Chapter seven
Backintheworkshop,Callum is cleaning an engine part. The man never sits still, he is always doing something. Always busy, usually with something in his hands that needs fixing. The gentle, quiet way he works looks at odds with his fearsome appearance.
He nods at me as I enter. I rest my ass against one of the counters and wait for him to berate me. I brought a huge problem home and then I growled at him, showing disrespect. He is going to have a lot to say. And I’m going to deserve it all.
“He is a troubled boy.” Callum’s voice is soft and calm.
I blink in surprise. This is not what I was expecting. I’m not prepared for this. I need to retreat to familiar territory and fall back on the words I have rehearsed.
“I’m sorry I growled at you. My wolf is confused because I had to get him out of heat.”
Callum gives me a skeptical look and raises an eyebrow. “Is that really what you believe?”
Wordlessly, I nod at him. He gives me a tiny smile and shakes his head like he thinks I am an idiot. I don’t know what to make of that. I may be many things, but daft is not one of them.
“How are you?” asks Alpha.
“Huh?” I stare at him in bewilderment. This conversation is really not going the way I was expecting.
“You had a run in with hunters, that can’t have been easy.” The compassion in Callum’s eyes makes me squirm.
I want to shrug it off, dismiss his concerns. But he deserves my honesty. No matter how uneasy pity, empathy, sympathy or whatever it is called, makes me.
“I… I,” I let out a big sigh and start again. “It wasn’t easy. I keep telling myself that I’ve accepted I will never be truly over it. But then something will happen… and the pain is still there, and I feel even worse because I think I should be over it.”
Callum watches me closely. Listening intently. There is something soothing about having his full attention even though the topic of our talk is as uncomfortable as it gets. I hate thinking about it. I hate people being nice to me about it. I just want it to be over. Done. Buried. Never to be thought of again.
“I was a pup, it was a long time ago,” I continue.
“Your entire pack was slaughtered,” says Callum.
I shudder and drop my gaze. He reaches over and places a comforting hand on my shoulder. He doesn’t have any magic, but somehow his strength and calm flows into me. I take a deep breath and relax. Savoring the feel. He is a good Alpha.
“Thanks,” I say after a while.
Callum nods and removes his hand. He picks up his rag and starts cleaning the metal part again. As if what just passed between us is no big deal. I love that about him.
“Fitz can’t help how he was raised,” he says gently.
His words feel like a punch to the gut. All the calm and peace he just led me to, evaporates as all my conflicting, painful emotions come surging to life again.
“He is a murderous little shit!” I protest.
I know that much is true at least. Nevermind the fact that there is zero evidence that Fitz’s upbringing is to blame for his ideology. It could well be a path he chose himself. The theory that he was raised by hunters absolves him of too much. He has to take some responsibility for luring me to my death and stabbing me in the chest.
Callum sighs. “Yes, he is. We need to decide how we are going to handle him.”
“You think he was raised by hunters?” I ask, still fixated on that point.
It was one of the first conclusions I had come to. The fact that Alpha has come to the same one does lend it some weight. Part of me longs for it to be true. Fitz being a victim makes everything easier. It would mean I could forgive him. Rehabilitate him.And enjoy his wonderful ass without conflict, whispers a darker, hornier part of myself. I wince and push that thought away.
Screams from the house catch both our attention. We exchange a quick glance before sprinting towards the sound.
It takes mere moments to reach the kitchen but it feels like years. The tang of blood assaults my nose as soon as I run through the door. Fitz is standing on the table, kitchen knife in hand as he efficiently jabs at Greg and Dave as they attempt to grab him. He doesn’t look injured, I can’t see any blood on him but my heart still hammers in concern.
Sarah’s sob catches my attention. She is clutching at her cheek with a tea towel. The smell of blood is coming from her. Her gaze is fixed on the fight with nothing but worry for others in her eyes, despite her injury. I should have thought of her first. Not Fitz. Why on earth had my first concern been that he might be hurt?
My loyalty should be to my pack. Sarah is a beta, my role is to protect her, but instead I brought a dangerous hunter into her home and her very kitchen. I even asked her to keep an eye on him. Now he has slashed her face with a knife. Kind, sweet, Sarah who wouldn’t hurt a fly. She would have been nothing but lovely to him and this is how he repays her kindness.
