by Lynn Red
No, she told herself with a shake of her head. That wasn’t fair to say. She hadn’t forgotten about her parents completely. She had been distracted; too preoccupied by the people in her life to dwell on the hole in her heart left by their deaths, but it was still there. It throbbed now, aching for something, anything to fill it.
When she exited the maze, it was to find the entire village cloaked in an air of grief and melancholy that only sharpened the edges of her own grief. The villagers were solemn, and while a few flashed glances of hatred her way, most seemed to be in another place. They were all dressed in black, which told Clara one thing—the shifters had just gone through a funeral of their own.
She found Kellan as he was emerging from an unfamiliar house, also solemn and dressed in black. He tried for a smile when he saw her, but it was clear to her that his heart wasn’t really in it, which was fine by her—she didn’t have the energy for a smile either.
“What happened?” she asked, closing the distance between them.
“The man whose wife had lost her child during the attack died yesterday,” Kellan said quietly, leading her off the streets and into his cabin. “We buried her today. Ian, her husband, has been inconsolable, but I had to leave him when I sensed that you were here.”
Clara stared at him as he closed the door behind them. “You shouldn’t have left him for my sake. I would have been fine going back home by myself.”
Kellan shook his head. “I didn’t want to leave you wandering the village by yourself without my protection. Besides, he has other clan members with him for support.” He took her gently by the shoulders, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. “You look like something is troubling you.”
Clara looked down. “It just... this is a dark day,” she said quietly. “One of my aunt’s friends just lost both of her sons. They were killed by some kind of animal. Seeing their mother today, so struck by grief, made me think about my own loss.” She swiped at her eyes fiercely. “I know I should be grateful I’m alive, but I feel so ashamed when I realize that I’m so busy I forget to think about my parents. I look around at these people so wrapped up in the grief of losing their own family members, and feel awful that I am not also the same way. I feel like I should be suffering too; perhaps that I should have died as well. It doesn’t seem fair that I survived and my parents didn’t.”
“Clara, don’t.” Kellan drew her against his chest. “You can’t do this to yourself. Trust me, I’ve been there. They have moved on, to whatever place it is that we go after we die...a better place. It is only natural that we move on too, and it isn’t disrespectful to them.”
Clara wrapped her arms around him and held tight, soaking in the warmth and comfort he offered. “What you say makes sense to my head, but my heart is struggling to accept it.”
Kellan stroked the top of her head, and then released her. “Come, and let me show you something.”
He led her to his bedroom and knelt down in front of a small wooden table pressed into a corner of the room. On top of it stood a tallow candle, and next to it a knife with a carved wooden handle and a jade pendant.
“This is my memorial shrine to my parents,” he told her.
As Clara knelt down beside him, he picked up the pendant and held it up for her to see there was a wolf etched into the flat surface, sitting back on its haunches with its head tilted up so it could howl to the night sky.
“Belonged to my mother—she wore it every day of her life. And this knife was my father’s; he never went hunting without it. When I feel the need to be close to them, I come here, light the candle, and just talk to them. I don’t know whether or not it works, if they really hear what I am saying, but sometimes I feel like they are here, like they are actually sitting next to me when I talk to them. It comforts me, and helps eases the pain.”
Clara reverently touched the pieces, and then touched Kellan’s hand. “I had no idea people did things like this,” she murmured. “It... seems almost holy.”
“You can make one of your own, you know.” Kellan curled his fingers around hers, then brought them to his lips. “I know you said you lost everything, but you might be able to find something to use.”
“Yes,” Clara murmured, her eyes transfixed on Kellan’s lips pressed against her knuckles. “I might do that.”
Instead of releasing her fingers, he pressed a kiss to each of her knuckles, feathering his lips gently over her skin. Tingles of pleasure shot down her arm, and Clara sucked in a breath. She watched his eyes, fixated on her, as they darkened with desire, and a sudden panic gripped her.
“Don’t,” he said hoarsely when she tried to pull away. “I... please. I just want to touch you.”
Clara held herself still, which was easier said than done because her body desperately wanted to gravitate toward him. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Touching leads to... other things.”
“I won’t let it go that far.” He tugged her closer. “Please. I need you.”
The rawness in his voice coupled with the burning look in his eyes was all it took to crumble her defenses. Crawling forward on her knees, she allowed him to pull her into his lap. His spicy scent surrounded her as his hands slid up the sides of her face, fingers gently twining into her hair.
“You’re beautiful, you know.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead, his fingers gently kneading the edges of her collarbone, releasing tension she hadn’t realized was there. “Not just on the outside, but inside too. Something about your soul calls to me.”
“The mating bond?” Clara asked, and though she wanted to sound skeptical the words came out softly, as though she were in a trance.
“Perhaps,” he answered, feathering kisses down from the bridge to the tip of her nose. “Maybe it’s both.”
He pressed his lips against hers, softly, tenderly, and Clara sighed at the sweetness of it. As her arms curled around his neck, she realized that she’d needed this—the comfort of wrapping herself up in someone else, with no expectations for anything but the present. Despite his earlier plea that he needed her, now that she was in his arms he didn’t demand, didn’t take, just gave her what she needed. And it was that knowledge that had her opening up to him before he asked, sliding her tongue against the seam of his lips so that she could taste him.
Kellan groaned as Clara breached the entrance to his mouth, tangling her tongue with his. He wanted to tighten his arms around her, but his instincts told her that if he did so he would frighten her. She was scared of the idea of being mated to him, perhaps scared of commitment in general, but she also wanted just as he did. It was better if he allowed her to explore her own desires first, rather than indulge his.
Clara shifted closer, straddling Kellan’s thighs with her legs as she kissed him more deeply. She could feel his chest rumble against hers as he groaned huskily, and sensed the restraint in the powerful muscles flexing beneath her—he was holding back, giving her a chance to explore. The stubble on his jaw chafed her hands lightly as she wove her fingers through his thick, dark hair, enjoying the silk texture of it. After a moment she slid her hands down the front of his tunic, resting them against his chest so she could feel his heartbeat pounding against her palm—strong, hard, fast. Just like the rest of him.
Growing bolder, she nipped gently at his lips, then forged a trail down the side of his jaw with her teeth and tongue, enjoying the spicy, slightly salty taste of his skin. “I’ve never done this before,” she confessed quietly to him as she worked her way down the side of his neck.
“I’ve never felt like this before,” Kellan panted, his fists clenched at his sides.
Clara blinked. “Are... are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” he rasped, his body trembling.
She pulled back. “Are you sure? If you want, I can—”
He snatched her wrist and placed it against his chest again. “Please... don’t stop.”
Clara realized then that the agony in his eyes was not from any pain she was causing him, but fro
m need. He hadn’t been joking when he’d told her he needed her—his body was trembling from the force he used to hold himself back. Guilt swamped her. Who was she to deny him, especially since giving it to him would cost her nothing?
Taking a breath, she slid her hands underneath his tunic and pushed the fabric up, exposing his upper body. His chest rose and fell with his labored breaths as she glided her hands over the expanse of tawny skin. Tiny dark hairs teased her fingers as she explored the ridges and curves of muscle. When she leaned down to press a kiss against his chest, his entire body went rigid, and he let out another husky groan.
“Mmm,” Clara murmured, flicking her tongue against his skin. “I had no idea those were sensitive on a man.”
“A little too sensitive,” Kellan said through gritted teeth, and Clara giggled.
After a time, she pulled away, and Kellan groaned. “Clara, you’re killing me here.”
“I... I think it’s best if we stop. If I continue, I’ll be crossing a line I don’t think I’m ready for yet.”
“Is there a line?” Kellan wanted to know. “What’s holding you back, Clara?”
Clara pulled away with a sigh. “I... I don’t know, Kellan.” She didn’t know how to make him understand. “You’re not the one being asked to leave your way of life.”
Kellan flinched as though she’d struck him, and she continued. “I have friends who care about me, and an aunt who loves me and needs my help. What am I going to tell them? And how will I ever be able to see them again if I am living with you?”
“Clara, I’m sorry,” he said as she surged to her feet. “I...”
“Didn’t think about my end of things very much, did you?” she finished softly, her blue eyes sad. “I know. And that’s why I’m not sure I can do this yet.”
Turning on her heel, she left Kellan staring helplessly after her, and did her best to ignore the stinging in her eyes as she walked home.
* * *
When Clara came home, it was to find her aunt rocking quietly in her chair, a knitting project sitting untouched in her lap. Lines of sadness were carved into her face, and she looked about ten years older than she had at the funeral when she’d offered Clara a new home.
Grabbing the stool by the fire, Clara sat down next to her and took her hand. “You’re cold,” she said, startled by the icy touch of Eve’s hand. “Too cold. Are you not well?”
Her aunt shook her head. “I think I’m just getting old, child.” She squeezed Clara’s hand gently. “It’s hard, seeing young people die. Their whole lives are ahead of them, with such promise, and then it’s gone. Whereas I’m sitting here, comfortable in my sixties.”
“I’m sorry, ” Clara paused. “How are the Bennets?”
Eve shook her head. “Grieving. Poor little Katie, their daughter, is beside herself, and Judy is in no position to comfort her. Kent simply stands around with a dazed, lost look in his eye, like he’s a child instead of a grown man.” She sighed. “The funeral is tomorrow. You’ll come?”
Clara nodded. “Of course.”
Chapter Eight
Like the last funeral, Clara wore a borrowed black dress. Unlike the last funeral, it was simple muslin, and not the stiff, costly taffeta that, despite its color, had seemed almost too gaudy for a funeral. In this dress she felt simple, humble. Just a woman, coming to pay her respects to the newly deceased.
The funeral rites were not the boring, ostentatious and pretentious affair her parents had been treated to. These boys were well-known and loved by everyone, including the local pastor, and it showed. Rather than cold, stark faces, there were heartfelt tears.
Nearly everyone stepped forward to give their final words to the Bennet boys, including Lucas. He regaled a tale of mischief and fun that had everyone smiling through their tears, and gave them a heartfelt goodbye that had tears rolling down even Clara’s cheeks, who hadn’t even known them. She licked her lips, tasting salt as the caskets were lowered into the ground, and then covered.
After the funeral was over, when Eve had gone over to the Bennet family to offer her support once again, Clara found Lucas, who was standing off to the side, staring down at the graves with a pensive expression on his face.
“This was all my fault,” he murmured, frowning.
“What do you mean?” Clara asked, and he jumped, startled.
“It shouldn’t have happened,” he said, scratching the back of his head, his brow furrowed.
“I don’t see how their deaths could be your fault,” Clara persisted, not willing to let the statement slide. “You did say they were mauled by a beast, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.” Lucas sighed, his eyes returning to the grave. “I just... I wish there was some way I could have prevented it. They were good men. We’d been friends a long time.” Sadness swam in the depths of his blue eyes, and Clara’s heart went out to him. He seemed genuinely haunted by what happened to them.
“I think the same way about my parents,” she told him, taking his hand and rubbing the back of it with her thumb. He looked her way, startled, and then down at their joined hands. “If only I’d thought to save them instead of worrying so much about my own safety...” she shook her head. “I guess we truly find out what kind of person we are when faced with a crisis. And I found out I was a coward.”
“That’s not fair,” Lucas said, turning to face her fully. “You were frightened, and had never been trained in how to deal with that kind of situation. You were facing a group of men much stronger than you. There was no guarantee you would have done anything except gotten yourself killed. And if that had happened, I never would have met you.”
Clara smiled. “You always know just the right thing to say, don’t you, Lucas?” She shook her head. “I should be comforting you, not the other way around.”
Lucas squeezed her hand. “You are comforting me. You’re reminding me that there’s still good in my life, despite the bad things that happen around us. That there’s always something worth fighting for.”
He reached out to touch her cheek, and Clara stood, frozen at the depth of emotion in his eyes. Suddenly she felt terribly guilty about running off to see Kellan yesterday; Lucas and her aunt had been suffering even as they’d tried to help the Bennets through their grief, and she’d been sitting in the lap of a man who was not even remotely invested in her world. While they had been seeing to the needs of others, she had been seeing to her own.
Hating herself, she turned her face away, dropping his hand from hers. “I’m... I’m not a very good person, Lucas. Not like you.”
Lucas laughed. “There’s always a battle between good and evil within all of us. I don’t know anyone who hasn’t done things they’re ashamed of, made mistakes they wished they could take back. What matters is what you do now, as you look toward the future.”
Clara stared at Lucas as though seeing him for the first time—he wasn’t just a fun-loving farmer boy. He was a strong, intelligent man, attentive to the needs of others, and willing to see more than what was just on the surface.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sound so... serious before,” she said, only half-teasing.
He shot her a small grin, lifting his eyes to meet hers. “Sometimes you have to be, you know?” He sighed. “And today is a serious day.” He offered her his arm. “Why don’t we go offer our condolences?”
Clara took his arm. “But I’m not sure what to say.”
He tugged her forward. “You’ll do just fine. I’ll be right by your side.”
* * *
Clara didn’t visit Kellan the next day. Instead she took care of the chores at home while her Aunt was visiting with the Bennets, and then just sat on the front porch for a long time, staring out into the fields as she mulled over her situation. Should she continue seeing both men? It seemed that whenever she and Kellan were together, sparks flew, and it was hard to think of anything else but him. Yet when she was here, away from him, and the mating call wasn’t pulling her toward the forest, she
was uncertain. She loved her aunt, and she cared about Lucas. There was a sturdy community of people here whom she genuinely liked, which included Lucas’s family. And she was certain that if she was given enough time with just Lucas that something could form between them.
But with Kellan’s hold on her, it threw her life out of whack. She wished she didn’t have to make a choice at all. It would be easier on all her loved ones if she could just step back and walk away.
When her aunt came home she was more exhausted than ever, and Clara began to truly worry. But Eve waved her off, simply asking Clara to make her a pot of tea, and that she would have some after a nap. Clara sipped some of the tea herself as her aunt slept, and then, finally restless, she wandered over to the Rivers farm.
“Clara!” Jamie, Amelia’s little boy, rushed outside the house as soon as he saw her through the windows. He threw himself into her arms, and she hugged him tightly. “You’re back! Have you come to play with me?”
Clara smiled. “I would love to spend some time with you, little one.” She ruffled his hair, looking up as Amelia came outside, a gentle smile on her face. It was a big change from the wary look that used to enter her eyes whenever Clara would come by. “But first I did want to see your Uncle Lucas.”
“He’s not here right now,” Amelia told her. “He’s still at the Bennets, helping Kent with the preparations for the Harvest.” She sighed. “My brothers are out in the fields right now along with father, and mother went out to the market. It’s been rather lonely here, and I’ve cleaned from top to bottom so that you could eat off these floors.”
“It sounds like you could use some company,” Clara said.
“I would love some.”
They played a game of ball with Jamie outside, and then retired indoors for tea and biscuits. Jamie wrestled playfully with one of the dogs on the floor while Clara and Amelia chatted about nothing in particular.
