Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Rory

Maybe it was because he never got sick that he had to serve his time. The only time he usually visited the clinic was for butchering related accidents—an unfortunate side effect of his trade. But since he'd gotten new cut resistant gloves, these visits had been few and far between.

It was nearly impossible to keep himself in bed, but Callisto and Sophia were adamant about it. They looked after the girls, brought them in to see him, made sure Fraiser was doing okay, cooked all the meals, cleaned, got everyone ready in the morning, brought him breakfast in bed. He'd never felt so doted on in his life or so embarrassed about it. The worst part of being bedridden for all those days was that he knew that either Sophia or Callisto was sleeping on the floor at night or in one of the chairs because they couldn't both fit on the couch. Maybe they took shifts. When he'd expressed his desire to give up the bed, Sophia had told him that they'd lived in worse conditions. She didn't elaborate and it made him feel murderous again thinking that someone had hurt her and Callisto.

He was thankful when he was well enough to resume his duties at the shop and to take back the couch, although Sophia hadn't let him wash and make up the bed himself. She'd had the couch ready for him, along with the dinner she and Callisto cooked, the girls happily bathed and playing with their favorite blocks by the time he'd climbed the stairs, a little after six. He never usually stayed so late, since he wanted to help Fraiser with the girls when they were done with school, but he had a lot to catch up on.

While he was sick, Sam and a few of the guys came and helped take care of exactly what needed doing, but they'd left the carcasses he had hanging. It hadn't hurt them to age a little longer, but he'd felt a red-hot need to get back at it.

He was on the couch now and despite how hard he'd gone during the day, full out balls to the wall so to speak, he just couldn't sleep. He'd spent too many days in bed doing nothing and all that rest made it impossible to really sleep.

He had his eyes closed and he was trying to relax. It was dark in the living room and the house was quiet.

He became aware of the soft, apple blossom scent he was coming to associate with Callisto. Was she up for a glass of water? To use the bathroom? Was she checking on the girls?

No. He heard her breathing even though she was silent otherwise. Her scent grew stronger, and he knew she was in the room with him. He should just have opened his eyes, sat up and greeted her, but for some reason he kept quiet. Feigned sleep. Didn't move at all.

He nearly exploded off the couch when he heard the click of the door closing. She was so quiet that she'd worked it open without a sound and the closing barely registered either.

He threw off the blankets and stalked to the window. He stood at the side, where he wouldn't be seen, and stared through the slits in the blinds. He watched her shadow skirt through the backyard and disappear into the tree line just beyond. He lived at the end of main street and so they weren't bordered on three sides by trees and there wasn't a heavily wooded area behind them like most people. Just a nice row of trees that had been left as singles, a clear line of towering old beasts that stood like sentinels from another time, offering shade and the soft rustle of leaves in the spring, summer, and fall, and the soft whisper of pine needles all year round.

"What the fuck?" he muttered under his breath. What was Callisto doing out in the middle of the night?

There was only one answer to that question—nothing good.

He thought about chasing her down for a maddening moment, but then decided against it. Maybe if she wasn't a shifter, he'd consider it. But she was, she'd scent him out in no time. He'd have to plan ahead. Be sneaky about it. Trail well behind using the bear to pick up her scent and keep himself hidden. Only then would he be able to find out what she was really doing.

He stared down the hall, towards the bedroom. The house was absolutely silent. Did Sophia know where Callisto went every night? Was she even aware she left at all? It seemed hard to believe that sweet, innocent Sophia would know that her best friend was up to no good and say nothing, but then, she was exactly that. Callisto's friend, above all.

They'd taken oaths. Sophia to Sam, and Callisto to Sam and himself.

Was she shitting all over that?

He had to go sit back down on the couch as the anger rose inside of him. It bubbled violently until he felt like an out-of-control soda that someone uncapped, not knowing it had just been dropped.

As the minutes went on, he calmed his breathing so that the sensation of being pissed the fuck off cooled down, and eventually bled into the background so he could think clearly again. Callisto didn't want him to know she was sneaking out, but she might not be doing anything wrong. He couldn't just think the worst without knowing the truth. Her leaving felt like a betrayal, but she and Sophia had just spent days taking care of him. Their concern and care didn't feel false. The way they doted on the girls, bathing them, feeding them, dressing them, playing with them, teaching them signs, reading to them, laughing with them—all of that felt very, very real.

Whether she was doing something shady or not, Callisto was putting all of that at risk. Rory had stood up for her and Sophia, and he wasn't going to be played like a fool who was so blinded by her beauty and strength and those damn green eyes, that he couldn't see what was going on right in front of him.

He sunk back down on the couch and pulled the blanket over himself so it would look like he was sleeping and then he counted down the hours. It was two in the morning when Callisto left, he checked the clock every now and then, so he knew it was just past four when the door whispered back open and closed this time without making a sound.

She made it halfway across the room before he sat up. She froze immediately. She didn't whip around. She did tense, and he could scent a fraction of panic, but then she shut that off and turned slowly.

It was dark in the room, nearly fully dark, so she walked over to the lamp and clicked it on. She had notebooks all over the house, the spiral bound kind that she liked to stick a pen in. She grabbed one, yanked the pen from the metal coil and wrote quickly for him.

DID I WAKE YOU UP? I'M SORRY. I WAS JUST GETTING SOME WATER. DO YOU NEED ANYTHING? ARE YOU FEELING OKAY?

He huffed. "Getting water all dressed in black like you're going out to burglarize the community? I heard the door open. I can smell the night air on you. I know you were outside."

He searched her face, watching her carefully, but she didn't look the least bit upset. She stayed calm, bowing her head and writing in the notebook while she stood. She passed it over, her expression grim, but not so grim that she looked like she'd been caught in her lies, or that she'd done anything wrong.

I WENT FOR A WALK. I SOMETIMES NEED THAT TO CLEAR MY HEAD. YOU'RE A BEAR. YOU MUST UNDERSATND THE RESTLESSNESS. EVEN IF I DON'T SHIFT, I JUST NEED TO BE OUT THERE.

He raised a brow. "Dressed all in black?"

She scribbled some more.

I ALWAYS WEAR BLACK.

"Yeah." He wasn't sure if he believed her or not. She might favor black, but there was something shifty about the whole sneaking out thing. There was nothing in her expression that caused him not to believe her words, but he couldn't escape the feeling that there was more that he just wasn't seeing. He didn't like the sensation in his gut that told him he was being played. Everyone in Greenacre expected the worst from these women, but they were part of his household. He'd gone to Sam for them, tried to find them a place because he trusted them. Humiliation aside, if Callisto was doing something shady, he was pissed all over again, because his clan always came before anything, even the fact that he found this woman… magnetic, majestic, and mysterious.

The most ridiculous alliteration.

He could admit he was attracted to her and had been from the moment he saw her, but had that blinded him? Made him stupid? Lax? He'd let down his guard after day fucking three. Pathetic.

"Yeah," he repeated. "It would be best if you don't take nighttime walks alone anymore. You certainly can't take Sophia, if you need to go for a walk, you have to take me. Do you realize what might have happened if the guards saw you? I know you're dressed not to be seen, but if you were, it would be a shoot first ask questions later scenario. I don't mean literal shooting," he explained when she paled. "But in other regards, it would be bad. Do you want to be a prisoner of this house? You want to make a place here so the rest of your clan can come. This isn't how an alpha behaves. She thinks first of others before herself, no matter what."

That started a storm that she couldn't hide. It was only in her eyes, but they arced daggers right through him. The fury there stole his breath. It was half terrifying and half magnificent. He'd never thought he could be a jailer, but he had to put his foot down before something terrible happened.

"You're not only risking yourself, you're risking Sophia, me, the girls, Fraiser. Trust can take a lifetime to build and a minute to shatter. I'm not trying to be an asshole or a hard ass. You understand?"

She scrawled something angrily and tossed the notebook in his lap before turning on her heel and striding away. The air in the room trembled with the force of her leaving. He felt the vibrations shake through him. It was a second concussion from the same blast, another hard blow to the chest.

He finally turned his eyes to the notebook.

DON'T TALK TO ME LIKE A CHILD. DON'T TELL ME WHAT IT TAKES TO BE ALPHA. YOU HAVE NO IDEA. I WON'T GO OUT AGAIN. GOODNIGHT.

It was the way she signed it off, a virtual middle finger, that made his blood boil but also forced a reluctant grin. She wasn't afraid to be herself, which was a strong woman with an ass load of fight in her. She was a warrior with a warrior's spirit. He couldn't begrudge her the very things that he was enamored with.

Yes. Enamored. It was true.

He put the notebook back on the coffee table, turned out the light, and spread back out onto the couch.

***

The hours until morning were few, but they passed painfully slowly. He was up before anyone else, and slowly the household came to life. Callisto and Sophia got the girls up and dressed and brought them to the kitchen for their breakfast. Fraiser stumbled in wearing a wrinkled t-shirt but a fresh pair of jeans, looking more bleary eyed than Callisto did, even though she likely hadn't slept a minute.

He was busy getting the girls' and Callisto's oatmeal ready, filling sippy cups with milk, and cooking bacon and eggs for the rest of them. Sophia usually came to help, and that morning was no exception. He watched her closely for any signs that she knew what Callisto did the night before, probably multiple nights, but he saw nothing. Callisto too, looked completely innocent. She was dressed for work in cutoff jean shorts and a black tank top. There was nothing remotely sexy about the outfit, the shorts were no daisy dukes—more like longer cutoff jeans a man would wear—but the sight of her almost took his breath away.

He was starting to realize he had a problem.

No, he wasn't starting to realize anything. He'd known for some time. Callisto was embedded in his brain. She stayed with him all day, her goddess like visage imprinted on his gray matter even when he was fully focused on other tasks.

Sophia wordlessly helped him get breakfast on the table, doing a hundred things at once and leaving him with nothing to do other than not burn the bacon. Callisto helped the girls eat and made sure they didn't end up with oatmeal in their hair or cups of milk dumped in their laps. It was why he'd waited until after breakfast to dress them, but since Callisto and Sophia arrived, there hadn't been any need for outfit changes.

Sophia brushed against him while she made her own plate, last of course because she was like that and always insisted that she see to her own needs after everyone else's. He barely felt the brush of her as she swept by, but he knew she'd slipped something into his jeans.

He didn't stare after her as she picked up her plate and made her way to the table, but he was mystified and impressed. If Callisto could have taken up burglary or night stalking, Sophia could have been a reverse pickpocket.

He waited until after breakfast, until the girls and Fraiser had been dropped off at school, until Callisto and Sophia left carting their shovels and post diggers over their shoulders, water bottles dangling off their belts from metal hooks through the lids. Only when he was doubly sure he was alone in the shop did he produce the piece of paper from his pocket.

Unfolding it flat, he smoothed down the letter. Unlike Callisto's blocky capitals, Sophia had tiny, neat writing, but she'd needed to keep it small to fit everything on the paper.

This is the worst kind of betrayal, but even if I break her heart, I have to save Callisto from herself. She's not a danger to anyone here, but to Pinefall.

That was our true intention all along. I know you'll be angry, and you'll want to go to Samuel with this, but please, I'm begging you, don't do it yet. Callisto would never hurt anyone without good reason, and trust me, she thinks she has one. I don't want her to throw her whole life away and damn her soul over this. Please, go to her. Force her to tell you the truth. Other than me, she's never had anyone in her life to care about her. She won't fold willingly, but unlike her, I believe in fate. I think you were brought together for a reason. Forced or not, you're her mate. One half of something bigger than yourself, maybe larger than either of you understand.

Please. She needs this, before it's too late. I can't stop her. She loves me beyond reason, and she thinks she needs to spare me this. She doesn't really want to harm anyone, I know it. What she wants, more than revenge, is love. An impossible love from people who threw her away because they saw her as less than perfect. She believes her parents left her for dead and she wants justice equal to that act. Don't let that be her life story. I know you won't see how you can make a difference or how you can stop her. You owe us nothing. But, if you were serious about that oath you took, then please, save your mate.

For the second time that week, Rory felt the room tilt around him, and he ended up on his ass staring up at the ceiling, wondering how the hell he'd wound up there.