Cassius (The Wildflower Series Book 3)

by Rachelle Mills

  I shift in the seat, thighs pressed together.

  “I’ve got to change. I can’t live like this anymore. It’s not good.” The music is playing, and I’ve noticed he hasn’t turned off the songs like he usually does when it’s just him and me in the truck. It’s like he can’t stand to finish what’s playing on the radio. He doesn’t really enjoy the sound of music like most wolves do.

  Alone like this, the flame is starting underneath my skin. Warmth turning to heat.

  “Can we go for a drive?” Cassius licks the dry cushion of his bottom lip. I try not to lean closer to him.

  No answer from me, he must feel it means yes.

  The truck turns on the highway heading in the opposite direction of his territory. I know where we are going.

  This is his self-destruction…

  I’ve been on this route several times before. All those times left scars to both of them. Real flesh wounds that tore through the bruises that have been left against their skin, gouged deep to the bone. Kennedy’s death has left Cassius and Clayton bone-scarred.

  Hard lines with sharpening eyes start on Cassius the closer that we get to Kennedy’s birth pack, reminding me of the very first time we came here together.

  The first time the Alpha had to come and get Cassius from Clayton, he told his son that nothing was here but ghosts that couldn’t be seen. Cassius screamed back, She’s not a ghost. He told his father that he wished he could see her one last time to make things right. One last time, he cried into the Alpha’s chest when he was dragged away. It was his crying wish.

  He smelled of salt clinging to his wet cheeks all the way home that night.

  “I’d give anything to have her back to say goodbye. I didn’t get to say goodbye.” Despair pushes out from a mouth that tightens into a punishing line. I want to tell him we have no magic to make wishes come true. We can hope, pray, but wishes are only wishes from the needy.

  Right now—he is needy.

  The shadows are starting to paint him haunted; the light lets me see his need.

  He blinks harder, trying to watch the road the closer we get to Clayton’s territory. Another long blink crushing the lids of his eyes downward. Nothing leaks out.

  We take the back way in; his breathing has changed. So does mine.

  This isn’t good. This never has a good outcome for either of them with Cassius showing up at random times of the night.

  We come to a halt in front of Kennedy’s old home. Only waist-height weeds remain. The engine shuts off.

  Behind his lids, there is movement from eyes that aren’t seeing the outside, but the inside of his mind.

  What does he see in those memories? Will they be the color of mint like the sweet story he told me of how Kennedy was an artist? Her favorite medium was working with charcoal. Her fingers would be stained in black and would smudge everything she touched. That story trailed off, sweet green turned into a jealous green in the same breath. He then told me, she liked to smudge him, draw pictures on his body with her fingertips. He hit the wheel hard; a bruise bloomed on the meat of his closed fist. It was purple, black, but faded fast to the color of an overripe peach. Then the color turned to rose petals and started to blaze. Solid, deep red when he got out of his truck, slamming the door and screaming for Clayton to come to him.

  He wanted his turn. He was promised his turn. He was promised a turn. He’s been in line long enough.

  Clayton showed up, spitting sparks himself. This was their moment. No one to stop the grown males from destroying themselves. Not each other. Themselves.

  Two males for the same female—fighting. Except the female is a memory, a ghost. Neither gets her if they win the fight. When Cassius decided to fight with teeth, Clayton told him, “I fight with fists only. I can’t kill you, even though I want to. I respect your father and Dallas too much. Caleb is my best friend. My only friend. I’m not ruining that. We can fight with fists whenever you need to, but never teeth, Cash. Never. Teeth.”

  Cassius spit blood, screaming, “I want your throat.” Clayton stood there facing Cassius.

  “You can’t have my throat, only fists, Cash.” Clayton called the Alpha to pick up his son. The wait was long. I peed my pants. Not once but twice.

  Violence is my trigger.

  It wasn’t them that I saw fighting or their blood scented on the breeze. It was silver sliding against my skin, my blood in my nose and down my throat. It was them that I heard. Heavy breathing the closer they got. Slipping, falling, tripping over and over against. Crawling to get away. Running.

  Shadows were changing shape. Someone was behind me; I was sure of it. Shapes became the bodies of men. The scent of urine in my nose, laughter. The hiss of pain was my own. Sound was dangerous, but I didn’t learn that until much later with my captures.

  I didn’t understand that he loved the sound of pain, misery. He loved the sound I made at the height of when pain almost took over completely, right before the body folds upon itself and shuts down.

  He thought if he could make memories of pain that I would stop trying to run. I never stopped trying. I never stopped when he thought I was dead. They were upset with him as he put me in a plastic garbage bag; they left me for dead at the dump. The sound of Clayton’s voice was what brought me out of that memory. He kept speaking to me until I looked at him.

  “You, female. I won’t hurt him. Calm down. You’re Treajure, right? I was told about you.” It was the first time Clayton spoke to me. I couldn’t answer him because the smell of urine and plastic was everywhere. I could taste the smell of that memory. I made a sound deep in my throat, and Cassius stopped fighting with Clayton.

  I was frozen.

  Nothing wanted to move on my body. Not even my head or my hands to pick up my glasses that dropped at my piss-stained feet. Clayton had to handle Cassius for hours before his father came. The Alpha stormed into the territory loud enough for my bladder to release itself again. He picked me up, and I climbed his body, trying to press myself underneath the Silverback’s neck.

  “Specs, are you all right?” The voice of Cassius shuffles those memories away.

  Blinking.

  I’m sitting in a dark truck with him, looking at waist-high weeds where a house used to stand not long ago.

  His hand is on my thigh, a rub, a squeeze of flesh from the pad of his fingers. I wish his fingers would leave some kind of mark on my skin. He’s too gentle. Always so gentle with me. I think he’s afraid to hurt me. I could never be hurt by his touch.

  “You smell afraid.” I turn my head toward his voice.

  Shaking. Not from fright.

  He’s gotten close.

  His hand raises—I flinch.

  Chaos when his skin touches mine. The pad of his thumb drags down my cheek, to press against the skin of my neck where my pulse feels thready and weak.

  “Tell me what’s wrong, Treajure?” There is a lowness to his voice that makes my desires drive forward. He’s started to use this sound on me, and it makes my knees shake, and my belly grows hot.

  Opening my mouth, forming the words, I can’t shove the sound out. The effort of speech goes against everything I’ve been self-taught.

  Shaking hard—but trying even harder. I want to talk. I want him to hear me.

  No sound…

  He leans in. I get closer to him.

  A finger traces my mouth that still is open.

  “Why are you scared right now? Don’t you know whatever you’re scared about has to get through me first? They can’t get through me. Not the evil queen, not her warriors. Nothing can get through your knight, Treajure.” For a fragment of a second, I think he might kiss me. Here, now. In this truck.

  I lean in, closer. He doesn’t pull away.

  “See me,” I scream in my head, “see me.”

  The windows have fogged up. It’s getting hot in here.

  “You don’t have to be afraid anymore, Specs.” My chin is gently held in his hand. The edge of his thumb draws small circ
les on the line of my jaw.

  Closing my eyes, I feel unbalanced.

  “Don’t be nervous. I’m here with you.” His calm sways my body.

  A kiss is placed to my forehead, staying longer than a brush of skin. When he pulls away, my face follows his lips.

  “That evil queen did a number on you, and if I ever get a chance to find who did that to you, I’ll hunt them, Treajure. I will hunt them and show them the same they have shown you. I promise you that. If there is a chance at finding them, I will get them.” He’s toned in destructive violence, the Wild in him flexing outward in a show of teeth. His Wild has been showing himself to me more and more. He’s even made a few attempts to nip at my skin before Cassius pulls the teeth away with a shake of his head.

  Cassius doesn’t understand; the man would hunt him with silver and turn him into something caged and terrified. His body would be used for the man’s sick pleasure.

  “Specs, you’ve come a long way, but I think you can go further. We could go further.” The heat of his hand sinks into my thigh. It’s all I can think about. The weight of him on me.

  “We need to change, Specs.” He’s serious. So am I when I nod my head yes.

  “I need to do something. I can’t live like this anymore.” Grief-stricken, Cassius takes a hard breath in. I can feel his voice, every inflection of sound skimming over my skin. He’s full of pain, full of misery, full of need.

  “I have to change something.” The palm of my hand rests against the beat of his heart. I want to dig myself in there.

  “We could change together. We could go further, together.” Words are spoken raw and truthful by him to me.

  He’s all scorching fire, and I’m going to be the leftover ash. I know it. I can feel it. I’m afraid to be blown away from him. Please, don’t let me be blown away with his change.

  Letter 5

  Cash,

  By now you already know these aren’t some undying love letters to you. Knowing you, I think you thought they would be, but knowing me now, you understand these aren’t going to be words that you pine over in the dark.

  I’ve lost myself. I don’t really know who I am anymore. Who am I?

  With Clayton it was easy. I was his as much as he was mine from my earliest memories, but with you, I’m your mate, but am I really yours? I honestly don’t think so. You’re upset reading this, I know. Sorry.

  The look on your face last night was something I wasn’t prepared for, but I didn’t ever plan to have you ask me that question either. Why ask me things that are better left under our rug? I guess our rug can’t cover everything. Our pile has grown too big.

  I’m sorry for wanting to kill Rya. It was like a baton struck me across the face and all I could taste was my own blood trickling down my throat because I knew this was not the same juvenile that left the pack. Rya was an adult wolf who had grown into her position. Luna. I fucking knew it as soon as I saw her in the office that day collecting the keys to the midwife’s house. I knew it, and I was terrified to have Clayton see her again. How do I compete with her? How? His mother couldn’t wipe that smile off her face. I was standing right in front of her and she couldn’t hide how happy she was that Rya was back.

  She told me things were going to change. I just never knew how much. I had this growing fantasy that if I could kill Rya, then everything would go back to how it was really supposed to be. Clayton would be able to mark me and we would become a family as long as when I met my mate, he’d do the same thing. Kill him.

  You asked me last night if I would have been happy if you died. I told you yes. Sorry, that hurt you. It hurt you a lot. I could see it all over your face. I thought you would be sick when you sat down on the chair. After a few minutes of not saying a word, you told me you were going to bed. I slipped in beside you later that night when I knew you would be asleep. You weren’t asleep, but you pretended to be. I know when you are really sleeping and when you’re not.

  I was so jealous of Rya when she came back that all I thought about was killing her. How could I compete with her? I didn’t think a wolf could be that beautiful. The way she looked, her hair…but her eyes. Her fucking eyes were the blessing from the Moon herself. How could I compete with a wolf who was given the Moon’s blessing? I thought killing her would give me everything I wanted. How does love turn you into a monster? I justified it to myself. Killing her, killing you, would let Clayton and me be together forever. So I thought. I felt Clayton slipping further from me. I felt it; I knew it a little before Rya came back. But when she came back, I knew we were slipping further apart. It was a matter of time, and I couldn’t let go of him. I couldn’t even imagine my life without him in it.

  Clayton and I were lying in bed the night she came home. I was curled into his body, and I asked him if he thought Rya was beautiful. He didn’t answer me for a few minutes. I knew deep down before he said a word that I was in trouble. He didn’t lie to me; he found her very attractive. He said she was a beautiful wolf, but it wasn’t her that he loved, it was me. That night we made love, slow love, the kind that you remember long after it’s over—it felt like goodbye.

  You and I have never made love, and I’m afraid we never will now.

  I asked you a few days ago what you thought of me, if you thought I was pretty. You told me I was the prettiest thing you ever saw. Ever. Then you opened your mouth back up and also told me looks are deceiving, and on the inside, I had an ugliness that made you turn into your own ugliness.

  I’m afraid to look in the mirror anymore. I don’t want to see what’s inside of me. I fear it.

  I see you, Cash. I see the inside of you, and I think there is an ugliness, and underneath that, there is a beauty that I never allowed myself to see.

  Kennedy

  Chapter 6

  Blood can Drip from Words

  Naked and bare, his open eyes look directly into mine.

  “Why do I always find myself here?” The past de-focuses the pierce of his blue eyes. It’s never out of his head. Never. We almost always end up here, sitting in front of this house that isn’t standing anymore. Sometimes he tries to push the tears away; other times he lets the tears push out.

  “I can see her. If I close my eyes, I can see it all.”

  A pause. “She loved that house. Even to the end, she loved that house.” Raw words from a tightening voice.

  “Kennedy loved him right to the end. Deep down, she couldn’t stop loving Clayton, and here I am unable to stop coming back to him.” He exhales. “I have to stop this.” My reply is unspeakable behind a wall of teeth.

  “How do I stop?” A rebellious tear wants to squeeze from the side of my eye. I fight the need to cry for him. He doesn’t need my tears. He needs someone to listen to him when he decides to talk about Kennedy, about letting her go, so he can let himself go.

  “You have this way of seeing through me. You see right through me. Like now, like the first night I met you. You had this look on your face that you knew exactly who I was. It scared the crap out of me. Did you know that?” I shake my head no.

  He sighs, and I try not to squirm, because he’s now scratching blunt nails down the skin of my thigh.

  “Sometimes I feel like I could tell you anything, and I want you to know you can tell me anything, too. I won’t judge you, like you never judge me, no matter how bad I get.” He looks at me as if reading every single facial feature I have.

  “I wish I knew what you were thinking. There’s more to you than this. I know it.” When he says these kinds of things, it makes me feel that someone understands me; it makes me feel free to look around at the world or look at him. It’s hard to look at males, but Cassius has this way of making things easy to look at. Like the time he took me to my first barbecue at Caleb’s place. Belac left, and I just started to sleep under Cassius’s bed. I didn’t want to go. I hate crowds and the noise. I didn’t want to pee my pants again in front of people. It’s embarrassing even though no one makes a big deal about it. It’s a big dea
l to me. He let me scrunch his shirt in my hands the entire time. We sat there, and he talked to me the entire time about really nothing, but he talked and I listened. He didn’t like talking to the wolves, either. He gave them some grunts and short answers, but he didn’t want to socialize just as much as me. He was there for the kids, not himself, and he told me if he had to go, then I had to go too. We could suffer together. Soon I looked forward to going to parties with him. It meant we sat close together and he would be free to talk to me about anything he wanted to. Most times it was the kids or asking if I liked the shirt he got me; he can never buy himself something new without getting something for the kids or now me something. He’s been buying all my clothes now. Caleb said he could do it, but Cassius told him no. On rare occasions he’d look at the dance floor and look at me, and I thought he’d ask me to dance. He never has, but recently he picked up Dee and had his first dance with his daughter in front of the pack, and Luna Grace cried while Caleb took a picture.

  Ten minutes go by with the only noise coming from our lungs. He’s breathing through his nose, rough with haste.

  “Change with me, Treajure.” Cassius’s voice is the only thing that disturbs the air inside the vehicle.

  I’m holding my breath.

  My hand is studied in his. He turns it this way and that, tracing a deeply scarred line that split the skin when it was made.

  My wrist bone spindles underneath his touch, twisting in all the ways he moves my hand.

  How do I change if my pieces aren’t broken, they’re missing? Lost. Buried treasure somewhere that even with a map it would be hard to find.

  Our palms press with fingers outstretched. I compare the size before he weaves our fingers together.

  “You have small hands,” he says as if noticing this for the first time. The pad of his index finger rubs at the webbing between my thumb and finger.

  Every muscle in my body contracts. When everything unusually relaxes, I can’t stop the “hmmm” that comes out from somewhere deep.