by K. de Long
“Where do you want ‘em, pet?” he asked her.
A spark of excitement lit inside her, blotting out her gray mood enough that she ignored the nickname. She shrugged and went to peek inside.
Tears welled in her eyes. Her parents had packed up the contents of her own little room, right on down to the herb plants.
Three boxes. For the entirety of her life. For as much as she’d fantasized about returning to it, for as much as what was in those boxes represented in the suffocatingly constrictive environment here, it was so little.
Marrock watched her unpack. Though they didn’t talk, it was the most at peace they’d been around each other in days. She scouted out the best windows for the plants and threw her clothes on a pile on her bed. There were handful of knickknacks floating in the bottom of the box. She put it on the floor in her bedroom to go through later.
All of a sudden, it sank in.
She was trapped here. Forever.
Or at least ‘til she died on the battlefield. She sank to her knees, sobs ripping the breath she’d been holding free.
Marrock knelt by her. He hesitated, then wrapped his arms around her shoulders. She wanted to push him away, but for better or worse, he was all she had. Her hands fisted in his shirt to pull herself closer to him.
She hated herself for showing this much weakness to him. Especially considering how much of her frustration was directly his fault. But she didn’t want to be alone.
So she cried. And he comforted her.
“I did that my first night here, too,” he said, once her tears had petered. “In that bed, even. My dad—or, the man who raised me as his son—had just been deposed as alpha, and we’d moved in with the new alpha, for my mother’s sake. I didn’t know then that she’d been involved with him for several years, that her public mate was an arrangement purely for the political theater. It didn’t seem like the world would ever make sense again. Not with people staring at me, putting two and two together. Not with the place’s quirks, and Remi’s. I hated it all. If I hadn’t had Elias—”
He swallowed and didn’t finish the thought.
Her breath hitched. Was this where he confessed to her that the rift with Elias was overblown, that they actually worked together? Even the trap on their mating hunt could have been staged; the Nefari’s lands were huge. What were the odds that they’d have stumbled onto it without some direction?
But the confession never came. He sat there, quietly steeping in his own thoughts. She sighed, and pulled away from him. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to him touching her, even if the skin-on-skin contact of his palms against her arms was the first thing that had made her feel grounded in days.
“I’m sorry, Tess,” he said.
Her gaze flew to his face to see if he was being sarcastic. Instead, he just looked...worn down. And genuinely apologetic. It set his brows in a handsome line, admittedly one that made her want to run her thumb over the crease it caused to smooth it out.
“I lost my temper. It was inappropriate of Knox to touch you. I wasn’t mad at you for that, but he knew better. You’re in the deep end, and I can’t blame you for swimming the way you were taught, not the way I was.”
She bit back more tears, as he wrapped his arms around her again. She hadn’t expected him to actually admit he’d done something wrong. The problem went a lot deeper than simply him punching a man for looking too intimate with her. And she wasn’t sure how to address what was really wrong.
As much as Liam had hated feeling chased out of his own home, it was worse being here, seeing how distraught Tessa was. Him keeping his distance hadn’t solved the problem; it had only compounded it. And he still wasn’t sure how to make sense of it all.
Her public verbal lashing toward him would brew problems, and he feared she still didn’t realize that. That she still thought the only problem had been his reaction to Knox. And he was sorry for that. In a way, her reaction had been Liam’s fault.
And yet, she just couldn’t keep acting that way. Especially in a public arena.
But despite her challenging him to treat her the way he treated the rest of the pack, he knew he couldn’t do that. Not now. Not with everything she was going through. Not with how delicate the alliance already was and how much she hated him already.
He was surprised she was even letting him hold her. It seemed a paltry gesture, but it was the best he could think of. He had no idea where to start, making the best of their fucked up state. The only thing he could do was own up to his errors and hope neither of them had done too much harm.
It gave him a measure of hope that she hadn’t shut him down or torn into him. That she still felt right with her head tucked under his chin and their backs against the edge of the mattress. She didn’t know that he’d actually set that quilt out specially for her in part because of the memories he had of it. He’d thought having something handmade would feel more welcoming than some of the antique ones that had been sewn by machine. But seeing how her eyes had shone when she unpacked the little flowerpots and placed them, his effort had been too little, too late. Or perhaps too obscure.
He’d tried to correct things, by taking a detour to the Kumori encampment to retrieve her things. Her mother had been surprised—and suspicious—to see him. And contrary to their pre-mating promises to send it as soon as possible, none of it had even been packed.
Even her own parents thought they’d fail. Even her own parents had bet against his ability to be a good mate for her. Or hers to be good for him. He wasn’t sure which was worse; he’d bear the insult to himself, if it meant that she could have their support when she needed it. Which she probably would, the way things had gone.
He hadn’t mentioned anything that might clue them in to the circumstances of his visit, but deep inside, it stung.
Maybe it was just his pride, or maybe it was something worse—the part of him that wanted to be understood and wanted to care for her. Her parents’ dubious looks when he came to get her stuff were a testament to how profoundly unworthy he was of the woman in his arms.
On the trip home, doing his best not to take a closer look at the goods he carried, he’d made a promise. He would do better.
At least the opportunity to live up to that promise had come soon. Had they simply continued avoiding each other, had he been forced to pretend he didn’t notice her reddened eyes and tear-swollen lids, they might be at each other’s throats before he’d had a chance to begin keeping his word.
It was purely for his sense of right and wrong. Not because it was genuinely upsetting seeing her pain, and realizing that he was the cause of it, sometimes directly, sometimes indirectly.
Tessa twisted him in knots, and she didn’t even know it. She just sat there, her face buried in his chest and her breath coming in uneven, wet bursts. Her lips brushed his chest as she drew in a gasping breath, and even through his shirt, that soft brush was enough to push him into protective thoughts.
Watching her hair cascade over his chest in golden brown waves and the pale streak of her hairline, letting his eyes flow downward over her collarbone, and the hint of shadow between her breasts, he couldn’t get away from the fact that she was sheer perfection. Even more now with this silent fragility to her.
He’d watched her charge into battle, seen her kill in cold blood. He’d seen her naked. Even seen her cry. But this was the first time he’d truly seen her exposed. She seemed to have sunk into a catatonic haze. “Can I get you some tea?” he asked. He wasn’t sure if it would actually help, but it seemed like more than nothing.
She didn’t respond.
He brushed the hair back from her face, and tipped her chin toward him with a gentle finger. “Tea?”
She was silent another moment, her lips pressed together tightly. “Sure.”
He stood and offered her his hand, and she accepted it and heaved her weight to her feet. He held tight to her fingers as he led her back into the kitchen. Despite her strength, despite all the marks of her ha
rd work, in his, her hand felt so small.
She’d seemed almost superhuman in her ability to be a pain in his side, that he’d forgotten she could be so fragile. He wanted to draw her into his arms, kiss her forehead, her cheeks, her lips…but he knew it was better not to chance it. He hadn’t seen this before because he hadn’t earned it. Maybe he still hadn’t.
He poured water into a teapot and put it on the flame. She released his fingers to lean against the counter. Now she couldn’t meet his eyes. Awkwardness and reality was setting in. She was closing herself off. Shutting down.
He couldn’t blame her. This was exactly why he’d been so delicate in dealing with her actions. She was hurting and lashing out. Before he worried about her role in the pack, he had to make sure she was okay. And whatever problems her behaviors brought his way…well, he’d just have to deal with them himself. For now.
They sipped the tea in silence. But somehow, it was different—charged and relaxed at the same time.
He let out his breath. Maybe things would be okay.
Marrock couldn’t stay with Tessa much longer than the cup of tea. His glance had flickered to the side as though watching the front window for a guest on his doorstep. She supposed business piled up fast with as big a clan as the Nefari. And, truth be told, she wasn’t fully sure she wanted to unpack the rest of her keepsakes with him peering over her shoulder. It was well and nice that he’d tried to make her feel better, but it didn’t erase her frustration with him. If anything, it made it worse, since she couldn’t look at the calm and comfort as anything other than a transition.
She’d just finished setting the last of her little figurines on the shelves of her room when a knock came on the door. She opened it to be confronted with Mara’s smiling face. The woman had a potted succulent in her hand.
Tessa didn’t feel up to company, but she didn’t see any way of politely bowing out. And it warmed her that the other woman had come to check on her. Tessa let the door fall open wide, and accepted the little pot.
“Thanks.”
“I figure I owe you. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble with the old man the other day,” Mara said, with an apologetic shrug. “M’s…hard to read. He’s got his foibles. I didn’t realize he was that jealous. I’d sort of thought you two didn’t have much to do with each other.”
So did I, Tessa thought. Or maybe I just wished.
“Don’t worry about it,” Tessa said. “This whole bound mates thing… it takes some getting used to.”
Mara refused to accept the brush-off. “I’m serious. I had no idea he’d fly off the handle like that. It’s not right.”
Privately, Tessa agreed, but even the thought of talking about it made her want to retch. Even though Mara seemed like she had half a mind to teach Marrock a lesson herself. Her stormy gray eyes were shaded with protective fury.
“I mean, no one wants to face him on the dueling grounds, and not just because he’s powerful, but to single you out like that—”
Tessa shrugged. “It was a spat. Nothing to worry about.”
She didn’t want to let the woman off the hook so easily, but she knew that was just the part of her that wanted someone to blame. And that blame didn’t belong with Mara; Marrock was a grown man, one with apparently poor self-restraint and anger issues. No wonder his own half-brother had left his pack. She almost wondered if Elias was right, and the Kumori had been played for fools, siding with such a toxic leader.
Mara paused, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes at Tess. “You been crying, hon? I mean, I saw how you tore into him. He had to have been pretty pissed. Nobody talks to him like that. I can only imagine—”
“Can we not talk about it?”
“You deserve better. Honestly, I thought you’d gone home. It’d be his own fault—”
Tessa’s lungs constricted. Maybe Mara thought her singlemindedness showed the depth of her concern, and was comforting…but the more she talked, the more Tessa’s instincts screamed. Her beast didn’t like being ignored, and Tessa had been serious when she had pushed Mara to change the topic.
“Enough,” she said, a little of her wolf’s growl emerging in her command.
Mara’s eyes widened. “Jeez. Sorry. I didn’t mean to hit a sore spot. You don’t have to take it out on me.”
Wait, what? Tessa blinked. She’d been fairly tactful, all things considered. She’d warned Mara away from the topic numerous times before she put her foot down.
“You’ve forgiven him, then?” Mara asked, her eyes sharp. Had she really gotten over her soreness at Tessa snapping so fast?
No, Tessa thought. Of course I haven’t. “I think we have more important things on our plate. How often do I need to water it?”
Mara’s eyes narrowed, but she accepted the deflection. “Not too much. Better for it to be too dry than too wet.”
An awkward silence reigned. Tessa wasn’t sure why there was a bad taste in her mouth, aside from the reminder of Marrock’s outburst. She still wasn’t entirely sure that she liked Mara, but Mara was the one person who’d reached out to her. She could use some local friends, and beggars couldn’t be choosers.
“So what is there to do around here, anyways?” Tessa asked.
Mara’s face lit up. “Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays are training sessions, really more free time. You get a group of people to go together and spar, if you aren’t in any of the actual ranked classes, and…”
Tessa lost track of the rest as the wind came through the open window, throwing the scent of her herbs in her face and reminding her of Marrock. How’d he gotten them, anyways? Her parents would have included a letter if they’d sent it. Why hadn’t they had time to write one? Was everything okay?
A second later, the obvious occurred to her.
Her parents hadn’t sent a letter, because it had been spur of the moment. Someone had shown up on their doorstep to get her things. Someone known enough to them to trust with her plants.
Marrock.
If he wanted to smooth things over, why hadn’t he just said so?
Chapter 17
When the next few days passed without Marrock bringing the boxes up even once, she began to second-guess her suspicions. Wouldn’t he want her thanks? What was he afraid of, if she knew? Was he afraid she’d hate him for meddling, or was he afraid of what might happen with her gratitude?
That had to be it. He’d wanted to make the apology, but he didn’t want her to misunderstand. He didn’t want her to throw herself at him, or cling. Or he was still incredibly angry at her for her behavior—she couldn’t blame him for it. Living with the constant fear of him, the constant fear of what he might do if the entitlement their vows promised him won out, was turning her into someone she didn’t recognize.
He’d been right about one thing: even her father wouldn’t have let her lash out as she’d lashed out at Marrock. It wouldn’t work forever, being scared shitless of her alpha and straining to prove herself, yet doing it in disloyal ways. She couldn’t blame him for hating her. But self-blame and frustration wouldn’t help her find better ways to cope with it, and his own distance wasn’t exactly helping.
She didn’t know what to do with the hot and cold. Just when she thought she had a handle on Marrock, he shifted. He twisted into someone unknowable. And she was back at the start, guessing what to do to survive. It felt as if the water was closing in over her head, like whether she fought or swam, she’d still find herself drowned, washed ashore at Marrock’s feet.
It was safer to hold her distance. To avoid him as much as possible and avoid taking to his bait during his warm periods.
Even if she did miss the way his muscles corded as he moved. Even if she did miss the softness in his eyes when he gave her that tender are you okay stare. Even if it took everything she had not to call him out for it when he looked at her with that muted heat in his eyes.
The training sessions Mara had mentioned seemed like the perfect outlet for her frustration. Mara hadn’t directly
extended an invitation for Tessa to join her group, which was just as well, but perhaps someone would take pity on her.
Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays Mara had said. Well, it was a Tuesday. So she may as well...
Tessa slid into her most movement-friendly pants and left the house behind. It was almost everything she knew of the Nefari’s home, and just knowing that it wouldn’t be behind her if she turned around knotted a ball into her stomach. But she pressed on until voices from the greens in the main square carried to her with the sounds of fists hitting flesh.
She hesitated. She’d never been particularly socially awkward, but it was also difficult inviting herself to someone else’s gathering. Especially people unquestionably stronger and more hostile than her.
There were several groups in the park already practicing. She couldn’t spot Mara or anyone familiar. Then a group of fighters backed away, opening their circle, and she saw the man in the center: Marrock.
His opponent threw a punch, but Marrock dodged it easily, the muscles in his stomach rippling and flexing as he moved. He lashed out with a foot, and his opponent flew away to land on his back. He rubbed his stomach as he stood, circling Marrock warily. Marrock waited for him to attack again.
Not a bad technique, Tessa thought. Marrock was hardly moving; he was a brick wall. His opponent, however, was forced to jump and dance around him to avoid presenting a target. And every time the man was a moment too slow, he took a sharp blow for it. Marrock was wearing him down slowly, waiting for him to fatigue.
Tessa itched to test herself against Marrock, see if she could do better than his opponent, who seemed to concern him no more than a stinging fly. At the very least, it might be good to take out some of her vitriol on him.