Once she’d sorted through her thoughts, Mila asked her friends about the cats and Caim’s alleged retaliation against them. Neither woman seemed to be “in the know,” though. Both were unsure about what Lotus had been referring to.
As the sun rose in the sky, the room warmed a little, and they all grew tired. Unabashedly, Mila undressed and settled back in between them. Within seconds, she was lost in a tangle of limbs. A month ago, the prospect of being sandwiched between two naked women would have probably been, at the very least, undesirable. Now, she felt warm and safe.
7
The sun had risen by the time Caim had finished burying the wolves. The work was beneath him, but he would not leave any of his own pack on the edge of the territory alone. Not surprisingly, he finished the duty undisturbed, then headed back to the den.
An undercurrent of unease was among the pack. All of the wolves were congregated in the central cavern, with the exception of Sable, who had disappeared, and Rose and Gem, who were with his mate. He let Lotus do most of the talking. Unlike Caim, she was good at such things, which was presumably why Asch had left her in his stead.
Initially, he’d been actively engaged in the discussions. Fighting was what Caim was made for, and it had been too long since he’d seen a real battle. He cared little about the potential casualties and would be sorely disappointed if the cats did not attack.
But as the morning wore into afternoon, Caim grew bored and his thoughts wandered to his mate. It was impossible for them not to. Her scent was all around the den, standing in sharp contrast to those of his pack. The faint tendrils teased at his nostrils and made him crave more of her.
When the discussions began to run in circles, Caim was the first to take his leave. They could talk strategy well into the evening for all he cared. If there was a fight, he would be ready regardless. In the meantime, he would find his mate and rest.
She was already sleeping when he found her, curled up between Gem and Rose. He tried to look at the sight objectively and appreciate it as a male, but it was no use. Although the thrall had ended over a week ago, his regard for his mate had not been diminished. In fact, it had intensified.
The females were easy enough to pry off of her, barely rousing as he extracted her from their hold. He told himself it was because they were familiar with his scent—not due to negligence on their parts—that they handed her over to him without resistance. He would address this later.
With one arm under her legs and the other supporting her neck, he drew her into his arms and placed her head against his chest. He grabbed one of the furs from the bed and secured it around her bare form. As he stood, she stirred and blinked up at him with bleary eyes.
“You are not permitted to sleep apart from me,” he told her as he exited the room.
She smiled and gave him an affectionate look before closing her eyes again. “Don’t make me wait next time.”
She turned her face into his chest. Caim could see her nostrils flare as she inhaled his scent. The small gesture aroused him. She was developing many wolf-like qualities, most notably, her new habit of biting, which he enjoyed in the proper context. He tried not to fuel his desires with thoughts of her blunt teeth raking over his flesh. She was tired.
“What did you do to upset the cats?” she asked.
“We will discuss that later. I am tired of talking about cats.”
She murmured her agreement, which pleased him. He was not sure how she would feel about him killing the cat. He knew humans had strange and varied feelings on the subject of death, particularly when it fell into the gray area that they might consider “murder.” He would not try to keep the truth from her, but it could wait until she was well-rested.
He took her to the shaded corner of his chamber and laid her down on his pallet of furs. Her eyes fluttered open again, watching him as he settled down beside her.
“Are we really in danger?” she asked.
“No,” he replied.
He reached over her and grabbed a blanket of stitched doe hide, the only one large enough to cover the both of them. His mate was sensitive to the cold, and he was not particularly fond of it himself. He was accustomed to being in his wolf form once winter took hold of his territory, but the allure of being skin to skin with her was too much to resist.
“Would you tell me if we were?”
What a ridiculous question.
“Have I ever lied to you?” he countered.
While she considered the question, Caim’s hand roamed, seeking out her curves. He latched on to one of her breasts and squeezed the generous mound. He felt his cock lengthen and wondered if she would let him go to sleep inside of her.
“You know, I don’t think you have,” she said, sounding surprised. Caim decided he would not take offense.
His hand moved in a deliberate downward trail, past her stomach and the swell of her hips. As he neared the apex of her thighs, she arched her back, letting out a loud yawn. He paused, his hand settling on her thigh.
She curled her body into him and rested her head on his upper arm. After she had laid still and silent for several minutes, Caim reluctantly pulled his hand back and tried to remind himself that he was also tired, or at least, he had been.
Some compulsion had him staring at her and drinking in her delicate facial features, her silken hair, and the graceful curve of her neck. How strange that only a month past, he had thought her body would not appeal to him. Now, there was not a single part of her he did not favor.
As if she’d heard his thoughts, she asked, “Do you remember the first night we were together?”
“Yes.” A night he would not soon forget.
“You said you felt like, if you were inside of me, nothing else would matter.”
He was tempted to tell her he had not been in his right mind that night. Her human scent, coupled with her voluptuous body, had been a new and intoxicating experience.
Deciding to keep this to himself, he asked, “Your point?”
Her eyes opened, but she kept them trained on his chest. “I don’t know. I was just thinking that when I’m with you, I feel like that too. Just for a little while, I feel like I’m safe from all of my problems.”
Caim lifted her chin, eyeing her speculatively. “What problems could you possibly have?”
“I have plenty of problems,” she said and pulled his hand from her face. A dark mark on her wrist caught his attention. He grasped her hand and looked between her face and the bruise. She grinned sheepishly. “I got in a fight.”
Surprised, he asked, “With whom?”
“Sable.”
He should have known. “Did you fight back?”
She grinned. “I kicked her pretty hard.”
“Good,” he said and tucked her arm back under the blanket. “When he returns, do not speak of this to Asch. It will displease him.”
She cocked her head. “But it doesn’t bother you? I mean, you’re not going to do anything about it?”
“Do you want me to?”
“No,” she replied quickly. “It was my fight.”
He nodded his agreement. Intervening would only serve to make his mate look weak. She would have to fight her own battles.
Caim closed his eyes and put his arm around her. “We will sleep now,” he told her. She relaxed in his hold, and within minutes, she was sound asleep.
Sleep did not come as easily to Caim. Before long, he found himself staring at her again, wishing she were still awake and talking to him.
8
The sun was still out when Mila woke, which she found to be very irritating. She attempted to open her eyes, but they felt as if they’d been glued together, so she gave up and tried to go back to sleep. That only lasted a few seconds.
“Wake up.”
Caim sounded exceptionally authoritative. She said something back to him. Maybe it was “no, please let me sleep” or just a very long “no.” She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that the room was still filled with light, an
d she was exhausted.
“Mila.”
Even in her sleep-deprived state, she recognized the weight her name carried on his lips. Lately, Caim had taken to calling her his mate, a title she found much more endearing than “the human,” so she put up with it. He had only used her first name twice that she knew of: once because she’d asked him to and another as a warning.
Her adrenaline spiked, making her instantly alert. She sat up quickly, her stomach clenching.
“Is it the cats?” she asked and felt the blood drain from her face.
Caim sat beside her, his muscular body rigid. She took in his expression. Her anxiety lessened when she saw that he didn’t look worried. If anything, he was looking at her expectantly.
Confused, she asked, “What is it?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he handed her a wooden bucket. She recognized it as one of the buckets she and her friends used to haul bathwater up from the river. It was empty, and she was about to repeat her question when her stomach unclenched abruptly and gave a hard lurch. She hunched over the bucket as the dinner she hadn’t remembered eating came back up with a vengeance.
Deftly, Caim gathered up her hair and wrapped it in a loose bun on the top of her head. When there was nothing left for her to throw up, she transitioned into a mortifying bout of dry heaving. Despite the crisp air, she felt hot all over, and by the time her retching subsided, she was out of breath and her midsection ached.
She remained hunched over while her stomach settled, but she could do little to calm her runaway pulse as awareness crept over her. Several times, she started to ask him, but couldn’t bring herself to form the question. If he answered “not yet” this time, she wasn’t sure she could handle it.
“Why’d you have the bucket?” she asked instead, her voice hoarse.
“My father’s mate was always ill from the first day her scent changed.” He paused to let the words sink in before smugly adding, “I presumed it would be the same for you, as your first pup will be mine.”
She turned to look at him, her eyes wide. “You can tell that? Like, you can smell it?”
He gave her a patronizing look. “I had you first. And second. Of course it will be mine.”
“I don’t really think that’s how it works, Caim.”
She set the bucket between her legs and rubbed her temples. She felt light-headed, exhilarated, and terrified all at once. Did everyone feel so scared or was this just the first sign that she would be a lousy mother?
“What is wrong?” Caim asked and placed a hand on her back. “You do not seem pleased.”
“Aren’t you afraid?” she asked, searching his face. “Even just a little?”
“Of what? The cats?”
She gave him a light shove on the shoulder. “Never mind, you big oaf.”
Setting the bucket aside, she lay back down on the pallet. There was no way she could possibly go back to sleep now, but throwing up had taken a lot out of her, and her stomach still churned unpleasantly. Not bothering to feign modesty, she pushed the blanket off her naked body, still too hot to be covered up.
Caim stared down at her, deliberated for a moment, then settled his palm over her slightly rounded stomach. She knew he was just cupping her belly fat, that the baby was probably the size of a poppy seed, but the sight still made her feel emotional. She placed her hand over his, noting that where she was pale and smooth, he was dark and rough. He was such a large man, and she was so much smaller by comparison. She couldn’t help but wonder what type of person they would create together.
She glanced up to see that he was staring at her face now. His amber eyes glinted with a strange light. She recognized the look he was giving her, though she didn’t understand it. It was the same look he’d been giving her often lately—an affectionate look that seemed out of place on his harsh face. She’d yet to see him look at anyone else that way, even Lotus, and she was starting to think—to hope—that it might be an expression reserved solely for her.
On impulse—like all of her best decisions—she blurted, “I love you.”
Caim immediately recoiled and scowled at her. Mila felt as if her face had caught fire. She sat up and reached for him but stopped short, unsure of herself. In a high-pitched voice, she stammered, “I-I don’t know why I said that.” Desperate to downplay her egregious mistake, she added, “Pregnant women, they get very hormonal, and sometimes they say crazy things that they don’t mean.”
His scowl deepened, and he leaned in to glare down at her. “So you did not mean it?”
“Well, no, that’s—wait.” She cocked her head. “Did you want me to mean it?”
A muscle in his jaw ticked. “You either meant it or you did not. What I want is irrelevant.”
Mila waved her hands in front of her chest. “Look, let’s just forget about it and—ahhh!”
The air left her lungs as Caim pushed her back down on the bedding, his thick forearm pinning her arms above her head. She felt his breath hot on her face as he commanded, “Answer me.”
“I don’t know!” she all but shouted up at him. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath, refusing to let him intimidate her. “It’s complicated. I know that you think I don’t know what love is, but I do know one thing. It’s not all or nothing.”
She cracked an eye open to see him regarding her with a guarded interest. She exhaled before saying, “Maybe you can just love someone or not love them, but for me, it’s not so cut and dry. It’s just a feeling that I have, a small one, but it’s there. I can’t say ‘I like you,’ or ‘I care about you,’ because they’re just not enough.” She freed a hand and managed to jab her finger against his chest. “So whether you like it or not, I love you.”
They stared at each other for a long while. Caim gave nothing away, and Mila did her best to mirror his neutral expression but knew she probably looked somewhere between flustered and insecure. After what felt like an eternity, Caim sat up, took her arm, and guided her upright.
“Alright,” he said before standing. She watched, dumbfounded, as he grabbed the bucket and headed for the doorway.
“Wait!” she called out.
He stopped and tilted his head back. “What?”
She shifted nervously. “Well, don’t you have anything to say?”
“Such as?”
Her mouth hung open as she tried to think of something that wouldn’t make her sound totally desperate and wretched. She must have taken too long, because Caim gave her the barest of grins before walking out.
* * *
The whole pack was awake by the time Mila made it to the central cavern. She’d expected this, having already been accosted by Rosie and Gem on her way to her bedroom. They’d flittered around her while she’d dressed, recounting how Caim had roused everyone from sleep earlier in the day to boast about Mila’s newly-apparent condition. Apparently, they’d all been up for hours, and she wondered why Caim hadn’t woken her sooner.
A group of females flocked to her as she entered the spacious room and offered their congratulations. She accepted awkwardly, trying to match their enthusiasm.
It still wasn’t fully clicking with her that she was pregnant. Once the initial shock of it all had worn off, she’d found that she really didn’t feel much different than she had the day before, aside from the undercurrent of nausea she couldn’t seem to shake. She definitely didn’t feel any maternal joy, and despite what the others said, she most certainly wasn’t glowing.
Once the crowd had thinned, Rosie pulled her away to take up their usual spot at the fire pit. Mila stared down at the charred logs and ashes, trying to pretend she was oblivious to Caim and Lotus when she was anything but. They were conversing on the dais, not in hushed voices, but their conversation was impossible to discern over the chattering of the rest of the pack.
“Are you feeling ill?” Rosie asked and placed a hand on Mila’s back.
“I’ll be okay,” Mila assured her.
A cold wind whipped through the c
avern, making Mila shudder. Trying to warm herself, she rubbed her arms before deciding she would need to grab a blanket. As she stood, she realized the room had gone silent. She glanced around to see that all of the wolves were sniffing at the air, their postures rigid. She looked to Rosie.
“What is it?”
Rosie’s pea-green eyes widened. “Blood.”
9
Caim almost always dreamt of killing, usually in the form of hunting and seizing prey. At times, the killing would take place on the battlefield, as he recounted long-past wars with rival packs. On rare occasions, he would dream of his former pack or his brief time living amongst humans.
Today, he had dreamed of his father’s mate. Sarah.
Caim had been very small the first time he had met her. She had been small too, barely half the size of his father, and already carrying Caim’s second sister in her womb. During the long days their pack had spent sequestered in the small mountain den, she had held Caim close, stroking his hair as he pressed his ear against her belly. Sarah’s scent had always reminded him of an elusive memory, one that had always been just beyond his reach.
He awoke to a visceral sense of loss, only to have his disquiet immediately allayed by the unmistakable change in his mate’s scent. Caim had wanted to wake her right then and had to stop himself several times from doing so. Instead, he had woken the pack, informing them with an incomparable amount of pride that he was to be a father.
It could be Asch’s son, but Caim did not think so. Even if it were, it would be the first of many pups she would give them, so the thought did not concern him much.
After a brief time with his pack, he had woken his mate, no longer able to wait for her to rise on her own. Just as he was finding himself disappointed by her reaction, she had abruptly told him that she was in love with him. This had pleased him, though he had decided not to tell her. Much like her name, it was another thing he could leverage over her.
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