Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

CAGE

C age paced the length of the house, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts. It had been a couple of days since the last incident, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something was different with Willow. Something had shifted. He felt like they had been making headway, but the confident, bold woman who had teased him mercilessly and driven him crazy with lust seemed to have vanished, leaving behind someone who looked almost... defeated.

After his morning debrief with the team, he joined her by the pool. She was lounging in one of the chairs, but there was no playful smile, no mischievous glint in her eyes. She looked lost, staring out over the shimmering water with a faraway expression. Cage's protective instincts flared to life. He needed to know what was wrong, to help her in any way he could.

"Hey," he called softly as he approached, holding out a cold drink. "Thought you might need this."

Willow turned her head slowly, her eyes dull. She accepted the drink with a weak smile, her fingers brushing his briefly before retreating. Something was wrong, and he meant to let her know she wasn't going to keep things from him. The sight of his mate being so subdued—a woman who had found the courage to leave her comfortable life to bring down her husband's criminal enterprise and deal a savage blow to the Shadow League—was not a woman who simply endured. He was pretty sure that's what her married life had been—one long battle of endurance until she couldn't take it anymore and chose to act.

"Thanks, Cage," she said quietly, taking a sip and then returning her gaze to the pool, effectively dismissing him.

That was another thing she needed to learn. He would not be so easily dismissed. He sat down beside her, watching her closely. She sighed deeply, a sound that seemed to come from the very depths of her soul. Cage's worry deepened.

"What's wrong?" he asked, keeping his voice gentle.

Willow shook her head, her shoulders hunching as if she could make herself smaller. "You wouldn't understand."

He frowned, his desire to help her warring with the knowledge that he should probably leave well enough alone. But he wasn't about to do that. Not when she looked so broken. She was his fated mate, and she would learn that the strength of that bond and her mate was more than enough to keep her safe and happy.

"Try me," he urged. "I'm actually a good listener."

She shook her head again, her hair falling forward to hide her face. "I don't want to burden you with my problems."

Cage leaned in closer, his voice soft but insistent. "Willow, you're not a burden." He suppressed the urge to tell her she was his mate. That declaration would lead to a whole other discussion he wasn't ready to have. Instead, he said, "Please, talk to me."

For a moment, he thought she might refuse again, but then she took a deep breath, her grip tightening on the glass.

"My husband," she began slowly, "wasn't a very nice man. Not to me or anybody else."

Cage felt a surge of anger on her behalf but kept silent, letting her continue at her own pace. "I have no doubt about that. He is—and soon will be, was—an arms dealer."

She gave him a wane smile. "True enough. Are you sure you want to hear this?" Cage nodded. "Last night, I had a nightmare about him," she said softly. "For the record, my dreams about him aren't anything like the ones I have about you. But I digress, in the dream, I had to face him at a trial, and he tried to kill me. He was frothing at the mouth, clamoring to get over the bailiffs and his attorneys. It was awful."

Was there any chance Frank could be a shifter? Cage doubted it, as the Resistance had vetted him thoroughly, but maybe she'd seen something that had given her a hint about the members of the Shadow League, and it was filtering into her nightmares. He did, however, like the idea that she had sexy dreams about him. God knew he had them about her. Masturbating in the shower had become a daily thing. Maybe sometime they could discuss them and see if they were the same.

Cage unclenched the fists he held at his sides. He wanted to reach out, to offer her comfort, but he stayed still, knowing she needed to get this out.

"I hope you know, I'd never allow that to happen," he said quietly.

Willow turned to look at him, a sad smile on her lips. "You're just the butler and my babysitter, Cage. Sure, you carry a gun, and all the real security people answer to you, but what could you really do?"

Her words stung, though he knew she didn't mean them to. She had no idea who he really was—what he was—and what he was capable of. He didn't need a gun to kill Frank Carlyle. Maybe that was the solution. Maybe he just needed to make a little visit to wherever Carlyle was holing up and take him down… permanently. Cage couldn't tell her about his full skill set, including his ability to shift into a grizzly bear and shred her ex into little pieces with his claws. Instead, he met her gaze steadily.

"I'd find a way," he said simply.

For a moment, their eyes locked, and something unspoken passed between them. Then Willow looked away, and the moment was gone.

"Come on," Cage said softly. "It's time for dinner."

They walked back into the house together, the silence between them heavy but not uncomfortable. That evening, there was no teasing from Willow. She wore a pair of sweatpants and a matching t-shirt, the soft fabric emphasizing her curves but not in the way her usual attire did. Cage noticed, though, how even in her more modest clothes, her beauty shone through. But there was a sadness about her that hadn't been there before, and it pained him to see it.

Throughout dinner, Cage watched her from his seat at the other end of the table. She picked at her food, her eyes downcast, and he felt an unsettling ache in his chest. Why was he resisting? Why didn't he just take what she was so clearly offering?

After dinner, they went to their respective rooms. As Cage lay in his bed, he couldn't shake the image of Willow's sad eyes from his mind. He swore he could hear the muffled sound of her crying into her pillow, and it tore at him in ways he hadn't expected. He knew he wanted her; knew he wanted to pull her beneath him and sink his cock into her, but he hadn't expected wanting to go to her when she was hurting, to hold her and tell her everything would be alright. But he couldn't, at least not yet.

Cage stared at the ceiling, the sound of her sobs echoing in his ears. The urge to protect her, to comfort her, was overwhelming, but he knew he had to tread carefully. Willow was fragile right now, and he couldn't afford to make a wrong move. Interpol was going to need her to testify, and the Resistance might have questions that only she could answer.

With a heavy sigh, Cage rolled onto his side, his thoughts consumed by the woman in the next room. He had to find a way to help her, to show her that she wasn't alone. And he would. No matter what it took.

The next morning, Cage woke early, the remnants of the previous night's turmoil still lingering. He went through his usual routine, but his mind was elsewhere, replaying the conversation by the pool over and over. Willow's words haunted him, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he needed to do something more.

He spoke briefly with his tech guys and asked that they start trying to track down just where Frank Carlyle might be. If Cage decided to move against him, and he knew the Resistance was considering snatching him and getting him to flip on the Shadow League, they would need to know where Frank was.

As he made his way downstairs, he found Willow already in the kitchen, a cup of coffee in her hands. She looked tired, dark circles under her eyes betraying her sleepless night. She managed a small smile when she saw him, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"Good morning," Cage said, trying to keep his voice gentle.

"Morning," she replied, her tone subdued.

He poured himself a cup of coffee and joined her at the table. For a while, they sat in silence, the only sound the ticking of the clock on the wall.

"Did you sleep at all?" Cage asked, breaking the silence.

Willow shrugged. "A little. You?"

"Not much," he admitted.

She looked at him then, her eyes searching his face. "I'm sorry about last night," she said softly. "I didn't mean to unload on you like that."

Cage shook his head. "Don't apologize. I'm glad you told me."

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "It's just... sometimes the past feels so close, like it's right there, waiting to drag me back."

"I get it," Cage said quietly. "But you're not alone, Willow. You've got people who care about you, who want to help."

She looked down at her coffee, her fingers tracing the rim of the mug. "It's hard to believe that sometimes."

Cage reached across the table, placing his hand over hers. "Believe it," he said firmly. "We're here for you. I'm here for you."

For a moment, she looked like she might cry again, but she took a deep breath and nodded. "Thank you, Cage. That means a lot."

He squeezed her hand gently before letting go. "Anytime."

They spent the rest of the morning together, talking about lighter things, trying to push the darkness away. Willow seemed to brighten a little, and Cage felt a small sense of relief. But he knew it would take more than one conversation to heal the wounds her ex had inflicted.

As the day wore on, Cage found himself watching Willow more closely. She moved through the house with a grace that belied her inner turmoil, but he could see the shadows lurking in her eyes. He wanted to do more, to be there for her in ways he couldn't fully explain.

That afternoon, they found themselves back by the pool. Willow lay on a lounge chair, a book in her hands, while Cage sat nearby, pretending to read but really just keeping an eye on her.

"You're staring," Willow said without looking up from her book.

Cage chuckled. She caught you dipshit . She was far more observant that any of them gave her credit for. He reminded himself that it had been her ability to hide her intellect that had allowed her to gather evidence against Carlyle and the League and put her in danger in the first place. Their underestimating her would be their undoing. "Just making sure you're okay."

She glanced at him, a small smile on her lips. "I'm fine, Cage. Really."

He nodded, though he wasn't entirely convinced. "If you need anything, you know where to find me."

"I know," she said softly. "Thank you."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, the afternoon sun warming their skin. For a moment, it felt like everything was okay, like they could just enjoy the simple pleasure of each other's company.

As evening approached, they headed back inside to get ready for dinner. This time, Willow chose a simple sundress, the soft fabric flowing around her as she moved. She still looked beautiful, but there was a vulnerability about her that Cage couldn't ignore.

Dinner was a quiet affair, the usual banter replaced by a more subdued atmosphere. Cage couldn't help but watch Willow, his heart aching for her. He wanted to reach out, to bridge the gap between them, but he didn't know how.

After dinner, they sat on the patio, the cool night air a welcome respite from the day's heat. Willow had a glass of wine, and Cage sipped a beer, the silence between them heavy but not uncomfortable.

"Do you ever wonder what it would be like to just... start over?" Willow asked suddenly, her voice thoughtful.

Cage considered her question, his mind racing. "Yeah," he said finally. "I do."

She nodded, her eyes distant. "Sometimes I think about what my life would be like if I'd made different choices. If I hadn't married him, if I'd been stronger..."

"Don't blame yourself, Willow," Cage said gently. "You did what you had to do to survive."

She looked at him, her eyes filled with pain. "But at what cost?"

Cage reached out, taking her hand in his. "You're here now. That's what matters."

She squeezed his hand, her grip firm. "Thank you, Cage. For everything."

"Always," he replied, his voice sincere.

They sat there for a while longer, the silence between them filled with unspoken words. Cage felt a connection with Willow that went beyond mere attraction. He wanted to protect her, to be the rock she needed, but he knew it wouldn't be easy.

As they finally went to their respective rooms, Cage couldn't shake the feeling that things were changing between them. The walls she'd built around herself throughout her years with Frank were starting to crumble, and he was determined to be there when they finally came down.

Lying in bed, he listened for the sound of her crying, but all he heard was the soft rustle of the wind outside. He hoped that meant she was finding some peace, however fleeting.

Tomorrow was another day, and he would be there, ready to support her in any way he could. As sleep finally claimed him, Cage's last thought was of Willow and the hope that one day she would realize she didn't have to face her demons alone.