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“Yes, I understand. But life isn’t always that clear-cut. The laws of the wild are sometimes rough but always justified. Sonny has been eliminated, and rightfully so. But knowing you’re out there without my protection and guidance, I couldn’t abide that. You’re safe here with me and with the pride. This is your home … I’m your home.”
She dropped the coat in her hands and let it float onto the floor like a dried-up leaf. With a sigh, she shuffled to the modest table and chairs and had a seat.
Her flight response was gone. Deflated and discouraged, she couldn’t see her way to taking another step, making another decision she may learn to regret. Fleeing, she assumed, was the best course of action. Escaping the hurt. But listening to Thomas’s deep voice and the conviction in it, even fleeing seemed silly now.
Lorena picked up a dinner knife and etched their names into the gnarled wood. Even though the past few days hurt like hell, a part of her wanted to preserve this moment for all time. If she saw their names side by side, maybe then the hurt would stop.
We are alive. Together and safe at last. That has to mean something.
Without a doubt, Lorena knew Thomas had done right by her and the entire pride. Every decision he made since Sonny’s awful grasp on her life had been sound. Even where he had hidden her and the pride.
The safe houses Thomas provided lay in the woods of Wolverine State Park. Four rough-hewn log cabins nestled in a small river valley below a high mountain ridge. Thomas’s mother long ago ordered they be built. And Thomas had made sure that it was done.
They couldn't be sighted from above unless one was aware of their existence. The heavy pine forest canopy cloaked their view to any and all usurpers. It was a last refuge for the pride if it were ever needed. Although weak in the end, his dear mother saw a future where such a lair might be crucial to the pride’s existence.
Regardless of their victory against Sonny and his mob, Thomas insisted their footprint remain low, at least for the next little while. Lorena understood and appreciated his care. More than she wanted to admit to herself.
A low fire crackled in the cabin’s fieldstone fireplace. Other than a hurricane lantern Lorena used to help her see, the firelight was the only illumination in the cabin. But it was enough. She looked at Thomas, his eyes pleading, and her heart warmed.
“Okay,” she sighed. “I’ll stay. But you and I have to act differently from now on. No more secrets and no more lies. And no more assumptions which end up getting people hurt. We need to talk more, know each other better. We have to build trust.”
Thomas smiled and took a seat next to her. He reached across the table to hold her hand.
“I completely agree. From now on, we will talk about everything and anything. And especially when events don’t turn our way. I can’t guarantee life will always run smoothly, Lorena. But I can promise you I’ll be here to care for you and cherish every moment we have together. And while I’m the leader of the pride, no other evil shifter will make a footprint in this community.”
Lorena smiled and rubbed his hands. They were warm. She assumed from his warm heart. “That’s all any girl can ask for, really. Just to be cherished, protected, and understood. Oh, and maybe that the male lion shifter cooks dinner every now and then.” Lorena winked.
Thomas laughed. “Hmm … how ’bout now? Tonight? We still have those frozen venison steaks I dressed from my last shifter kill. Bake potatoes over the fire. The wild asparagus you and I picked in the meadow.”
“My mouth is already watering. Lead on, chef.”
“First order of the day. A hot chocolate for you, milady, while you wait for your repast.” Thomas scurried about and presented her with the rich brew in two shakes of a lion’s tail.
Lorena sipped at the sweet drink and watched with hilarity as Thomas made like a culinary whirlwind, frying, paring, and chopping with wild abandon. The cabin went from a house of safety to the scent of a home. Good food mixing and mingling with their happy hearts. A man and a woman creating a simple but wonderful life all their own.
Thomas and Lorena relished their delicious meal before the still crackling fire and by lantern light. Laughter and lighthearted banter filled the air.
There were no worries about Sonny or unwanted attacks. No need to plan or connive. It turned out to be an ordinary evening, a lovely dinner for two, and the start of trust being rebuilt for a final and everlasting time.
As the meal came to an end, Lorena forked up the last stalk of her asparagus. She was satiated and completely content. Thomas, on the other hand, seemed less so. Lorena leaned back and watched Thomas take his last bite of venison. His hand actually shook so fiercely that the fork wobbled up and down.
What’s with Thomas all of a sudden? The battle with Sonny is over. It’s won. And we’re free, just like he said. So, why the tremors, the fidgeting? His right leg is tapping up a storm, and he looks like his mind is thinking a mile a minute.
Lorena had never seen Thomas act like this before. Even under duress, the pride leader was a cool cucumber. Deadlines at the office never fazed him. And during the heat of battle, the shifter never overreacted and made ill-conceived decisions.
Yet on this night, Thomas looked like his tail was caught in a crack, and the crack was closing. His jittery demeanor concerned her.
Was there more bad news on the horizon? Was the battle not done?
Lorena was too happy to go there and too afraid to ask.
With the meal done and the dishes cleared, the couple snuggled up by the fire. Inside the cabin, the atmosphere was cozy and warm. Outside, a fierce wind whistled through the pines. Lorena wasn’t concerned. Wind was Mother Nature’s way of kissing you goodnight. What had terrorized her was now long gone. Ash to the ages.
Lorena opened a bottle of wine, thinking it might calm Thomas’s nerves. She assumed he was experiencing leftover trauma from the battle. And why not? It was a close shave. There, for a few nail-biting minutes, fate could have turned its head, and it would be their corpses out in the unforgiving cold.
“Here you are. I believe it’s your favorite.” Lorena handed a glass to Thomas, and he gratefully accepted. He twirled the crystal around in his hand and watched the sugary liquid stick to the glass.
“Ah, yes. Den vintage, 1994. That was a good year. Early spring and late frost. You know, of all the projects my late mother created, I never regretted having the pride make its own wine. Our tastes are unique. We prefer more musky and less fruity.”
