by K. de Long
She might be a spoiled idiot, but he’d hurt her.
Some start to their life together.
Chapter 10
Tessa and Marrock didn’t see each other much in the week following the wedding. He kept himself busy with meetings, and she hid in her bedroom. Rather than asking him for directions to the quartermaster, or for instructions on what groceries and supplies were okay for her to take, she asked strangers. It was easier that way.
The seriousness, the finality of it, had settled over her in a black cloud. She’d promised herself to the biggest prick she’d ever encountered. No—that made it sound like a compliment. She’d hate to give the impression, even if only to herself, that she was complimenting his thick cock. She rephrased it: she’d promised herself to the biggest asshole she’d ever encountered. That was better.
Despite the apocalyptic sadness she’d felt as she recited her vows, as she signed her life away, life went on. The time for regrets or refusals was before the ceremony. She’d simply have to do her best with it.
She had no urge to be polite or kind. Marrock would have to make some space for her, too. She wouldn’t ask his permission to occupy a place in his home, not when it was his own fault she was here.
The coffee mugs were on the top shelf—too high for her to comfortably reach. And he didn’t even drink coffee to notice or care when she strained for her cup. So she carefully unpacked the cabinet and rearranged it, putting his mixing bowls on top instead.
She’d find some way to be comfortable here. She refused to live the rest of her life as a renter in a stranger’s world.
She thought things had quieted down until the next morning, when she was roused by the sound of bowls crashing onto the counter. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, then stormed out into the kitchen to see what the fuck was Marrock’s problem.
He glared at her. “My mugs aren’t where they should be.”
“I couldn’t reach them up there, and this is the first time you’ve needed one. I moved them.” Her tone even sounded reasonable; that was something to be proud of. She hadn’t seen that look in his eye since he’d reamed her in the woods. She’d hoped to never see it directed at her again, if only because it seemed so draining getting mad at him, when she would only be mad at him again very, very soon.
“Don’t. Don’t move my shit.”
It took her a moment to focus on what he said, since he was in his underwear. Somehow, she’d forgotten that living with someone involved, yes, seeing them naked sometimes. She’d hoped she’d never have to see him stripped down again. It wasn’t fair for such a callous prick to have such a lickable body. Her life was so much easier when she could feel nothing but antipathy toward him, rather than trying to balance the hate with lust.
“It’s my home, too, you know. You can reach it as easily either way. Why should I have to stand on a stool every morning when I’m dizzy, half-asleep—”
“It’s not your home, and it never will be. You’re a fucking guest, Lacroix. For fuck’s sake, were you raised in a barn?”
“No, but apparently you were, if you’re calling me a guest and then insulting me.” Tessa’s nerves were wound so tight, she was sure they’d snap and draw blood from whoever the ends lashed across. She hoped it was him, since he deserved the pain. But she knew more likely, however they fought now, she’d end up alone in her room, crying. “And if I was a guest, I’d have the choice to leave. To run fast and far. Never see your self-centered ass ever again.”
To her mortification, tears were welling in her eyes. He was the one constant in her life now, and he thought she was a spoiled child who didn’t deserve the consideration needed to be able to have a cup of coffee in peace.
His eyes widened, and she knew there was no hope that he’d missed her emotion. She tried to plaster anger over the hurt.
“It’s all your fault, anyways. It’s your fault I’m away from my family. That I’m worthless, away from the work I loved and the roles I was reaching toward. Playing housekeeper in a house I’m not allowed to touch. I’m not a fucking guest, because if I was a fucking guest, I’d have a modicum of your respect. I’d have a grain of say in what happens in my own fucking life.”
Her voice broke, and she snapped her jaws shut. He didn’t deserve to see this. If he were anyone else, she’d have settled for simply punching him and walking away. But how could she walk away from her…her home?
The tears spilled over, and she found herself backing away before the thought had even struck her. She had to get away from Marrock. Let him have his fucking tantrum in peace. She’d ask one of the pack’s hunters to walk with her, at least let her roam in the woods, even if she had no place in any of the foraging rosters…
Marrock looked stricken, his eyes shadowed with guilt. It gave her a perverse sense of pleasure to see it. Maybe he was capable of being sad when his prickitude hurt others. Of course, if she got her hopes up for that, she’d only be disappointed.
She spun on her heel to flee back to the bedroom, only to find her momentum used against her. Marrock spun her all the way around, not the half-turn she’d intended, and yanked her into a crushing embrace. Her muscles seized in confusion.
How fucking dare he? How fucking dare he yell at her, and then comfort her the moment he hit hard enough to crack her shell?
He wasn’t just an asshole, he was downright cruel. She fought to get her arms between them, so that at least she wouldn’t have to pretend it was a simple hug, but he had her clenched against him tightly enough that she couldn’t. Having her helplessness made physical as well as situational, the tears came worse. She screamed at herself to stop as they poured from her in broken hiccups and choked sobs.
If ever Marrock might have had even a little respect for her, it was gone now. But it had been a fool’s dream in the first place. The closest people who respected her were hours away. She’d never be granted the casual affirmation of that kind of attention. Not ever again.
From here on out, she was a prize on Marrock’s shelf. Not even a living person.
She was his, and the thought left a bitter taste in her mouth.
“Shh, shhh,” he whispered, rocking her in his arms. She didn’t know how to handle the abrupt switch from aggression to compassion. But since he was no longer expecting resistance, her opportunity opened up. She shoved him away from her and stepped back.
“If you ever talk to me that way again—ever again—I’ll castrate you and shove it down your throat ‘til you choke.”
Marrock’s eyes met hers, dark and half-lidded. It was impossible to tell what he made of the threat. Just to be sure she was clear, she reached for the first handle in his knife block, and yanked it out. “I mean it. If you ever raise your voice to me again, I will fucking neuter you.”
He held her gaze, and then the angst in his own features broke, replaced with chuckles.
“What?” she demanded.
He gestured at her hand, and she looked down. Heat rose to her cheeks. She’d grabbed the file for sharpening the blades. Some luck she’d have attacking him with that. A hoarse laugh escaped her, half-strangled by the tears that had run down into her sinuses.
He reached for her hand and pulled her close enough to sling an arm around her shoulders. His palm cradled the back of her head. She hated every minute of it, but it was the closest she’d find to care, so she’d better learn to enjoy it.
She pressed her head against his chest and listened to his heartbeat, and to the way his laughter rumbled through him.
“I mean it,” she insisted, not wanting to come off as weak.
His arm tightened, and his lips found her forehead. “I know, pet. I know.”
Liam wasn’t fazed by the threat, however a part of him was disgusted with himself that he’d driven her to it. All of his admiration for her strength—however badly utilized it was—was corrupted by the knowledge that he’d been a complete jackass. He was tired of them tiptoeing around each other. He was tired of his home being a wa
rzone. There had to be some way they could get along, starting with the obvious apology.
The fire in her eyes was beautiful. Somehow it was more…real…than he was accustomed to seeing in her, even if it stemmed from pain. He sighed. With her, he felt he was continually fucking up. And he wasn’t even trying. He’d never had difficulty related to women, though he’d never had stakes this high before. He’d never had to face the possibility of making one woman happy for the rest of his life.
She was stiff in his arms. Probably the apology would help with that, except that he was less and less sure it would mean anything to her without a more concrete olive branch. He steered her back toward the open cabinet door.
He gestured into the bare shelves. “Show me how you had it, and where everything is.”
She pulled back and stared at him, her eyes infinitely warmer than the last time he’d stared into them. Then she set to work as he scrambled to keep up.
She hadn’t taken the time to get dressed when she came to investigate. A pair of cotton shorts and a tank top barely kept her hidden from him and did nothing to disguise the curves that had obsessed him in her absence. He’d never admit that at least part of the reason for his coldness was that the natural attraction between them unnerved him.
He would have found it easier having a forced mate if it could have been completely platonic. Instead, he’d been given one whose body haunted his very dreams. That she also had a fierceness to her was a bonus. There was just something about prickly women; maybe it was because he felt he understood them.
Yes, he understood Tessa just fine. Maybe that was why she seemed so dangerous. She’d outgrow her temper, and her impulsiveness—or at least learn to channel it in constructive ways. So maybe it was time to let her understand him. He caught her making a face at a heinously kitschy design on a mug.
“Ugly, isn’t it?” he asked.
She glanced at him, her mouth falling open a bit, then pressed her lips together, obviously asking if it was a trap. “Umm?”
“It was my mom’s. Most of this shit is. Doesn’t make it any less tasteless. But it’s…it’s comforting. I’ve gotten used to things being exactly how I want them here. It’s been a long time since anyone else had say. Not since she died, really. It’s funny. When she was alive, I was continually fighting with her to do something different with this place. And after she died, I couldn’t bear to.”
Tessa sighed. “I think I know what you mean. I mean, obviously both of mine are alive, but…some things are just like that. I have this little carving my dad made for me, when I was barely waist-high. I think it was supposed to be a swan, but instead, it just kind of looks like a petrified, half-melted duck. But he made it for me on a hunt, so I always loved it. I carried it everywhere as a kid. Got teased something awful for it. After that, I never really could bear looking at it, but I kept it, just the same.”
He couldn’t restrain a laugh at the image of her carrying around the cartoonishly shaped piece of wood. And then it occurred to him what his olive branch could be. He left her loading mugs into the cabinet and shifted a vase on the shelf over. When she turned to look at him, he waved at the space he’d created.
“I won’t tease you, I promise.”
“Really?” she asked, a smile creeping into her blotchy, tear-stained cheeks.
“Really.”
She squeaked, and threw herself toward her bedroom. A second later, she returned with a palmful of badly sculpted wood. She hadn’t been kidding about its ugliness; he’d have nightmares if he saw that thing staring at him when he walked to the bathroom in the middle of the night. But it wasn’t visible from the hall, so he’d survive. He waited for her to install it in its place of honor.
It didn’t look so daft sitting next to the talentlessly painted landscape next to it. His mother and her father: excellent parents, but shit craftsmen, apparently. One more thing they had in common, aside from this fucking miserable union.
She glanced up at him through her thick lashes, and her smile was reward enough for the sacrifice.
Yeah, he could definitely get used to having Tessa in his space. Even if she had more ugly decorations to add or more shakeups to force on him.
So long as he had the chance to make her smile like that again.
Chapter 11
As small as the gesture was, it made Tessa smile to see Goosey ensconced on the shelf alongside the relics Marrock kept. Some little recognition that she had history, too. She hadn’t even known why she’d brought the thing, except that it hadn’t felt right leaving behind everything of who she was.
Every time she glanced at the misshapen wood carving, it tugged a smile to her face. She wouldn’t have thought Marrock could be reasonable. Certainly not after he’d yelled at her. He was difficult, and thorny, sure, but perhaps there was some hope that if they both just worked a little harder at compromising, they could figure out a status quo that wouldn’t drive her completely batshit.
If she’d been less interested in avoiding him, she’d have sat him down and talked it out. She’d have tried to learn more about him, to learn what he was likely to hate the most about sharing his space with her. Instead, she’d just gone and acted. And especially after his irritation at her impulsiveness in the woods, she should have known that was all but guaranteed to start a fight.
They’d had a rocky start, but they could still fix it. Now that she was here, her role as his alpha female made her important to him. He couldn’t simply ignore her without it causing other frustrations in the pack. He’d want a truce as much as she did.
It had nothing to do with him holding her. Nothing to do with how her heartrate sped up and never slowed down when his lips brushed her forehead. Or how the tickle of his stubble against her face had made her want nothing so much as to tip her chin up to his and kiss him.
She wasn’t usually a lustful woman, so it was hard to know what to think of the effect he had on her. She hated him a little bit for sending that heat spiking through her. She wanted to avoid him rather than question what it meant for their likely sterile future together and her own happiness.
She wasn’t actually sure when Marrock slept. He was gone during the day, starting at sunrise, and well into the night, she’d hear him in his room. He never seemed to take a break. Fuck only knew when he found time to eat amid all of his responsibilities.
Maybe a good meal would loosen him up some, and they could try to smooth over the friction. So Tessa woke early and made her sleepy way into the kitchen.
There wasn’t much of a need for grain among their packs; mostly people preferred hunting, meat, nuts, and what little edible greenery grew on its own under their conditions, rather than the resource-intensive process of farming grains. But they did keep some production going, for a supplement. Marrock had bean flour in his cabinet—one of the few things they could grow with little potable water—and she knew just what to do with it.
She fried up soft tortillas first, leaving them on the hot pan until they were crispy before transferring them to a plate. Maybe she was opting for something more complex than necessary, but she’d always loved the sizzle and smell, so it was as much for her as Marrock.
Part of the way through browning onions and peppers, oil splattered on her robe. She sighed, and stripped out of it to get some soap on it so it could be washed. She’d deal with it later, when something else wasn’t about to burn.
Her skin rose to goosebumps as she broke the crispy tortillas into the pan. Ordinarily, that would mean someone was watching her, but it was far too early for Marrock to have woken. She’d estimated she had enough time to slowly cook the eggs to fluffy perfection before he’d start stirring.
At least she still had this. Most of the vegetables, due to requiring limited resources to grow, were rationed in the Nefari clan. But as pack leader, Marrock got a little more than most. Enough for her to cook a meal like this once or twice a week, she figured. But it also made her miss home—miss living where there were better growin
g conditions.
There were a number of little valleys hidden in the Kumori's mountains, buffered from harsh weather swings and nurtured by melting snowdrifts in the mountaintops. Agriculture had always been one of her pack’s specialties. The Kumori's diet had a lot more fresh greens and fresh vegetables than the Nefari seemed to. At least for the moment.
Things would be changing soon, and it was because of her. Because of her the Nefari wouldn’t have to ration as much. Perhaps that would lead to some appreciation…some friendships…
She took the pan off the flame to let it cool for the eggs. This kind of cooking was usually too time-consuming for her tastes, but if smoothing things out with her…her mate, as weird as the word sounded…wasn’t a special occasion, what was?
Tessa bent to look for a whisk. While the pan was cooling, she needed to prepare the egg mix. And of course, nothing was easy for her. Marrock’s top drawer was devoted to odds and ends, but handyman ones: knives, adhesives, and the like. Below that was silverware, and below that were measuring implements. The whisk would be in that drawer.
She stretched her hamstrings as she worked, resting her arms on her toes as she struggled to reach the metal beaters at the back of the drawer. Finally, prize in hand, she straightened, and returned to the eggs. She whisked them together with cream, and lowered the flame on the stove. The pan should be cool enough now. The mixture went into it, and she returned it to the heat.
“Smells good.” A deep voice cut into her concentration. She stiffened, suddenly all too aware that without the robe, she was in her underwear. She turned to Marrock, straining to keep the uneasiness out of her face. He was sitting at the table watching her. How long had he been there?
