Cassius (The Wildflower Series Book 3)

by Rachelle Mills

  Cassius

  The WildFlower Series 3

  Rachelle Mills

  Cassius

  Copyright © 2019 by Rachelle Mills.

  All rights reserved.

  First Print Edition: October 2019

  Limitless Publishing, LLC

  Kailua, HI 96734

  www.limitlesspublishing.com

  Formatting: Limitless Publishing

  ISBN-13: 978-1-64034-787-8

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  To the Wildflowers…

  Table Of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Prologue

  Blue Memories

  Cassius

  A trace of fresh paint still clings to the walls.

  Kennedy sits in the rocker with her back to me.

  “It’s finished.” The words are blown out slowly from her chest—she continues to rock with her head resting on the back of the chair, looking at the mural she painted of me as the leader wolf of a made-up pack.

  “Do you need anything? I was going to make something to eat.”

  She silently shakes her head no.

  Walking towards her, there’s a hesitation before I place a hand on her shoulders—she flinches.

  Not once did she ever recoil from him.

  Concentrating on biting my tongue, I hold my thoughts from her. I focus on the silhouette of two people holding hands walking into the evening sun.

  “What’s that?” Walking to the image, I point a finger at the drawing.

  “A dream,” she murmurs without looking into my eyes.

  “Here.” I stretch my hand for her to take the cup of tea. “I put fresh mint in it.”

  She doesn’t glance at me when she takes the first sip, only at the dream where my finger was at.

  Do I want to scream what dream? Is it him or me? I choose to swallow down the scream and walk away.

  “I’m sorry, Cassius.” Her voice hits me softly before I step out of the room.

  “Why are you sorry, Kennedy?”

  “That I’m not what you wanted for a mate.” Her voice seems flat.

  Dust filters through the air from the partially open blinds. Everything feels covered in something thick and heavy.

  “You’re what I wanted—it was him that I didn’t expect to have with us.” Her shoulders sag into the wooden rocking chair, body slumping.

  I can feel her ache—I can feel my own ache.

  Love is a cruelty that aches us in all directions—except together.

  Kennedy stands slowly, arching her back before righting herself on thin legs—her collarbone juts out sharply. She’s all skin that’s stretched tight over bones. Dark shadows swallow the color of her eyes.

  Dry, cracked lips press together without a smile. Mine press together, tight and unforgiving.

  This is in-between. No words uttered, but we both need to scream. I can feel her voice raging within her chest, and I can feel mine trying to come out as hard as the earlier days with her.

  “Are you ready to go?”

  “I’m ready.” She looks around the room, verifying that the cribs have been set up. The mural consumes every inch of space on the walls from ceiling to baseboards.

  A sound escapes through her hard-pressed lips. A small cry.

  “I’m afraid.” Her hands go over the futures that are nesting inside her. A boy, a girl.

  “You’re going to be fine. They will be fine. We are going to be fine.” She doesn’t flinch this time when my hands go on either side of her shoulders. I do it slowly, cautiously. Her chin tilts up, and I get to see her up close. I want to kiss her. I don’t.

  “You’re going to be a good father.” Her fingertips press into the base of my spine.

  “You’re going to be a good mother.”

  Her lips press harder together, and her lids close. Not opening up. A tear escapes, along with a sob from a chest that is aching.

  “Cassius—” She gives a deep pause.

  “Yes, Kennedy.”

  “I want you to be happy if something happens to me. I want you to be happy and live a good life.”

  “Nothing will happen to you.” I press my forehead to hers. “I’m happy.”

  “No, you’re not. Neither am I. We both know it. We can’t lie to each other. There is no more time for lies between us.” Her sound is raw with undigested truthfulness; it breaks with its final note.

  It’s my turn to blink without opening my eyes back up. The smell of warm mint is on her breath.

  There is no more time for silence; only our sound should be heard between the both of us.

  “I’m not happy, not yet. I will be. I know it. We need time, Kennedy.” Insatiable, the way the sound of silence is eaten away by rough words.

  “I could have loved you, Cassius. I want you to know that.”

  “You still can,” I beg her. The feeling of a knife blade skewers into the next beat of my heart, sharp, cruel. I grit my teeth against the pain.

  “I can love you, Kennedy. I want you to know that. I want you to know that it’s not too late for us. It’s not over for us. We have our lives ahead of us. I can love you better than him. I know it.” Peeling my own skin back, I expose myself to her in a clean cut.

  “I know you could.” The palm of her hand touches my cheek; our foreheads press harder together. We breathe together.

  I want to kiss those pale lips and ghost-filled eyes. I want to show her real passion, real dedication. I want my name to coat her mouth. I want to show her everything all at once. I want, want, want…yet she doesn’t hunger for my wants. It’s more her sacrifice to love me. She’s sacrificing her dreams, desires, for me.

  I don’t want to be her sacrifice.

  “I was thinking after the twins are born, you could go to that art school you always wanted to go to. We could rent an apartment. Live in the city until you’re done with school.”

  A brutal cry comes from deep in her chest. Her hand grips my neck harder. Not enough to leave bruises, she doesn’t have that strength anymore.

  A shallow breath in from her chest.

  I’m clutching to hope.

  Her eyes open wider, the widest I’ve ever seen them.

  “You would do that?” A gnaw on her bottom lip. She’s thinking. I love to watch her think when it comes to us.

  “We would do that.” Letting her know it’s we. Life sparks up. Her eyes start to shine again, only briefly, before the fade returns. She smiles, but the curve of her lips drops at the edges.

  Mint is breathed out slowly.

  “I would like that.”
/>   “Me too.” I’m smiling.

  She shifts on her feet. “We should go.” A grimace burrows deeper into the lines around her eyes.

  “In the top drawer, there’s a box for you, Cassius.”

  “What is it?”

  “My life.” A gnarled-up sound escapes from her tightening throat, her words barely squeezing out.

  “A life in a box doesn’t seem like a life at all.” Trying to make things lighter. It doesn’t work. She seems to be weighted down more than she already is.

  “It’s letters. I wrote to them, to you.” Words cease after that; she’s crying again. Shaking.

  I shake with her. Holding her to me. She allows this.

  “I’m so scared.”

  “I know you are, but nothing will happen to you. I promise you’ll be fine. I’m going to be at your side the whole time.”

  She cries harder, staining my shirt in tears and snot. I’m afraid that even the act of crying is wearing her out too much. Her body is barely holding on to life.

  A grunt comes from Kennedy, and she clutches her belly. “It’s time, Cassius.” Her eyes are wild, afraid. The Wild within the marrow of my bones rumbles his support. He makes it known he is here with her as well.

  “It’s time.”

  “Don’t forget about the box.” Her hand clutches my wrist, squeezing it.

  “I won’t forget, because you’ll remind me. Let’s go.” Walking down the stairs, she takes them one at a time.

  The ride to the clinic is fast. Tires grind along the asphalt road, everything passing in a blur.

  Another grunt through teeth consumes the inside of the car. Calling my mother, I tell her it’s time. I throw the phone as soon as the call is made.

  “My parents are on their way.”

  Kennedy doesn’t say a word. Her lips are still hard-pressed, and sweat beads at her temples, wetting her hair.

  Once the car stops, I’m out and scoop Kennedy up in my arms. She’s light, without any meat to cling on her bones. Fear creeps in, a whispering dark thought that this isn’t going to go well cannibalizing all other good thoughts.

  “We need help.” I kick open the door. We are met with the midwife’s eyes. They go big, but she’s calm.

  The clinic smells clean until a gush of blood comes from between my mate’s legs. Kennedy gnashes her teeth from side to side. I hear the grind of them.

  “Put her down here. I’m going to get the doctor.” Laying her down on the bed, a wave of blood pushes outward, spilling on the floor. I can hear the drips leaking off the sheets. One drop after the other.

  “Help us!” I scream. Both the doctor and the midwife come into the room. They look at each other. Grim-faced, hard as stone.

  “Cassius…” Kennedy grips my hand. Our eyes lock onto each other as the doctor cuts the skirt and her underwear away from her body.

  She takes in a breath; her face holds the pain.

  The muscles of her body shake.

  Kennedy arches her back upwards. A low moan trembles out of her half-open mouth. A cry leaves mine.

  “We need the tray.” Murmured words come out fast from a doctor who looks concerned.

  “The tray?” The midwife holds her eyes to the doctor before she nods her head.

  “What’s going on?” I try to speak, try to hold Kennedy’s hand, which has lost its grip on mine.

  “We need to be prepared to take them out of her if she can’t push them out.” He’s between her legs, and the midwife is now on the other side of Kennedy.

  “We need you to try and push your babies out.” His order comes out, short, crisp. The bed converts to a chair, the bottom sliding away. Kennedy’s legs shake with the exertion to push.

  “Look at me, Kennedy. You need to push them out of you.” Wiping away her sweat, she’s bitten her tongue, and her mouth fills with blood. Her teeth are stained red as she lifts her lips up, grunting with effort.

  “I can’t.” Her head is shaking side to side.

  “Yes, you can. Don’t give up. Fight. Push them out of you.” I want to scream except my lungs can’t pull in enough air. I’m feeling strangled. She’s losing her life in front of my eyes.

  Blood on top of blood.

  Her chest heaves. “Why did you turn off the lights?” A calm question comes from a mouth that is hanging open. Eyes dilating.

  The bed eases down. She’s no longer in a squatting position.

  Everything blurs. It’s too fast, too slow. I can’t see because she is slipping away. I can see her fading light in my eyes. Through my vision. Even knees hitting the floor don’t really register. My nose is pressed against her cheek. Eyes pinched shut.

  “Do something!”

  “They are.” My mom’s hands are on my shoulder.

  I can’t look at her. Only her voice breaks through my cries.

  Her heart is racing, pounding in my ears. Thready, not normal.

  “She’s in v-fib.”

  “It’s time.” I can hear the scrape of silver against the metal tray. I press my lips to her ear.

  “I love you.” I repeat it to Kennedy over and over again. She doesn’t say it back. Her body relaxes.

  My mother cries. Her hand never leaves my shoulder, squeezing while I’m tearing in half. No one tells me to stop shaking her. “Try harder! Fight for them!” I yell over and over again.

  I don’t open my eyes, even when her heart stops. I don’t open my eyes when the first cries hit my ears, followed by another distinct cry. I rock her head in my hands, holding onto her until the warmth slips away. The mark on my neck ignites fire until that feeling is burned away. I don’t get off my knees. I don’t look, can’t listen.

  I just can’t.

  Chapter 1

  Memories in the Color of Mint

  Treajure

  Whiskey blurs his sight.

  Stumbling over his feet, Cassius makes his way over to the wall. He sways with hands dug deep into his pockets, looking at her picture.

  A mouth full of mumbled apologies flare up into his fire. Sometimes his words are soaked in a red rage where anger runs rampant in his veins to greet her face. There are times when it’s blue, and he chokes and drowns on his own tears, dropping to his knees before he wipes his eyes on the edge of his sleeve.

  There are times he chooses to feed all the darkest of his demons. He thinks he’s a monster; I think he’s broken.

  Sometimes memories are the color of mint: sweet, loving, but tones into jealousy. Why Cassius likes mint is confusing, because he never liked mint in his tea. That was one of the few things they never did together.

  Staying quiet, I get to witness his confessions to the picture on the wall. Does he know I’m not deaf? Just voiceless.

  “Specs, why aren’t you sleeping?” A slight slur, hardly noticeable.

  It’s always one way between us. He asks the questions, and I listen. He will sometimes answer for me; only rarely does he ever answer his own questions. I prefer when he answers; that way there isn’t anything left unanswered between us.

  I know everything about Cassius Denver Valentine, and he knows everything he’s already answered about me. I was raised in the Wilds of Valentine, where my voice was stolen by an evil jealous queen, but one day soon, he thinks the magic will come and let me talk once again. He likes to make up these magical stories when I sleep underneath his bed. So far everything he’s made up about me has been wrong.

  There is no belief in magic anymore. I thought playing pretend was over for me, but when I look at Cassius, I want to play pretend again. Where he is the magic, and I’m his wish.

  Regarding the picture again, his hand pulls out from his deep pockets. Dry blood coats his fingers, and the dirt clings underneath his nails. There is a hint of mint below the whiskey of his breath.

  He’s been to the cemetery.

  Kennedy’s grave will never be forgotten by him. His wish would never be wasted on me.

  “Why are you still up so late, Specs?” A shrug of my shoulde
r. What I don’t say is that I wanted to be here when you got home from the party. I know exactly where to sit to be discreetly away to give him space when he comes into this room to look at her, but when he turns, he’ll see me. I want him to see me with my red earrings on.

  “Couldn’t sleep, could you? Me either.” He’s back at looking at her. Raising his hand again, almost to touch her face. Almost.

  There’s old blood on Cassius’s hand. He won’t pick up the twins when blood still clings to the webbing between his fingers. He won’t let them see him with his own blood that sticks to him like a second skin. I see the blood. I always understand the blood. He doesn’t care that I see it. For some reason, he doesn’t hide it from me. Do I want to ask him why he must always bleed? I want to wash his blood from his hands, kiss his knuckles, and tell him you don’t have to suffer to make yourself feel better. You’ve already bled yourself enough.

  “I met someone tonight, Treajure.” It’s instant; my face feels shocking cold the way ice water feels when it’s been splashed on my face. I could choke on my own icy shiver. Cassius seems to focus better now. His sway is steadier while a sway hits me. Fear chases at the beat of my heart. Pumping the blood in my ears, suffocating all other sounds away.

  Do I want to ask who? I can’t ask, preferring to stay entirely still. It’s a balance to keep the quick shine out of my eyes and a sob from coming out the middle of my throat, but then again—I’ve had practice with keeping all my sounds silent.

  “She reminds me of Kennedy.” His eyes seem love-starved. “Her name’s Hazel.” I start to taste something bitter, not the mint his breath holds. “She thinks I’m homeless.” He gives a small laugh as he scratches at his beard that hasn’t been trimmed in a while.

  Turning from him, I can feel the way my top lip presses flat against the bottom lip. She wouldn’t know but that’s all of Cassius’s layers, the hair, beard, several shirts, ring, watch, he uses layers to protect himself from the world.