by Ann Aguirre
“How long’s it been since you had a proper meal?” she asked.
“Fuck off.”
“That’s not part of the four food groups. I’ll take that to mean it’s been a while.”
It had been over a week since he went hunting, and he couldn’t remember if he’d eaten that night. Loss felt better as a leopard, muted and distant. Since he hadn’t bought provisions in forever, he didn’t expect her to find anything. But Slay must have sent shit behind his back because she found meat in the freezer and got it out with a smile so strained that he could’ve passed pasta through it. Pru ignored his scowl and got to work defrosting, like he had been waiting for somebody to take charge.
“I need you to get the hell out. Right now.” If she didn’t, he had no idea what he’d do.
“You don’t know what you need.” She sliced the steak into strips without looking at him.
For a moment, he was speechless. “Pru. Watch how you address me.”
Dom had grown accustomed to a certain amount of respect as pride leader, and now he wasn’t used to people talking to him at all. So this much defiance made his scalp prickle. She smelled like fresh air and goat milk soap, plus a touch of pine from the long walk up here. Her heart was beating fast, but she didn’t back down.
In fact, she even folded her arms, staring up at him with narrowed eyes. “You can’t have it both ways, Dom. Not long ago, you said Slay should lead permanently in your place. Which means you’re not above me, you’re just a pride mate being a dumbass.”
His jaw clenched so hard that it might crack. “What did you say?”
“Until I hear otherwise, Slay is the only one who can give me orders. Cats don’t mate for life, and you have a responsibility to Ash Valley. You need to move on. So I’m here whether you like it or not. Once you come home, I’ll apologize for my disrespect.”
“You want me back so bad?” He shouldn’t say this, but she’d goaded him past the point of any pretense at being polite. If he let her, she’d dig at his wounds in a clumsy attempt at lancing them. “Fine. Here are my terms. I’ll return when you can shift and take me as a mate.”
Her reflexive flinch said she couldn’t brook his current level of cruelty, and Dom smiled. Sorry, Dalena. Pru is sweet as honey-butter biscuits. Breaking her won’t take long.
2.
Pru never would’ve imagined that Dom would use her greatest weakness against her, but at the moment, he was an injured beast, so she breathed through the pain of that challenge. He knew perfectly well how hard she’d tried, how much she’d suffered for repeated failure—and how impossible his request was—yet she couldn’t return to Slay, defeated by a few harsh words. So she waited until the pain subsided while considering the gauntlet he’d thrown. One impossible thing added to another, so why not become Dom’s mate if she could shift? She might as well wish on a star for a solution.
So she said, “Deal.”
He cocked his head. In leopard form, his ears would be swiveling. “We both know you can’t do it, no matter how much you want to.”
“That doesn’t mean I’ll give up.” She turned away before he figured out one critical fact.
It hurts me too, asshole. Seeing you, without her.
Mechanically, she went about searing the steak strips, leaving them oozing blood on the inside. It was ironic; she preferred her meat that way too, even if she couldn’t change like everyone else. He cursed as she plated the food with artful care, and then she carried their dishes into the ruined dining room. Dom probably didn’t expect her to right the table and two chairs, but she did, and then she sat down.
“You expect me to have dinner with you?” he demanded.
“It’s the sensible option. Or you can starve yourself until you’re too weak to resist when I force-feed you.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw, but he slammed into the seat across from her and grabbed his food like she might fight him for it. He devoured her cooking with a ferocity that yielded to simple hunger; Pru registered the moment he stopped pretending to savage her with his teeth. She didn’t speak again until their plates were clear, and then she washed up in the kitchen. Since she’d expected him to retreat, his silent departure came on cue.
Proud, arrogant, and a touch vain, but also kind, generous, and protective—for years she’d witnessed Dom’s devotion to Dalena, and now she had to add selfish and self-absorbed to that list. If he didn’t care about Ash Valley anymore, if only his pain mattered, then he was more of a bastard than anyone could’ve predicted. Pru controlled the urge to slam around the kitchen; that would reveal too much about her state of mind.
By then, exhaustion had her in a chokehold, so she switched off the lights and went down the darkened hall toward the stairs. Ruined furniture made her feel like a squatter as she used her phone to avoid pitfalls. On the second floor, the first bedroom had no mattress, just padding and foam that had been clawed to shreds. Likewise, the second room offered no shelter, so she made a nest in the third. While the bed was broken, Dom had left the mattress amid the wooden shrapnel.
If the retreat had central heating, he didn’t have it on. Undressing in the austere bathroom, she shivered in stepping into the shower. The water never warmed properly, either, and Pru’s teeth chattered under the chilly spray. Cold and miserable described her situation all right; it was like Dom denied himself creature comforts as penance. It wouldn’t surprise her to learn that he wore a hair shirt like a self-flagellating monk beneath the tattered sweater that looked like he hadn’t taken it off in weeks.
With her confidence at low ebb, she crawled beneath a mound of musty covers and tried to sleep. At some point she must’ve, but guttural cries jolted her awake. It sounded like Dom was being strangled as he wept, and she hesitated. If he was awake, he might pull her head off for stepping over the line. On the other hand, nobody should fight nightmares alone.
She followed the sounds to the end of the hall. He hadn’t spared this room either, and Dom sprawled amid the wreckage, long splinters of wood and shards of glass that glimmered in the moonlight streaming through the window. No furniture remained intact, and he lay curled on the bare floor, which wouldn’t be so pitiful if he’d shifted.
Carefully Pru knelt and set a hand on his brow, which was cold as ice but clammy with fear sweat. He’d hate like hell for anyone to see him like this. Yet her touch seemed to settle him a little; it wasn’t natural for a cat to hide for so long. While many enjoyed solitary hunts, there was also plenty of close contact and camaraderie. Even the fiercest cats needed to purr.
Half holding her breath, she eased from the crouch to sit beside him. Tentative as a first kiss, she petted his head as her mother once did to lull her back to sleep after a bad dream. Awake and alert, he’d chew off her fingers before allowing her to comfort him. At first, he was restless, thrashing as if he fought unseen enemies, but she maintained a soothing rhythm and his breathing steadied. His vulnerable, sleeping features showed even more clearly how he’d suffered since Dalena died.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “But I have my orders… and she wouldn’t thank me for letting this go on. She’d hate this, all of it.”
Dom reached out and locked long fingers on her wrist. “You can’t be in my bed unless you can shift.”
Pru laughed. “What bed? And don’t flatter yourself.”
Letting out a faint sigh, he let go of her and folded his arms beneath his head. “How come I never knew that you have claws?”
“It was never my place to use them on you before.”
“It still isn’t,” he muttered.
Changing topics, she ignored his anger; it was easier to handle than his anguish. “First thing, we’re cleaning this place up. Do you have a heater? It’s freezing.”
“You’re soft, that’s all.”
“Dom.”
“If I turn it on, it’ll only encourage you. So find it yourself.”
“Okay. I will.”
Oddly, she found his behavior less p
ainful in the middle of the night, possibly because he struck her like a wounded child. Smiling, she went back to stroking his head and felt mildly astonished when he didn’t threaten to bite. Instead he remained quiescent, staring into the darkness, until a long, heavy sigh slipped out of him.
“That feels good. I hate that it does… and that I’m too tired to fight you right now.”
“I won’t quibble over victory by attrition.”
Thus encouraged, she let her fingers say the things her mouth couldn’t, like, I miss her too and I’m sorry I left you alone for so long. Once, apart from Dalena, Dom had been her closest friend. As if his mate had been the glue holding everyone together, the center couldn’t hold without her. Disintegration came in slow sobs and hands clutching empty air. His shorn hair scraped her palm like the bristles of a brush.
“I really hate you,” he said then.
But there was no heat in it, only sorrow. Pru tipped her head back. “I hate you too.”
“As long as we’re on the same page.” He sounded exhausted.
She planned to linger only long enough to make sure he settled, but even after his breathing leveled out, he reached for her when she moved. His big hand splayed over her knee and she just… stayed. Pru’s back was aching by the time the sun came up, but Dom seemed to be sleeping peacefully for the first time in gods only knew how long. When she finally crept out, it was well into the morning.
First thing, she taped some plastic over the broken kitchen window, as that wasn’t helping the arctic front sweeping the old house. In daylight, her explorations revealed a number of old-fashioned radiators, so there must be a furnace somewhere. Pru found it in the basement, but the pilot light had gone out, and it took a solid hour of tinkering before she got it running. The resultant rumble-roar filled her with satisfaction.
Maybe I can’t shift, but I can fix things.
Dom had no idea how long he’d been out, but clearly he’d lost control of the situation. Not only had he failed to drive Pru off, but she’d somehow managed to clean his room while he slept in it. If she’d come to murder him, he wouldn’t be alive or pissed off. He went for a cold shower to settle down, and the damned hot water kicked in.
What the hell.
A savory smell bubbled through the house: roasting meat, rosemary and sage, a touch of something earthy. Best guess, she was probably making stew out of the groceries Slay had smuggled in. After he dressed, he strode through the house, agitated by the changes she’d wrought in such a relatively short time. Gone were the ruined fixtures and broken glass. His rampage had left the retreat nearly unfurnished, but she’d dragged a few old things in from somewhere, either the attic or basement, and somehow, impossibly, made the place livable again. He wanted to strangle her.
“You think this solves anything? You tidy up, cook me a few meals, and somehow I’m magically fixed?” His voice came out rough and tight with fury.
“No.” She didn’t look at him, but he could tell from the slant of her shoulders that she was fucking exhausted, as one would expect, after all that heavy lifting.
“I don’t need a goddamned maid. I need my wife, and you will never fill her shoes, you’re not even her shadow anymore, so get that through your thick head and crawl back to Slay. Oh wait.” Dom snarled deep in his throat. “He doesn’t want you, either.” When her breath hitched, guilt slashed at him, but the discomfort was so faint that he swallowed it.
Too far? She should be running out in tears in 3-2-1…
But when she spoke, her tone was level. “Slay chose not to be my mate, but he respects me. That’s why he sent me to retrieve you.”
Reluctant admiration boiled up from the emotional volcano seething inside him. With every word she spoke, Pru tethered him tighter to the real world. Problems and responsibilities hammered at him, the echo of voices he’d nearly managed to forget. Memories crashed like waves on the shore, endlessly repeating, and for the first time in months, he wondered how his father would feel, knowing he’d abandoned Ash Valley and everyone who depended on him.
He’d be so ashamed of me.
But he couldn’t admit she was getting to him. “You know my terms. Better get to work.”
Dom imagined she’d have a snappish retort, and he almost wanted to hear it. So it startled him when she took off that damned buttercup apron, turned down the heat on whatever she was simmering, and quietly left the kitchen. Questions pecked away at his composure, but he pretended like he wasn’t interested in whatever Pru might be doing. That mock indifference didn’t last as long as he wanted. Eventually curiosity overwhelmed him, and he went looking for her. He prowled the house, growing steadily more irritated.
I should be drunk by now. Working on it, at least.
At last he tracked her to the basement, where she’d curled up next to a box of glass fragments. He had no idea why she’d saved them, but that puzzle dropped out of his head as he breathed in an unmistakable coppery tang. Most likely he should’ve caught it sooner, but drink, isolation, and inactivity had blunted his senses. Some apex predator I am. He switched on the light and closed the distance between them, his heart lurching in his throat.
“What have you done?”
She tipped her head back, her eyes glassy with pain and grief. Her hair fell down her back in a messy tumble as he reached for her arm and saw that she’d carved eight lines, shallow cuts that marched over her wrist and toward her elbow. The trickling red connected in his head like a dreadful map navigation, arrowing toward Dalena’s death. Dom gave her a little shake.
“Pru!”
“Pain is supposed to prompt the first shift. Fear. Anger. Passion. Any strong emotion, really. But I don’t feel things properly, huh? I’m not enough, I never will be. I’m broken.”
A litany of curses escaped him as he bundled her close. The shard dropped from her bloody fingers, and he laid into her as if she were a kit who’d wandered into Golgoth territory. Her lax expression troubled him. This idiot would probably die for Slay if he asked nicely. In his rage, in his wretchedness, he’d forgotten how close to death Pru used to skate in trying to force the change, and how hard Dalena worked to haul her back from the brink.
Swallowing hard, he closed his eyes briefly and then raced upstairs with her. She fought him as he wrapped her wounds, but she never flinched. He held her close and tight, wordlessly demanding that she settle down. Breathe, he told her silently. She didn’t smell like goat milk soap anymore, but whatever cheap stuff was currently in his shower. When she met his gaze, her eyes were dry. That look caught and clung, a silent clash that ended in him noticing how the freckles she’d always hated stood out in sharp contrast to her sickly pallor.
Pru didn’t seem grateful as she shoved him away. “The food is ready.”
“Would you really die to bring me back?” he asked softly.
Her chin came up in a gesture so familiar his heart ached. Though he’d never had eyes for anyone but Dalena, he’d grown up with Pru. Her face—he knew it like each of his own scars—each freckle, each of her eyelashes had once been so dear. Mentally, he begged his mate’s best friend for mercy. Don’t do this. Don’t make me survive losing Dalena.
Monotone response, a sign that Pru was hurting so bad she couldn’t process it. Anguish overload, Dalena used to say. “I was prepared for that when I came.”
“To die?” he demanded.
She shrugged, like her life was nothing. Dom clenched his fists, drowning in the desire to discipline her properly. But he couldn’t do that unless he meant to take up the mantle of all his old obligations. So he savaged his lower lip instead.
“As you said, you set the terms. If my shifting will get you off this mountain—”
“Don’t hurt yourself again.” He was almost begging.
How did things turn out like this? At this rate, he’d be afraid to leave her side for even a minute. If she dies… His stomach turned inside out. From birth he’d been reared to carry the whole pride on his shoulders, and he never
forgot his role… or all the burdens that came with it.
Until Dalena died.
“I can’t promise that. I wanted to shift before, enough to do practically anything. But now, the stakes are just too high. Don’t you get that? The alliance with Burnt Amber and Pine Ridge could dissolve, leaving us to face the Golgoth and Eldritch alone.”
“Pru—”
She clenched her good hand and waved her fist in his face, as if she might punch him. “I love Slay, but without you to check him, he will start a war. Yet you’ve got me playing games, testing me. So fucking fine, Dom. I’ll do anything. Do you get it now? The minute your back is turned, I’ll figure out how to activate my defective ass or die trying.”
“That’s where we are?”
“I hope I was clear.”
“Crystal,” he growled.
“Then eat your fucking stew.”
In all the years he’d known her, he’d never heard Pru swear so much. Her color was better at least, as she slopped some brown food into a bowl and practically threw it at him. Honestly, he’d always thought she was sweet but somewhat timorous, following Dalena like a faithful sidekick. This stubborn streak astonished him.
“I am. See? Eating.” He raised the spoon in a placating gesture.
“Good.” That was all she said for a while.
But he couldn’t let her rant stand unchallenged. “You know this won’t work, right? I won’t let you push yourself.”
I’ll watch you like a hawk.
She offered a tight smile. “We’ll see.”
Damn her, she was right.
When he went to the bathroom an hour later, she vanished again, and he might lose his mind before he hunted her down.
3.
Cold gnawed through Pru’s flesh and down to her bones.
She shivered and her teeth chattered until she ran out of steam. It was bad enough without a coat, but when the sleet started, it got worse, glazing her hair, which felt like she had icicles growing out of her head. Her body went numb and heavy, and it would’ve been too much work to get up. The house seemed so far away, well beyond her reach. She’d thought that the threat of freezing to death might do the trick, but her genes remained stubbornly locked.
