I walk up, but I don’t look at him. I keep my eyes on the bowl, the stone, the flicker of the flame. I expect and assume the same thing will happen again, and this will just be an awkward minute, a polite non-match, and then back to the anonymity of the crowd. But then what? I watch him get matched with someone else? My hand hovers for a second, and then I make contact with the rim, the stone rough under my fingertips. Caleb’s hand lands opposite mine, and for a split second, his fingers brush against mine.
My wolf howls deep inside me. The sound is so loud and wild, I swear the bowl shakes. My knees threaten to go, but I lock them, jaw clenched. The flame beneath the bowl sputters blue,for a split second, then surges. A flare of color washes up and out, a hot, electric blue that throws the shadows of our hands onto the stone in stark relief. The crowd gasps, and someone actually claps in shock.
I blink, certain I’m hallucinating, but the blue is still there, curling and roiling between our hands, hot but not burning. The match is absolute, the magic is screaming, yes, yes, here is your fate, even if you don’t want it.
The next moment, the flame dies, and so does the hush in the crowd. There’s a ripple of excitement, confusion, and maybe even celebration. Out of the corner of my eye, Ruby is gaping at me, open-mouthed. Luna looks like she’s about to cry, maybe laugh, or both, but she doesn’t exactly look shocked.
For a moment, I don’t dare look at Caleb, and when I do, I wish I hadn’t; he looks horrified.
The knot in my stomach grows, and I realize, with painful clarity, that I wanted to see a different reaction. And if that isn’t stupid enough, because he’s Cheslem and I shouldn’t want him anyway, I already knew he’s far too good-looking for me. Given the look on his face, that’s exactly what he’s thinking, too.
Chapter 9 - Caleb
My mother taught me not to start arguments I can’t finish, but as I watch Dina pace my kitchen like an animal trapped in a snare, I know with grim certainty that she’s going to win this round, even if it takes the rest of the night.
She’s got a glass of water in one hand, gripped so hard the rim is flexing. She turned down more coffee, which is probably for the best because we’ve both had far too much, and my hands are already trembling in a frustrating way that won’t stop. Her hair has half-fallen out of its braid, but somehow looks even prettier for it.
This conversation has been brewing since the lottery yesterday, but I think we’ve both been avoiding it. If the ceremony itself wasn’t awkward enough, the festivities after were torture. The lottery made two matches in the end, and the contrast between the us and the other couple couldn’t have been clearer. They seemed genuinely into the idea, laughing and joking with the well-wishers as the band started and the lottery aspect faded away into a pack celebration that went on well into the evening.
Or at least, that’s what I heard. Dina made her exit pretty quickly. I think she lasted all of fifteen minutes after the ceremony concluded, and most of that was spent trying to evade Luna and Fiona, who made a beeline for her as she rushed off the stage. I don’t know what they said to her because I was still standing up there, frozen like a complete jackass. But I knew she didn’t want me; being matched with me must be her worst nightmare, given how she already feels about me. The look on her face confirmed that much.
I don’t blame her, not really, but seeing her reaction hurt more than I thought it would. Which is ridiculous, I know. She’s the nanny, she looks after Alora and clearly dotes on the kid, but her feelings toward me have always been clear. But that’s never stopped my wolf getting stupidly interested whenever she’s near, noticing her clothes…or more accurately, her curves. I don’t miss how much warmer and welcoming the house feels when I get back from patrol and find Dina and my daughter in the kitchen, the lights low and music playing, or Dina’s quick-fire wit and the way her intelligence shines through.
Part of me wishes it were different. I wish she’d respond to just one of my jokes; it’s the only way I know to connect with people. Keep things light and deflect, but she is completely impervious to my charms. It frustrated me at first, but now it just keeps me off balance.
And that’s where I’m at right now…off balance. I want to say something to lighten the mood, but I don’t think either of us knows how to deal with this. We need to talk, but no one knows what to say.
We kept the handover remarkably fast this morning, but I’m home now, and I know we need to clear the air. Somehow. The guys on patrol had a thousand questions about how it’s going, and I’m sure Dina has faced a similar interrogation when she took Alora out today. We at least need to get on the same page.
I ask if she’s ok and immediately regret the brevity I injected into my voice.
Dina breaks. She sets the glass down so hard I’m sure it’ll shatter, then spins to face me, her mouth a tight, pale line. “I didn’t appreciate being paraded in front of the whole pack like some kind of prize,” she says, words clipped and clear. “Iespecially didn’t appreciate being matched to the person who represents everything that ruined my life.”
I open my mouth, but she keeps going, “You get to stand there,” she gestures at me, a sweep that takes in the room and the baby monitor on the table and the framed picture of Alora, “with a second chance. You get painted as the misunderstood hero, while the rest of us struggle through each day. You want to know why I left last night? Because I can’t be forced into a family with someone who’s never actually lost one. You have no idea what it’s like. You have no idea…to lose the father you loved, and then have to live in a world where the people who did it walk around like nothing ever happened.”
There’s a long, cold silence. Alora’s soft breathing comes through the monitor, a fragile counterpoint to all this emotion. My wolf wants to shrink and say nothing. But something in me cracks, and before I know it, the words are tumbling out.
“You think I don’t know what it’s like to lose family?” My voice is too loud. I try to rein it in, but the pain is molten. “I watched my pack eat itself alive for years. I watched my mother waste away in a house where all the windows were nailed shut ‘for her protection,’ because my own father was afraid she’d run. I watched my cousin get dragged out for questioning and never come home. You think I’m proud of Cheslem? You think I wanted to be that?” I hear myself, desperate, and I hate it, but I can’t stop. “No one ever let me forget where I came from. Not here, not even on the best days. You think I’m not grateful for a second chance? I wake up every day expecting to find it gone. And as for being a hero, you know exactly what I did to get here. You know I’m still guilty, and I always will be.”
Dina’s lips tremble, but she doesn’t look away. “That’s the thing,” she says, softer now but not backing down. “You get to beguilty. You get to move on. The rest of us…” she laughs, hollow, “…we just get to live with it.”
I want to tell her so many things: that I think about her father every time I see her, that I remember the smell of blood, and the sound of her voice when I rescued her, but all that comes out is my darkest confession, “Sometimes, when Alora sleeps, I stand at her crib and wonder if I’m even fit to raise her.”
“You are,” Dina says quietly and quickly. The honest kindness stark against all her other words.
It seems to take the wind out of our argument, and we both simply stand there in the silence for a moment. I suddenly feel more exposed than ever. I’ve never spoken about this stuff to anyone. Sure, I’ve expressed my regret and hatred for Cheslem to Nick and the others, but I’ve never spoken so plainly about my guilt. Especially not to someone who I know can’t and won’t offer me absolution.
I’m the one who breaks first. “We should deal with it,” I say, and my voice sounds strained even to me. “The lottery. The pack. All of it.” I expect her to rehash the argument, but she simply sighs, deflated.
“Yeah,” she says, “we should.” She crosses her arms and fixes me with a look that’s so direct it’s almost blinding. “It’s obvious the pairing was a fluke. Everyone knows it; half the pack was whispering before the flame even died down. They’ll probably want to reroll it or at least let us out of it, since you’d never…” She falters for a second, then plows ahead. “Look. I’m not an idiot. I know what these lotteries are supposed to do. The magic wants physical compatibility. I’m not exactly the type anyone would genuinely match you with if you got a choice.”
I stare at her, not understanding. “What are you talking about?”
She scoffs, but it’s brittle. “Don’t act like you don’t know,” she says. “You’re, like, model handsome, and I’m…” she gestures at herself, the arms, the hips, the everything. “I’m not. I’m strong enough to hear it, okay? You don’t have to pretend.”
It’s so far from what I expected that I don’t react for a second. When I do, it’s with a laugh that sounds all wrong. “You think I’m, what, settling for you?” The words come out sharper than I want, and she flinches, but holds my gaze.
“Not even settling,” she says, “just…being polite. You don’t have to. I’d rather you weren’t.”
