Page 2 of Soul Fated

My grip tightened on the handle of my basket. "I'm fine. Just tired."

She reached out, her fingers brushing against my arm. "I know you've been through a lot?—"

I nodded. "I'm fine, Mrs. Severson."

Her brow furrowed, and she stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Bob and I are worried about you, Callista. When your brother told us about your accident?—”

"It's just taking some time to get back into the swing of things." I took a step back. My accident. That's what Blake told the mundanes. That I'd gotten in a car accident driving over the pass. It explained why I was gone for a bit and why I looked like absolute shit. I had to give it to him.

Mrs. Severson opened her mouth to say something, but I turned away before she could. I didn't need her pity. I didn't need anyone's pity. I gave a small wave and escaped to the end of the aisle to find tomato sauce.

I couldn't even find solace in these small tasks anymore. Everything felt like a chore, a burden. I longed to be out in the forest, to feel the earth beneath my paws and the wind in my fur. To hunt, to run, to be free. But the idea of shifting made me queasy. This wound wasn't healing for a reason. I'd felt the dark magic in the dagger just by touching the hilt. What if it affected my wolf? What if it got stronger in my shift?

I grabbed zucchini, fresh corn on the cob, and croutons and then headed to the checkout, avoiding the cashier's gaze as I handed over my items.

"I haven't had spaghetti in forever." He scanned the boxes of pasta.

"It's not really..." I trailed off. I didn't have the energy to explain the difference between a ragu and bolognese. I paid for the groceries, grabbed my bag, and pushed open the door, the bell tinkling behind me.

As I stepped onto the sidewalk, the sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the town, but I couldn't enjoy it. I was too aware of the ache in my arm. Too aware of the pull, even now, when I was supposed to be safe inside the borders of our new hybrid Kootenay Pack.

I gritted my teeth and pushed myself back up the hill, then climbed the steps to the house I'd grown up in. I shoved open the door and tossed my bags onto the kitchen counter. I'd only been gone for half an hour, yet my body was so exhausted it felt like I'd been gone for days.

I slumped into a chair and leaned my head against the cool wood of the table. A deep breath calmed my racing heart. A heart that beat too fast. That was my first clue. The pull had been there in the store but weak, like an echo of an echo. Now it was dragging against me in full force. As if the wound were still fresh. As if the dagger were right next to me.

I squeezed my eyes shut and gripped the edge of the table, the wood digging into my fingers. I was stronger than this. I'd been fighting for the last three weeks. I would keep fighting. I wouldn't let it win. Another breath, and I forced myself to my feet, shuffling to the counter to put away the groceries. Once everything was stowed away, I pulled out a pound of ground beef from the freezer and set it in the sink to thaw, then made my way to the washroom. I needed to change the bandages.

I closed the door behind me and locked it, then pulled off my shirt and stared at the wound. I peeled off the bandage, wincing as it pulled at my skin. The wound was open and raw, the edges blackened and cracked. I gritted my teeth and cleaned it as best I could, then applied a fresh bandage. I finished and stood, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were hollow, my skin pale. I looked like a ghost. Like a shell of the person I'd once been.

I stalked to my bedroom and pulled on a fresh shirt, then went to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water, my hands shaking. Cooking. I could do cooking.

I turned on my favorite bluegrass group, Arcadian Wild, and pulled a frying pan from the cupboard. The beef wasn't thawed, so I popped it in the microwave for a few minutes on defrost. When I dropped it in the pan, there was still a solid ice core, but at least it was workable.

Though every step seemed to take twice as long as it was supposed to, and I forgot to boil the water for the pasta while I was cooking down the red wine, I eventually ended up with a gorgeous ragu.

I filled a small bowl for myself and covered the rest for Blake and Celeste when they got back, then escaped to my room. I curled onto my bed, burrowed into the pillows, and took my first bite. It was heaven. The savory herbs and smooth sauce made me want to cry.

I glanced at the bottle of sleep aid on the nightstand next to me. This was what I'd been reduced to. Caffeine to keep me up during the day and a pill to force my head to go quiet. I'd tried everything I could think of. Meditation, herbal remedies, even acupuncture. Nothing worked. The pain was always there, a constant throbbing that never let up. And the dreams. The dreams were the worst.

I finished my food, took a drink from my water bottle, and changed into a tank top and sweats. I swiped a make-up wipe over my face and reached for the bottle. I took a deep breath and swallowed the pill, then climbed into bed, pulling the comforter over my shoulders.

The pain was always worse at night, but after fifteen minutes, when the drug took effect, everything disappeared for eight to ten hours. It was glorious. I’d tried taking the pill earlier to avoid the pain, but then I woke up before the sun rose. Not worth it for my day to be longer.

The ache in my arm started as a dull throb, then grew sharper, more insistent. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block it out. It was like a knife twisting in my side, tearing through flesh and muscle.

And then there were the images.

A shadow loomed in front of me, its edges blurred and indistinct. My thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind, disjointed and fragmented. I clutched my side, my fingers digging into the fabric of my shirt. The wound burned, a searing heat that radiated through my body. I gritted my teeth, a bead of sweat rolling down my temple.

Ten more minutes. I tried to force my eyes open, but they stayed closed, heavy as lead. Panic clawed at my throat. I was trapped, caught between the waking world and the dream, unable to escape.

The shadow grew darker, its edges sharpening until the dagger lay on the grass in front of me. It pulsed with a sinister energy. I tried to pull away, but my hand wouldn't obey. I watched in horror as my fingers closed over the hilt, the blade glowing a sickly green, the runes etched into the metal writhing like snakes.

This wasn't real.

I took a deep breath and tried to push the dagger away, to banish it from my mind. But it was no use. It was like trying to move a mountain with my bare hands. The light grew brighter, and I cried out, my back arching. The pain was unbearable, like molten lava coursing through my veins. I clamped my mouth shut, refusing to scream. I wouldn't give it the satisfaction.

You can't control me. The words echoed in my head, a desperate mantra. I repeated them, trying to drown out the voice that whispered in my ear.

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