Page 86 of Wolf's Chance

Willow

Even though ithad been hours since he said it, I could still feel the anger and thehurtfrom Caleb’s callous announcement. The moment that the words left his mouth, I’d felt the slice of pain as if he’d stabbed me himself. And in a way he had.

My foster mother always said words hit harder than blows, and she was right because, with each word he uttered, I felt like he’d punched me.

My chest still felt tight as I paced the room I’d been put in. My reception to Blackridge Peak, as they called it, had been friendly butoff. I knew I wasn’t welcome here. Not that they were abrasive or unkind—they weren’t Caleb—but it was clear that they wished I was somewhere else.

Anywhere else.

And so did I. Did he think Iwantedto be here? Did he think Iwantedto know about men thatshiftedinto wolves? No one wanted to know this! No sane, rational human being wanted to accept that there was more thanthemin the world.

Humans were at the top of the food chain with their intelligence and opposable thumbs, and to have that challenged by somethingsupernatural…my God,the world would implode. Did they not think that I knew that? I completely understood that they were at risk here, by letting me into their world…but that didn’t mean Iwantedto be here.

Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I tried not to think about it. I tried not to think of Caleb’s harsh words, but the familiar sting of rejection, of abandonment, was all too close to the surface. I was proud of myself for walking past him, for approaching the biggest man I’d ever seen in my life and introducing myself.

My voice had been strong, my back had been straight, andI’dbeen strong because I would not, under any circumstances, let Caleb see how much his words had affected me. Not when his mind was already halfway down the mountain.

Cannon had led me to a bunker. I’d had a moment of panic, but I felt no ill will from any of the three men. He’d explained that, while I was welcome, I was to be kept apart from the rest of his people. It made sense. I wasn’t feeling particularly sociable anyway.

They’d both stayed with me while Mal—he insisted I call him Doc—had taken blood samples from me, and then I’d been given a hearty lunch and a room to rest.

The room was simple in decor. It screamed temporary accommodation, maybe a borderline hint ofretained guestmorethanwelcome guest,but the door was open, which had assuaged any fear of being a captive, and the lighting was adjustable, not interrogatory. Plus, the sheets on the bed were clean. There was a small shower room, which meant I didn’thave to share with anyone else or have any need to leave the confines of this space.

I wastired, and the option of a nap would be welcome, but I couldn’t help but be drawn to the blank sketchbook and pack of pencils lying on the small desk. They hadn’t hidden their agenda at all. They wantedto see what I drew, so eager to make a connection between the supernatural and…me.

There was a first time for everything.

When Cannon walked me to the bunker, I knew Caleb hadn’t followed. I didn’t know where he went. Hell, he could be back in Whispering Pines by now for all I knew.

“Slight exaggeration,” I muttered.

That had been another lie he told me. They hadn’t taken blood from him. Doc had looked at me with surprise when I asked how much blood they’d need from Caleb. Cannon had said nothing, but I’d seen the look in his eye when I’d mumbled about my misunderstanding.

“You should rest.”

His voice startled me, and I yelped, the sound seeming louder in the sparse space.

Marching to the half-open door, I looked into the hall to see him sitting on the floor across from my room.

“Surprised to see you still here.” I was being a snarky bitch, but I didn’t care. He deserved it.

Caleb looked away, his jaw clenched. The tension was back in his shoulders, and I hated that I was the reason it was there, that this situation was the reason that it was there.

“You don’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me, Caleb.”

“No.” He turned to look at me, and I flinched at thepain I saw there, but he quickly looked away again. I knew he was hiding something, holding back, keeping his past hidden from me, and I knew I had no right to ask what it was.

We weren’t friends. We weren’t lovers. Sometimes I wondered if we were even acquaintances. I meant nothing to him. But still, I knew there was something, and I couldn’t explain why, but I felt that it was something heshouldshare with me.

Or maybe I was just nosy. He’d looked after me, protected me, and was striving to find answers to my paintings, and the truth was, he owed me nothing.

However, I wasn’t sure if I accepted that reality.

“So that’s it?” I asked, my voice steadier than I felt. “You’re happy to let them solve the mystery of my art, and then you just…disappear?”

“Yeah.” His voice was muted as if he didn’t want to be overheard. “It’s better that way.”

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