“Yeah. Well.” Rhett sighed. “I wasn’t happy about it. But it didn’t gut me until I heard the weapons-fire. At that point I knew I’d left you to die.”
“You followed an order from your alpha.”
“That didn’t help. But let’s be real, if I’d been there I wouldn’t have survived. I don’t have an inner wolf strong enough to take over and heal me. I don’t have a mate to call me back from the dead.”
“You say that as though there’s no chance you’ll find a mate,” Malachi said.
Rhett turned on him with a flash of teeth he hadn’t shown even at the height of their argument. “I. Won’t.”
“I thought the same.”
“If I had a mate, she’d be here with me, and she isn’t.” He maintained his feral glare. “She isn’t.”
She. That was no abstract sentence. Rhett had lost someone. Not his mate, obviously; unlike Trevor after his old breakup with Kelsey, Rhett was not a fading wolf. But perhaps at one time he’d cared for a woman…who had left him.
“We don’t have to speak of her,” Malachi said.
Rhett blinked. Gritted his teeth and looked away, then sighed. “Thanks.” He shrugged. “I’m not the type for a fatedoneanyway. Too much commitment, you know?”
Malachi wouldn’t press him, but he also wouldn’t humor nonsense. Rhett was the definition of a committed wolf. Their entire conversation just now proved it. He arched one eyebrow, and Rhett flashed his teeth in a grin that didn’t conceal as well as he wanted it to.
By the time they parted a little later, Malachi’s body ached, wanted to sag with his weariness. But a small physical cost to him was well worth the settled calm that now emanated from Rhett. He was no longer in conflict with himself. He was planted here now, a conscious choice, and Malachi looked forward to watching the roots of this solid wolf grow ever deeper.
Twenty-Two
Forthelastthreedays, April had hardly seen Malachi. By the time he came home on the third night, the sun had long set. Flannery bounded to meet him, but he didn’t pick her up. He leaned against the wall as he removed his hiking boots. And kept leaning. His expression was flat, none of the usual warmth and life behind his eyes.
The last three days had cautioned April against addressing his physical strain, though he had to know how obvious it was. When she’d tried to talk to him about it, he only growled. So instead, tonight she said, “Were you able to finish with the cameras?”
He nodded.
“If you’re hungry, I can warm up some chicken ‘n’ dumplings. It’s delicious, if I do say so. I simmered the chicken a good long time this afternoon.”
After a moment he lifted his head. “I would appreciate that.”
But when they sat together at his immense dining table, April with a cup of decaf tea and Malachi with a steaming bowl before him, he only stared at it.
“Not hungry?” April finally said.
He blinked as though he’d forgotten her presence as well as his supper. “I’m sorry, April. I thought I was.”
“It’s all right.” She wasn’t offended, of course. The food would keep. But he needed to eat. “Do you feel nauseous?”
“No.” He pushed away from the table. “Thank you. I’m sure I’ll enjoy it. Later.”
April let him go, returned the meal to its glass container, the container to the fridge. Then she followed him into the living room. He sat in the mammoth leather chair that was his favorite, gripping its arms with straining white knuckles, his eyes closed.
He didn’t want her to ask. But he needed her to.
“Malachi,” she said quietly.
His rasp grittier than usual, he said, “I’ll be all right.”
“You overdid today, and now you’re hurting.”
“It’s tolerable.”
If she never heard those two words from his mouth ever again… “Will you please consider—?”
