It’s a loaded question, and we both know it. “Still looking for work,” I admit, before she can ask.
She nods. “I thought maybe you were. There’s something coming up. Not official, but it might suit you. I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”
It’s vague enough to be nothing, but the way she says it makes me think it’s probably the usual round of pack chores or busywork. Maybe she means it as a way to see if I can be useful to the pack. It doesn’t surprise me that Luna would know about every new job going before anyone else; she’s the heartbeat of the pack.
“Thanks,” I say, because she’s the Luna, and because I owe her more than I’ll ever be able to repay. She nods, satisfied, then turns her focus to Ruby, and I’m gently left alone with my thoughts and my book.
I stand there for a minute, pretending to read, but really just listening to the calm, easy rhythm of their conversation. For a second, I almost feel normal.
I finally buy the book, and on the way out, Ruby calls after me, “Book club’s on Thursday.”
I give her a half-salute. “Thursday,” I echo, even though we both know I probably won’t show. I have a gift for gently disappointing people, and Ruby seems like the kind who won’t take it personally.
The sidewalk is emptier now; the bakery crowd has thinned, and I guess most people are at work now. The air has that brittle, early-winter quality, a blue-edged clarity that makes everything look sharper and more temporary. I walk with no particular destination, because I have nowhere to be until the sun starts to go down. I’ll run then, when the world goes quietly soft, and I can burn off whatever this is…anxiety, need, leftover adrenaline from years of not being safe.
I turn the book over in my hands and read the back cover.Man’s Search for Meaning, it says, as if meaning is something you can just find between the shelves, like a can of soup or a decent pair of boots. I almost laugh at the irony. Mostly, I hope it works, because that’s exactly what I’m missing these days. I want to believe that the right combination of words could pin me to the earth, keep me from floating off into the static of my own mind. I want to believe that if I read enough, or run far enough, or fold enough towels, I’ll figure out how to start being alive again instead of just not dying.
A truck rumbles down Main, engine rattling like it’s on its last legs. I turn away, not looking, but I know the sound of that exhaust, the lurch of that transmission. Caleb. He slows at the intersection, window down, face hidden behind sunglasses and a week’s worth of stubble. I keep my head low and pretend to be fascinated by an antique shop window, but my skin prickles all the same.
He’s not a threat. He helped rescue me, or at least didn’t make things worse. But he’s Cheslem, and the part of me that will always be my father’s daughter can’t quite let that go. There are rules, codes of loyalty, and even if all of us are refugees now, I don’t know how to stop seeing him as the enemy. My wolf bristles, hackles up. She remembers better than I do.
I’m halfway down the block before the tension lets up. Stupid. I tell myself he didn’t even notice me, but I know better. If it were reversed, I’d have clocked him before he even hit the cross-street. I wonder where he’s heading and then curse myself for the thought. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is whether or not I can make a life here. The job Luna mentioned sounds promising. I need to focus on that, not ghosts of Cheslem.
Chapter 3 - Caleb
There is a special kind of tired that seeps under your skin, coats your soul, and makes the world look like a series of watercolor blurs. I’ve spent the last six nights learning all its shades. Turns out, you don’t need to have loved anyone before to become completely, pathologically attached to a person who can’t even hold up her own head.
Alora’s eight and a half weeks old, according to the paperwork I discovered shoved in the diaper bag, but already more stubborn than most grown shifters I know. She refuses to nap for longer than twenty minutes unless she’s strapped to my chest, and even then, only after a full hour of pacing. The sling is starting to cut a permanent groove in my shoulder. Last night she threw up on my last clean shirt, so I’m in a hoodie that smells like stale formula. My boots are untied, and my hair’s doing something that could only be described as tragic. Even my wolf is embarrassed.
We make it to the Alpha house before noon, which I count as a win, even though I was supposed to be here an hour ago. The baby’s asleep in the carrier, a sticky hand fisted around the drawstring of my hoodie. I ring the bell with my elbow, and for a second, I close my eyes and appreciate the silence. Then the door cracks open, and Nick grins at me like I’m a walking punchline. “Jesus, Caleb. You look like you got run over by a minivan full of preschoolers.” He waves me in. “C’mon, let’s not keep the kid out in the cold.”
I step inside, and the warmth is striking, reminding me that I really do need to sort out the insulation in my place. Especially now Alora’s here. Mentally, I add that to the list of a thousand things I need to do now that Alora is here. The Alpha house smells like fresh baking; it’s warm, homely, and inviting.There’s a faint layer of baby powder, too, which is either from Nick’s own kid or the universe’s idea of a joke because it seems to follow me wherever I go now. Nick closes the door behind me and leans in to peek at Alora. She’s snoring, small lips vibrating. There’s a flicker of something on Nick’s face; recognition from someone who knows babies.
“Let’s go through,” he says, and I follow him down the hall. I don’t miss the way he glances back at me, like he’s checking to see if I’m still standing.
The main room is full. James and Dylan are at the table, both already halfway through mugs of strong-smelling coffee. James has the posture of a guy who will never stop being battle-ready. Dylan’s more relaxed, but his eyes track my every movement. They’re not unkind, just sharp. I nod at them both, then set the car seat down on the floor next to my own chair. I try to sit, but my ass barely hits the cushion before Alora snuffles, flails, and resumes her campaign of world domination.
“Give her here,” Nick says. He’s got the soft hands of a man who knows exactly how to stop a baby crying. He scoops Alora out of the carrier, tucks her expertly into the crook of his arm, and rocks her until she drifts off again.
James watches, eyebrows raised, then chuckles, “We running a daycare now?”
Nick shoots him a light-hearted glare, “We always have time for the pups,” he says, handing me my sleeping daughter.
Nick smirks, “You look like you’re about to fall over. Dylan, get the man some coffee that isn’t whatever diesel oil you drink.”
Dylan stands, grinning like a coyote. “Sure thing. You want cream, sugar, or just a nap and a mercy killing?”
“Black’s fine,” I say, slumping into the chair. I try to smooth my hair back, but it just springs up worse, and I catch James smirking over the rim of his mug.
“You should see yourself,” he says, voice low and amused. “I told Luna you’d last a week before you mentally fell apart and started sleepwalking. At least, that’s what happened to me.”
“I made it about four days,” I retort lightly. “But at least I still look good…most of the time.”
Nick grins. “Spoken like a man who looks like he’s been raiding kitchen trash at 2 a.m.” He leans forward, hands clasped. “Let’s get the business out of the way so you can get back to concentrating on Alora. We’re short on patrols for the next few weeks, and I need you to pull some shifts.” His eyes flick to the baby, then to me. “Short ones. Only during the day. I hear Skylar and Fern are going to have her at the clinic for you, run some tests anyway?”
I nod. “Yeah, we need to figure out if her mom is human or a shifter,” I say, then add, “I didn’t think to check.”
I keep my voice level and unapologetic, even if deep down I’m embarrassed as hell to admit to the details of how Alora got here. To their credit, none of the men flinches. “She’s tiny, but she sure smells like a shifter…” Dylan shrugs.
