet her on the head or yanked at her ponytail. Although they began practicing and landing real blows, without fail, his punches became awkward caresses as he uncurled his palms and merely touched her back, her stomach, around her ribs. Although they were sparring, it felt more like a dance. There was simply too much affection, too much curiosity in the way he handled her.
She sensed that, more than practice, he was busy finding any reason to touch her, but unlike what had happened before, he understood his feelings now for what they were. Though she still sensed Caleb’s suspicion that it was the wolf’s attraction to another wolf and not his own attraction to Libby, Caleb had slowly and almost imperceptibly begun to shift into accepting that he and Libby might share some mutual feeling. In fact, she suspected that, as long as they called it anything but love, he wanted feelings like this.
Hearing a rustle of noise behind her, she twirled around, but did not see him. She waited, several minutes passed, and again, noise was behind her. She spun to find Caleb, but he moved too quickly: no sign of him remained, the verge around her stood undisturbed. Determined to find him, she closed her eyes to give her other senses freer reign.
As she shut her lids and lowered her head, she was pushed backward to the ground. She opened her eyes to see Caleb looming over her. “You really must learn a certain amount of focus,” he grunted in a near-laugh as he pinned her beneath him.
Meeting his eyes, she simply stared at him, wishing for the hundredth time that he would learn to take advantage of the situation. But, in his by now accustomed ignorance, he Blinked and appeared near a tree ten feet away. “That’s cheating, Libby,” he accused loudly.
“What?” she asked innocently. She knew what had upset him, but she certainly wasn’t trying to win the sparring match, so she was blameless enough.
“Never mind. Had enough for today?”
“Oh, yes. I have certainly had enough,” she muttered with a little bitterness.
Bending and trying to knock dirt from her clothes, she felt a pain high on her left side. Hissing on the sudden burst of discomfort, she looked down and noticed a rock she must have landed on.
“What’s wrong?” Caleb asked, concerned, walking toward her.
“Nothing. I think I’ve banged up a rib or two. I think it’s fine,” she answered, lifting her shirt and turning her exposed side toward him so that he might see.
Caleb did an abrupt about face and mumbled, “Well, we’ve had our turn. Let’s head back in.”
• • •
Libby was perhaps seriously injured, and he could scarcely look at her. Imagine, a vampire squeamish over an exposed mid-drift. He could hear her behind the closed door of their shared chamber, moving around, trying to change, trying, undoubtedly, on her own, to bandage an injury that he had, ultimately, caused. And he was standing out here, King of Bumblers.
Shaking his head and lifting his hand before he could over think it, he banged on the door. Quieting his voice, he called out, “Libby, may I enter?”
She hesitated, considering. He waited, his hand hovering above the door handle.
“Sure.” She coughed, clearing her throat. Was she also nervous? “Come in.”
As he entered, she glanced over her shoulders to look at him. Dressed in pants and a thin shift that was almost transparent, she had the shift’s material lifted high, holding it under her arms and across her chest to give her access to wrap her ribs. He could see a dark black bruise forming. Although Libby would heal with the speed of her kind, it was imperative to wrap her wounds with haste and accuracy, so that she might heal well.
“Is it very painful?” he asked quietly, walking toward her and reaching his arm to touch the bruise on her side. His mouth dried and his lips stuck together.
“Not really,” she whispered.
“May I help you?”
She handed him the binding cloths.
Gathering the cloths, he started to wrap her wound, bringing his hands in an arc around her. As he moved to transfer the rolled cloths from his right hand to his left, his arms embraced her, his body coming to rest fully against her side. Round and round and round, he wound the binding. With each circle, he felt the pressure of her body against his own. With each circle, he felt drawn in, bound to her, wound up in whatever they had become. As he finished, pulling the fabric taut against her, he stood next to her, unwilling or unable to move.
“Libby,” he whispered almost soundlessly. “Libby, turn around. Face me.”
Chapter 34: CHECKMATE
His kisses were heavy and forceful. His hand behind her head pushed too roughly, and his fingers grasped at her clothing almost recklessly.
She pulled away from him, breaking their contact. “Caleb, are you … ?”
“I’m scared. I’m terrified.”
“You can trust me,” she said, “And yourself.”
“This is a waste of time.”
“Do you not want to do this?”
He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Opened it, searching for words. “This is ridiculous. I can’t say no.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“Yes, you do. You do. You … should.”
She smiled a little. “I don’t want you to.” Then she laughed softly, and wrapped her arms around his neck. She laughed again. “It’s always so backwards with you.” Her hands slipped to his cheeks, and she kissed him. She leaned back and watched him, waiting. Then she moved her hands again and brought them to rest against his shoulders, and she was leaning against him, giggling a little. Finally, she looked at him, her mouth wide in a smile. Still, she said nothing.
“We’re going to see what we can see, are we?” he asked.
“Yep. Like always.”
“Like always.”
“We always were a pair, Caleb, and we always will be one.”
She leaned in toward him, and kissed the top of his ear. “I’ve been waiting a long time to do that.”
• • •
A howl woke her up. Disoriented, Libby was unsure if it was her own scream or Caleb’s, or some noise she had heard only in a dream. Looking quickly to her side, she noticed Caleb was missing from the bed. She heard a low growl of pain.
Libby leapt out of the covers and looked around the room. “Caleb,” she called out. “Where are you?”
“Libby,” he replied, from the floor beside the bed.
She rushed to him, but hestitated, afraid to touch him. His body was curled inward, and he held himself taut. His body was hot, burning, and covered in sweat. “Caleb, what is it? What’s happening?”
“I feel like … my skin … it’s being burned away … from the inside. I can’t see it clearly, but it’s … I don’t know … what this is … I don’t know … ” He paused, groaning, almost unable to speak beyond the pain. Bending his head toward his chest, suffering a fresh wave of pain, Caleb grit his teeth. As the agony subsided, Caleb spoke again, his voice hoarse and broken. “This feels different. Not the normal possession. Almost like the wolf is trying to burn his way through me. God, what is this? What’s happening to me?” He grunted as the pain returned, reaching out his hand for her.
She moved to his side and took his hand in hers.
“Libby, I think … it’s … actually burning me … on my hip … it’s … ”
She ran her free hand over his body, immediately surging calm and comfort into him, trying to lesson his pain. Her focus was bad, but she hoped she could help him a little. “How can I help you? Can you let me
see?”
She peered through the darkness, trying to see in the faint light the moon gave off. She could see a dark spot on his left side, right at his hip. Suddenly, she gasped and reared away from him. He heard her shock and looked up at her. She was shaking her head back and forth, her eyes opened wide in horror.
“Don’t be afraid. I can control the wolf. If I think I cannot … I will afford you plenty of time to escape. Trust me. I — ”
She shook her head back and forth. “No. How? How could … ? No. This is impossible. It’s. Not. Possible.”
“What are you talking about, Libby?”
“I’ve marked you, but … ” she cried out, confused, shaking her head.
“What do you mean … marked me?” he bit out, his jaw clenched tightly against another wave of pain.
“My people, our magic. We mark our mates. But this shouldn’t be possible, you aren’t … you aren’t one of us.” She was trying to sound calm, but she was failing. Her voice was high, almost keening. This was not happening. How could this be happening?
“What do you mean?” He stopped talking and took several quick deep breaths, then continued. “Why did you do this to me?”
“It’s not something you choose. It simply happens. After you are with your mate, he is marked. But you … ”
“Does it kill him? God,” he screamed again and tightened his grip on her hand. “How do your males do this?”
“Caleb, I’m worried.” Her voice trembled. “This isn’t normal. This much pain isn’t … There is some pain, but it’s nothing like this. It’s never like this.”
“What’s it like usually?” he said thinly.
“Oh … I … I don’t … I don’t know … who cares how it normally is, Caleb? I’m telling you … ” She was almost crying.
“Try. Try to explain it.”
“Do you really want the lecture now?” she yelled, her voice high with fear.
“Yeah. It. Distracts me,” he said each word distinctly, biting every syllable out as he moved closer to her, despite his pain. Lifting himself up slightly, he lowered his head into her lap and pulled their clasped hands toward his chest. “Yes,” he repeated, nodding, his hair brushing against her knee.
She could see the shape of her mark burning its way into his fair white skin and feel the pain that sent tremors through his body, but he was quieting, trying to accept what was happening.
He waited before speaking again and his grip on her hand lessened. Then he asked almost normally, “You said it always hurts, right? I think this will be fine, too.”
For a brief moment, she thought the worst had passed, but then he inhaled sharply and held his breath, his body still and unmoving, yet his grip on her hand did not tighten.
“Don’t try to reassure me! And don’t try to act calm! You’re the one … Look, this thing, it’s like a brand, and for the males, it burns. But it’s not like this. I am telling you — ”
“Women aren’t burned?” he asked, interrupting her. He looked up into her face. She could tell he was trying to challenge her. His eyebrow was attempting his typical sardonic lift, but he couldn’t quite pull it off.
“No,” she said, almost smiling. “We feel the marking, but it doesn’t burn. Our elders say that the woman chooses you, making you her own. They say it’s the man’s privilege and thus his pain.”
He grunted, then mumbled, “I can understand that. I … damn. This is surprising,” he finished weakly.
“Don’t try to smile at me, and quit trying to act like nothing is happening, Caleb.”
“Ok, well, it’s called the marking. But what is it?”
“It’s a little like a tattoo … ”
“It feels more like a brand to me.”
“Yes, maybe. The marking protects the clan and the bloodline. I think … because you’re a vampire … this pain — ” She stopped.
“Go on,” he prompted.
“Please, Caleb. I don’t want to give you a lesson right now. There has to be something — ”
“Just talk to me, Libby. Tell me what’s happening. That is help enough. Now, talk.” The pain returned, and he had to speak between attempts to gather his breath. “So … you are more … like … vampires … than I thought. Your mates … are … chosen.”
“No. Your councils choose your mates for you. But … that isn’t how it happens for us. I guess you would say our bodies choose ours.”
He groaned. “Your bodies choose this,” he repeated, managing to sound ironic even now.
“When wolves find each other, it’s similar to your counsel stuff. Their gifts are complementary. Often a mark appears when a strong alpha female mates with a strong alpha male. A beta to a beta. The marking tells you the mating is true, that it is strong, but the mating is not determined by choice, and certainly not by the choice of others outside the couple.”
He nodded his head in understanding. His eyes had closed. He seemed to be trying to focus on what she was saying and minimize his pain, but the pain made him tired. He was breathing more deeply now, rough still, but that must mean the pain was getting more manageable. She watched his chest rise up and down. The worst seemed to be over. He was still in pain, but it seemed bearable now.
Petting his head, and lowering her voice to a comforting level, she explained, “But it’s more than that. They need each other.”
“Go on,” he whispered tiredly. His voice was hoarse.
“With mates … well, their bodies somehow know and recognize the other. But there isn’t any really ‘planning’ involved. There is no formality. Not like with vampires.” She blushed, but continued, “After you are … intimate … with your mate, you are both marked. If you, well … ” She stumbled with this for a moment, then continued. “If you, you know, are with a male, and there are no marks, then he is not your mate. He does not belong to you, and you do not belong to him.”
“So you’re marked, too?”
“No,” she whispered.
“I see.” He was quiet for a long time. After a while, his body relaxed, his grip loosened, and the marking seemed to be over. She freed her hand from his, and started to touch his face, his shoulder, his arm. She was so relieved that he was going to be ok.
She didn’t realize she was crying until she saw her tears on his body. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, wiping away the wetness with her hand. He didn’t move or respond.
• • •
He didn’t know if she was apologizing for the tears or for the marking, but he didn’t want her to be sorry for either. He definitely didn’t want her sad. This wasn’t sad. This was hopeful. He would tell her that as soon as he could get his scrambled nerves together again.
They said nothing for the longest time. It seemed as though the world had narrowed to just the two of them. Little mattered to her except that he was spared more agony. Little mattered to him except that she, too, was spared hurt and worry.
When the pain lessened and some of his energy returned, he moved his head to look at her. As they met the other’s stare, it was as though some message passed between them, but he could hear nothing from her mind nor read anything in her expression. His feelings in tumult, he struggled to find the thread of the worry that was eating away at him, but he was so tired it was hard to get his thoughts corralled.
Her eyes were widening. “Caleb, what … what’s wrong? Is the pain worse somehow? But … I thought … ”
He reached out for her, and she let him guide her into his embrace. They circled their arms around each other, and she lay down beside him again, both getting as close as they could. The paces of their breathing evened and matched the other. Their bodies warmed and comforted.
“Libby,” he said, finally. “If I am marked, why aren’t you?”
She stared at him, saying nothing. She seemed sad, a l
ittle wistful. She seemed to sense, as he did, that the lack of her mark was some sort of tragedy, one that they would only fully understand later. She said nothing though, for there was nothing to say. He nodded in acceptance and pressed her body tight against his own.
Much was not said. For now, he would focus on the woman in his arms and how it felt to have her there. For now, he would comfort himself with the knowledge that she had chosen him. And that was enough … for now.
Chapter 35: MODERN ROMANCE
They were dating. And they were marked — well, he was marked — and, because of that, something remarkable had happened. He could feel her: her emotions, her excitement at being with him, her eagerness to touch him. He could feel all of this with just with a glancing brush of his body against hers. At the slightest touch now, all of her was spread out before him, like words on a page. The marking, she said, made communication like this possible between mates. He relished the word. Over time, most mates didn’t even need touches to know the other, even distance couldn’t separate them. Libby told him that they could not be sure to be the same as most pairs, but he hoped that they would. Now, when she looked at him with laughter in her eyes, she wasn’t a puzzle to him. He understood her, her soul — because he believed in those now. And he could read everything in it, all the things he wanted to see there, even things he hadn’t known he had wanted from her.
She brushed her hand, just the back of her finger against his forearm, wanting to know if he was happy, and wanting him to know that she was. They smiled at each other. She was surprised by his smile … she had hoped to see it … for a while now … for almost as long as she’d known him … and … suddenly … without warning … there it was.
Ordinary … unannounced … unanticipated … unasked for … and easy. She had been waiting for a real smile … not one of his mocking maniacal ones … not the blank face that accompanied his awkward laughter … but a real, true, gleeful smile … and there it was …