by Vivian Wood
Elijah’s mouth opened and then closed, opened and then snapped shut again. What the hell was she talking about? He’d never mentioned his family’s money, preferring to see his choice to start a family as wanting to retain his legacy. He wasn’t chasing the money, that was certain.
“Ivy, I don’t know what you’ve heard—” he started, but Ivy scowled and shot to her feet, cutting him off.
“It’s all been spelled out perfectly for me, in very small words so that I can understand it all,” she said, crossing her arms.
“By whom?” Elijah asked, confused.
“Not by the one person who should have told me,” she snapped. “No. Instead I get a call from some asshole lawyer with an accent even thicker than yours, threatening me with all kinds of things. We’re not mated, Elijah. We don’t have a child, not yet. And you’re already hiding things from me, and your family…”
She threw her hands up in the air, grabbing the file folder from the bed and shoving it at him.
“Ivy—” he tried again, but she wasn’t hearing it.
“No. I’ve worn myself out, now. I ruined the dinner I was cooking, and I drank all the wine hours ago. I’m going to bed. Alone.”
She gave him a meaningful look, and Elijah backed up, giving her space.
“We can talk about this in the morning,” Elijah agreed.
Apparently that wasn’t the right thing to say either, because she growled and practically pushed him out of the room.
“Goodnight, Elijah,” she snipped, shutting the door in his face with a neat click.
Elijah stared at her door for several long seconds before he gave himself a good shake, snapping out of his momentary shutdown. He went back to the living room, clutching the folder in his hand, and headed straight for the small bar. Ivy had set it up for him after she’d found out that he loved a nightcap of fine whisky or Scotch, though she didn’t drink either herself.
Skipping over the bottle of Hakushu Japanese whisky and the smoky Laphroaig Scotch, he went straight for the Pappy van Winkle 12 year and poured himself a healthy dram.
“Shite,” he said, taking a long sip. The bourbon burned a silky trail of fire into his stomach, calming him a hair.
Ivy’s desk chair was pulled out, the wooden secretary rolled up to reveal her desk, the only untidy spot in the entire house. Elijah sat down at her desk, dropping the file folder there like a burning brand. He wasn’t ready to look at it just yet.
He sipped his whisky and thought about Ivy’s discussion with the family lawyer, Craig Donnal. The man was in his seventies, still sharp as a dagger, and mean as a wounded bear. Hell, Elijah avoided Donnal if at all possible, and he had a much thicker skin that sweet, trusting Ivy did.
Elijah stood and poured himself some more bourbon, thinking that a little pacing might help him work out the problem.
And what was the problem, exactly?
Well, he’d hurt Ivy. He hadn’t lied to her about anything, of course. But when she asked about his family or his history, he’d simply let it be known that he and his father didn’t walk the same path, and that he’d rather not talk about it. He’d left the money out altogether. After all, he was only receiving a small cut of the family’s money. He owned his own house and his own company, and he was well off enough not to need a handout from his family, however fat the check might be.
He was getting off track. Taking another sip of his drink, Elijah thought about Ivy again. It killed him to see her so hurt, though he hadn’t meant it. Would never hurt her, would never let anyone else do it, either. Hell, he was half in l—
Elijah stopped dead.
That was the real problem. He’d never formalized anything with Ivy, but in just a few short months he’d grown more than infatuated with her. She was so sensible, and well-dressed, and elegant. But she was also very sweet, and spontaneous, and so damned sexy. She balanced Elijah’s brashness and temper with a perpetual smile, and she’d won him over without even trying. Perhaps without wanting to, even.
The fact was, Ivy had never mentioned taking him as a mate. She’d rejected his attempts to “woo” her, saying that she preferred to just spend time together. How could any man resist a woman so perfect with no pressure, no underhanded secrets, no heavy expectations?
Except, of course, the one thing he still hadn’t done: give her a child. It really did kill him that he hadn’t at least done that for her, the one thing she seemed to want so desperately, asking nothing in return…
Elijah eyed his whisky glass. If he was starting the self-loathing already, he’d better slow down his drinking now. Otherwise he risked doing something truly stupid, some ridiculous emotional display on his knees in Ivy’s bedroom in the middle of the night, managing nothing but to anger her further.
He returned the glass to the bar, resolving to clean it up before he headed to bed. Turning to Ivy’s desk, he sat again and turned his attention to the papers in the folder.
A prenuptial document, outlining dozens of scenarios, most of which began with Elijah’s death or permanent vegetative state. It went far beyond the scope of the family’s estate, even so far as to outline the godparents of any of Elijah’s children, what might happen to Elijah’s personal monies and assets, and of course that should anything happen to him, the children would immediately be brought to the Buchanan fold for rearing.
The documents made clear that Ivy was to receive nothing, would keep nothing of his, including gifts he’d made to her. Including his children; the papers made certain to state that the parental rights were his alone.
Though red hazed his vision, Elijah read through the document twice to make sure he’d absorbed every bit of it. Though he was certain that some of the egregious overstepping of boundaries was probably the fault of that damned lawyer, his father’s fingerprints were all over it. Most of it was likely dictated straight from Adam Buchanan’s spiteful lips straight to paper, signed and sealed with a satisfied smirk.
For all his father’s threats that he wanted grandchildren and he wanted them now, Adam Buchanan might just have ended Elijah’s best chance at fulfilling that wish, the desire that had now become Elijah’s own.
Desire for children, yes. But also desire for Ivy. Desire for… a mate.
Elijah pushed the papers aside, rubbing the bridge of his nose to ward off a burgeoning headache. No wonder Ivy was disgusted by the sight of him. If he’d been in her place, he might have locked the front door and never spoken to him again. Though he didn’t deserve it, exactly, he didn’t understand why she wouldn’t just run screaming like any other woman.
He stared idly at Ivy’s desk for a long time before he noticed that one shelf was crammed full of strange items. A couple of medical journals, a book on genetic diseases, pages marked with brightly colored paper strips. Legal file folders, just like the ones laid before him.
Elijah knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t help himself. He pulled out the book first, letting it flop open to the most-used page. Huntington’s disease. Diagnosis, prognosis. Frowning, he pulled out the medical journals. They were both marked with articles about the same disease, one referencing a drug trial and the other one about palliative care for Huntington’s patients.
Elijah was puzzled, and now he couldn’t stop himself from searching the rest of the documents.
He found Ivy’s will, written out with neat instructions for the care of her assets and children. A handwritten sheet on the front read:
Kiley and Garrett = Godparents?
Ask them!!
Add NOW and Planned Parenthood
To charities list.
Add Elijah???
Looking at her will gave Elijah a faint chill, goosebumps raking his skin. He knew her mother had died young, but this was just creepy. She’d said in the beginning that she only planned for them to stay together for a couple of years, and for visitations after that. Elijah wasn’t planning to let that happen, but Ivy didn’t know that.
So if she was planning on adding him to he
r will, she probably wasn’t looking forty or more years out. More like… a few years out, at best.
Elijah’s mind whirred. Maybe she was just being cautious. She was very organized in every other aspect of her life. Ivy could just be making sure she was prepared, especially with children in the picture. People died all the time, hit by buses and lightning and who knew what else.
He looked back at the journals and the medical book. Maybe those were research, for a friend or a relative. Or just plain curiosity.
Elijah’s eyes slid up to the last thing on the shelf, a green plastic accordion file. He licked his lips, mouth gone dry. He reached up and slowly drew the file down, stomach churning.
“Please don’t yours,” he said aloud, opening the file.
The folder was divided into names. “Dr. Asheby”, “Dr. Melcomp”, “Dr. Singh”. Six doctors, each section full of medical charts, all with Ivy’s name printed prominently at the top.
The first one he pulled out was nonsense for a few pages, until he reached a section marked “CONCLUSION”. Underneath, the words he desperately didn’t want to see were scrawled.
Genetic test shows full penetrance allele, positive for Huntington’s gene. Asymptomatic, clean MRI. Advised patient of 10+ years for onset.
“Shit,” Elijah said, disbelieving. “No, no, no no no!”
He pulled out another, flipping through it, and then another. In a matter of minutes he’d gone through all of them. On the very last, he finally saw the words he feared most.
Diagnosis: Positive for Huntington’s Disease gene. Progression and onset information unavailable. Patient has been given all relevant information, and will return for consult upon onset of symptoms.
With shaking hands, Elijah opened the medical book again and looked at the symptoms for Huntington’s Disease. Loss of motor skills, cognitive impairment, dementia, pneumonia, increased rate of suicide, heart disease…
Elijah shoved to his feet, knocking the chair over, and hurled the accordion file across the room. Ivy might be mad at him for not telling her about his family, but she was hiding something much bigger. She had one of the few genetic diseases that could affect werewolves, and she was counting the days she had left, measuring them like grains of sand.
It all made sense now. Her desperation for a family, her lack of desire to “tie down” a mate, the fact that she hadn’t fled even when his family had repulsed and mistreated her, the jokes about “not having time” to be courted…
Ivy, the woman he’d foolishly let himself fall for, was going to die.
A little voice inside him told him to relax, not to overreact, that everyone was going to die. But that little voice was drowned out in the crashing roar of anger and grief that rose in him like a tidal wave, driving him straight out of the house.
Elijah stripped and let his clothes fall on the porch and the front yard. He fell to all fours, shifting with the creaks and snaps of bone, the rending and mending of flesh. He let his wolf take over, receding to the far corner of his mind like a small child in the wake of an angry parent. It was all too much, and he couldn’t work it through yet.
He ran toward the distant mountain, letting everything else go. Soon, he was nothing but the sweet burn of his muscles and the pumping of his blood and the air in his lungs. Elijah was gone, leaving the wolf in his stead, and the wolf wanted to run and run and never stop.
Chapter Six
At noon on the second day of Elijah’s disappearance, Ivy got worried enough to call Kiley.
“Hey!” her friend chirped. “Finally taking a breather from all the crazy sex?”
“No, not exactly,” Ivy sighed.
“Does that mean you’re having sex right now?” Kiley teased.
“Kiley… no. I’m assuming this means that you haven’t seen Elijah yesterday or today.”
Kiley was quiet for a beat.
“Uh, no. Garrett and I have been otherwise occupied. Besides, we’ve barely seen Elijah a dozen times since you two got together. Apparently your charms are more persuasive than ours.”
“We had a fight,” Ivy blurted out. “He ran off.”
“Like… drove to Billings or something?” Kiley asked, sounding surprised.
“No. Like he stripped on the front porch, left his clothes and wallet there, and ran off.”
“Should I ask what you were fighting about?”
“He, um… he found some of my Huntington’s stuff. I hadn’t found the right moment to tell him, exactly,” Ivy admitted. “And there was some other stuff… I don’t know, it’s all screwed up now.”
“Well, shit.”
“Yeah, pretty much,” Ivy agreed.
“And he left yesterday?”
“No, the day before. I’m starting to get worried.”
“He’s probably up on the mountain. There’s a cave there, nice hunting close by. Garrett’s shown it to him before.”
“Ah,” Ivy said, losing steam. She wasn’t sure what to say to that. If he wasn’t coming back, he just wasn’t coming back. Nothing to be done about it.
“I’ll send Garrett up to get him,” Kiley said.
“No, I don’t want to interrupt you guys,” Ivy sighed.
“No, seriously, he almost put my hip out of joint this morning. I need a break, and we’re running out of groceries anyway. Garrett always eats down the house after a mission. Drives me nuts.”
“If you’re sure…” Ivy said. “I mean, he might not want to come back after this.”
“Girl…” Kiley said, rolling her r to show her frustration. “No way. Elijah’s not like that. He’s so into you, it’s stupid. If you don’t know that, you’re even dumber than he is.”
Ivy couldn’t help but laugh at that.
“You have such a way with words,” she said.
“I know what I’m talking about, is all,” Kiley fired back.
“Alright. Well, I guess I’ll just… you know, wait for him.”
“Ugh, gross. You love him, don’t you?” Kiley accused.
“Shut up. I’ll call you later,” Ivy said, hanging up the phone.
A smile crept across her face for a moment. Kiley was right; Ivy did love Elijah. It hadn’t been part of her plan, and they’d only been together for a few months, but it was a plain fact. He was opinionated, true. Stubborn, sometimes overbearing and overprotective. Once, he’d refused to let her use her own can opener because he insisted that she was not “using it wisely”.
Still, he was thoughtful, considerate, and caring. He was passionate about his job and his life, and a Greek god in bed. It wasn’t just that she wanted his child, though she’d known that the moment she’d laid eyes on him.
No, Elijah had stolen her heart by being a wonderful man, and she’d just sat back and let him do it. The question remained whether he felt strongly enough about her to stay around, despite her diagnosis and her deception.
Ivy realized that she could only wait and see.
Elijah felt dueling sensations when he crossed the line onto Ivy’s property.
He felt tired, the bone-deep kind that comes with sadness. He had no idea what to do about Ivy’s diagnosis, and the helplessness was killing him more than anything else.
He felt tension, from head to toe, inside and out. He had no idea if the combination of his running away and the previous prenuptial fight meant that Ivy wanted him to return so that she could kick his ass to the curb, permanently. Garrett had found him up on the mountain, but they hadn’t talked much. His friend didn’t have any answers, just Ivy’s request that he come back to the house.
He felt angry, too. It wasn’t really Ivy’s deception, that part he completely understood. She’d tried to keep it from him, yes, but she’d also tried to shield him from getting too involved and getting hurt. The real problem was that he’d really never loved anyone before, and he’d been stupid enough to fall for a woman who would leave him one day. She wouldn’t have a choice but to leave him, and that made him more angry.
He also
felt relief as he hit the ranch boundary, because even if he was exhausted and angry and sad, he still wanted Ivy. He wanted to be with her, wanted to hold her, kiss her. He wanted to be inside her, as close as he could be with her, to make her feel pleasure, to feel wanted.
When he finally loped up into her front drive, he was surprised to see Ivy sitting on the front porch, all bundled up and sipping from a big, steaming thermos. She spotted him, eyes narrowing, and for a moment he feared that she would shoo him away.
But she was Ivy; she would never do that. Instead she rose on slippered feet and pointed to a pile of clothes that she’d hung over the railing. It seemed that she had indeed been expecting him.
Elijah shifted, pulling on jeans, a sweater, and a jacket and slipping his feet into a pair of his tennis shoes. His breath condensed in the air and he eyed the sky, figuring that it would snow soon. Tonight, probably.
“Can we go inside?” he asked.
Ivy raised a brow. He wasn’t actually cold, muscles still hot from his extended run, but he didn’t want her to be outside in this weather. She gave him a look that said she knew what he was up to, but she rose and headed inside.
They shed their shoes and jackets by the door, hanging the jackets on their pegs and lining the shoes by the wall. Elijah found the practice of it strange, the little rituals that they’d built up since they’d met feeling awkward for the first time.
Elijah trailed Ivy to the couch and sat beside her, unsure how to begin.
“I need you to tell me something,” Ivy said, looking down at her hands in her lap. “I need you to tell me that you don’t just want a child so you can inherit a castle, or whatever.”
Shame crept into Elijah’s chest.
“When I first found out that you wanted a family right away, that was the main draw. I thought you were very beautiful, but I mainly wanted a family to keep my legacy.”
Ivy glanced up at him, giving him a quick glimpse of the misery in her beautiful eyes before she nodded and ducked her head once more.