Cheslem still clings to me like rot in her eyes, and I represent everything she lost.
I pull into the drive and cut the lights, sitting in the cab for a minute. The house is lit up, every window glowing, and I’m struck by how inviting the old place looks these days. The sight makes something inside me unclench, and I realize how much I want to be in there, how little I want to be anywhere else. I run my hands over my face, grinding the heels of my palms into my eyes, trying to reset before I go in. The last thing I want is to bring the stench of bad memories into Alora’s world, or into Dina’s orbit. She’s had enough of that for a lifetime.
I walk up and pause at the door. The laughter inside is gentle, muffled, and for a second, I wonder if I’m about to walk into something beautiful that I’ll ruin. But when I open the door,it’s like I never left. Alora’s on a blanket in the living room, surrounded by a barricade of pillows and a legion of soft toys, and Dina’s sitting next to her, back against the couch, knees hugged to her chest. She glances up as I come in, eyes dark and unreadable, like always. She doesn’t say hello, but she doesn’t look away either, which feels like progress.
Alora lets out a squeal when she sees me, arms waving, and I drop my stuff and join them on the floor, letting her grab my fingers and try to eat them. Her gums are sharp as razors, but I let her gnaw away. I look up at Dina, searching for some trace of the woman I had in my arms two nights ago, but she’s got her walls up.
“You’re earlier than I thought you’d be,” Dina says quietly.
I smile at Alora and then risk a glance at Dina, who’s watching me carefully, “Yeah, Nick had Thomas and Bryan take over. I’ll head back out tomorrow if there’s more to do.”
She opens her mouth to reply, or maybe ask a question, but then looks away at Alora. I wonder if she deliberately decided not to ask about the border issues. Not to raise the specter of Cheslem between us.
We run through the handover routine. I heat some bottles while Dina fills in the log she keeps of her days with Alora. We move around each other in the kitchen with a kind of choreography, never touching but always aware of where the other is. At one point, she brushes by me when she moves her bag, and my wolf nearly loses it. I want to reach out, tangle my hand in her hair, and pull her flush against me. I want to feel the weight of her, the heat, the resistance. Instead, I pour formula into a bottle, hands shaking just a little.
I glance over and realize Alora has fallen asleep, and tell Dina I’m going to move her to her crib. When I come back out, I’m surprised to see that Dina has tidied the living room. I half expected her to bolt the moment I turned my back. Instead, she’s lingering, arms crossed, foot tapping a nervous rhythm into the floor.
I clear my throat. “You want to talk about it?” I mean the border, the mess, the whole damn thing, but she hears the subtext. She always does.
Dina’s face flickers. “There’s nothing to talk about,” she says, but her voice is softer than it should be. “We made a mistake. That’s all.”
I almost laugh, because if that was a mistake, it was the best one I’ve ever made. I want to tell her that, but she’s already wrapping herself tight in her armor.
She heads for the door, and I move forward, driven by my wolf’s insistent need to stop her from leaving like this. I’m not sure what my plan is when I step in front of her, but it’s not to make a joke. My mouth opens, and instead of something easy or clever, what comes out is just raw: “You know, I don’t think I ever really knew how to be happy until Alora. Or maybe I just never thought I deserved to be.”
Dina’s eyes widen, and I feel my cheeks burn. I’ve never said it out loud. Not to anyone. She doesn’t say anything, but I feel something soften, and I know I need to get this out before I lose my nerve and ruin it by flirting or making light of the entire situation.
I take a breath and open my mouth, but a high-pitched wail from Alora’s room rips through the room before I can say another word. We both freeze, and I hold my breath, wonderingif she’ll go back to sleep, but the crying continues, “Please, just stay while I sort her out. Please.” I say.
I see the war behind her eyes, and I’ve no idea what she’s thinking, but finally, she puts her bag down and nods. “Ok, I’ll wait.”
That’s all I need to hear as I turn and head for Alora; I’ve no idea what I’m going to say when I go back out there, but the fact she’s willing to stay to find out makes my wolf feel strangely satisfied.
Chapter 12 - Dina
I know all about waiting and wondering. It’s a specific kind of being frozen in place, standing still with your skin prickling and your heart beating too loudly. I wait at Caleb’s kitchen island while he soothes Alora down the hall, unable to move but also on the edge of running. The silence of the cabin isn’t really silence at all; it’s the full weight of the ghosts of things I can’t outrun.
I absentmindedly twist the label off my water bottle, shred it to confetti, and listen to the muffled cadence of his voice singing along to Goodnight Moon, his soft, off-key humming. He’s doing the lullaby that plays on the mobile Skylar gave Alora, and I hate how much I want to hear it, even if I’ve heard it play a hundred times already.
I should leave. I should run, because in the time since he disappeared to the nursery, every cell in my body has started to panic. I feel like there’s a glass wall between me and the rest of the world, and on the other side are all the people who might see me for what I am: a traitor, a coward, a woman who slept with the enemy and liked it. If my father could see me, if any of my old pack could see me, they’d disown me. They’d never understand the new world that Silvercreek is building.
Hell, maybe they are watching from beyond the grave, maybe the goddess will let them witness all my transgressions. Maybe they’ll be waiting for me when my time comes and demand answers I know I’ll never be able to give.
But I don’t leave. I stay, and I listen, and I think about how the sound of Caleb’s voice in the baby’s room is the closest thing to safety I remember. Tender moments in my own lifelike this seem so long ago; when did I last feel safe? Even the memory of safety, the shadow of it. All lost to Cheslem’s evil.
The lullaby ends, and the silence increases as it becomes obvious Alora has fallen asleep again. I hear the click of the door, then the soft tread of feet. When I look up, he’s standing in the kitchen, one hand braced on the doorframe, the other running through his hair. He looks at me like he’s not sure I’ll still be here, and for a second, I want to laugh at the realization that I still am when so much was compelling me to run.
We stand there for a moment, perhaps gauging the lasting peace from Alora for a moment. I find myself thinking about the way his hands felt on my skin, about the way he pulled me close, about how nothing in Silvercreek has made me feel alive the way he does, or felt as real. I think about the magic that flared blue between our hands at the lottery, about the way I pretended not to want it, about how my wolf is losing her mind inside me, clawing at the inside of my ribs. And how hard I’ve tried to ignore her.
The silence suddenly feels suffocating, and I see the uncertainty in his eyes, along with a weariness I know all too well myself. I have no idea what I’m going to say, but something tells me that words won’t help anyway, and what I can’t say might be better felt. Instead, I cross the kitchen in three steps, take his surprised face in both my hands, and kiss him before I change my mind. My breath hitches as for a split second he pauses, but then he kisses me back, full force, hands at my waist, pulling me in.
It’s not gentle or easy. It’s messy and desperate, like a silent war between two people who want to hurt and heal each other at the same time. I feel lost for a moment as he turns me in his arms, pushing me against the wall, but I hold onto his shoulders, and he anchors me.
Pulling away slightly, he looks down at me. “Don’t you want to talk about it?” He asks, his lips forming a small smile.
I laugh, and the sound feels unexpectedly light. “No, not really,” I admit, my cheeks heating.
He laughs, low and hoarse, and the heat in his hands travels straight through my clothes to my skin. “You’re not going to run?” he says, and I shake my head, fingers already fisted in the collar of his shirt.
