Chapter 4
Elena's POV
Twenty minutes later, showered and dressed in yesterday's clothes, I made my way downstairs. The scent hit me before I reached the bottom step, rich and savory and impossibly appetizing. Roasted meat, butter, something sweet and yeasty that made my mouth water.
Caleb was in the open-concept kitchen, standing at the island counter with his back to me. He'd changed into a black thermal shirt that clung to his shoulders, dark jeans, bare feet on the heated tile floor. His hair was still damp from a shower.
The table was set for two.
I stopped in the doorway, taking in the spread. Six golden-brown meat pies, steam curling from their flaky crusts. A thick-cut steak, seared to medium-rare perfection, juices pooling on the plate. Crispy bacon, scrambled eggs with cheese melting on top. A French press full of black coffee. A mug of what looked like warm milk with honey.
My stomach growled so loudly Caleb's shoulders tensed.
"Is that—" I moved closer, eyes wide. "Are those Old George's pies?"
Caleb glanced over his shoulder, expression carefully neutral. "Sit down. Food's getting cold."
"How did you even get these?" I slid into the chair, unable to tear my gaze away from the pies. Old George's Meat Pies was a Saint-Helier institution, a hundred-year-old shop that opened at dawn and sold out by nine. People waited in line for an hour just to get two. "The line's always insane."
"I know someone." He poured coffee into a second mug, set it in front of me. "Eat."
I didn't need to be told twice. The first bite of pie was transcendent, savory gravy and tender beef and herbs that made every taste bud in my mouth sing. I bit back a moan, suddenly ravenous in a way I hadn't been in months.
Caleb sat across from me, watching me eat with an intensity that should have made me self-conscious. Instead, it felt almost protective, like he needed to make sure I actually consumed every bite.
When I finally came up for air, embarrassed by how quickly I'd demolished two pies and half the steak, I found the courage to meet his eyes.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
He looked away, jaw tight. "It's fine."
"It's not fine. You saved my life." I took a breath. "Let me take you to dinner. Properly. To say thank you."
Silence stretched between us, taut as a bowstring. I waited for him to refuse, to put that distance back between us.
Instead, he said, very quietly, "Okay."
I blinked. "Okay?"
"Yes." His knuckles were white where they gripped his coffee mug. "That would be fine."
I pulled out my phone, suddenly awkward. "I should probably give you my number. In case—I mean, to coordinate the dinner thing."
Caleb retrieved his own phone from the counter, unlocked it, and handed it to me without a word.
I entered my information.
I handed the phone back just as mine started buzzing on the table. The screen lit up with an incoming video call.
Damon.
My stomach dropped. I looked up automatically, and found Caleb staring at the phone, his expression gone tense.
The temperature in the room seemed to plummet.
Then Caleb closed his eyes, took one long, measured breath.
"Answer it," he said, voice flat and cold.
I picked up the phone and accepted the call.
Damon's face filled the screen, backlit by floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking what looked like an expensive hotel suite. He was wearing a white bathrobe, his golden hair damp and tousled, water droplets still clinging to his collarbone.
He'd just showered. With her, probably.
"Elena." His tone was half-worried, half-annoyed, the exact combination that always made my teeth clench. "Where the hell were you last night? I went to your dorm at six this morning and the RA said you never came back. You scared the shit out of me."
I did the math automatically. If I'd actually been outside all night, freezing in that blizzard, I would have been dead long before six a.m.
"I stayed at a hotel," I lied, keeping my voice steady.
"Which hotel?" Damon's frown deepened. "Why didn't you tell me? You know how dangerous it is to be alone in this city, especially during a storm."
You left me alone in that storm, I thought. You drove away with her and didn't look back.
"You were busy," I said instead, fighting to keep the bitterness out of my tone. "I didn't want to bother you."
Damon sighed, running a hand through his wet hair. "Little wolf, you need to learn to take care of yourself better." He leaned closer to the camera, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Listen, about last night—don't mention it to anyone, okay? Especially not Grandfather. You know how he gets when I cause problems."
There it was. The real reason for the call.
He wasn't worried about me. He was worried about himself.
My chest tightened, but not with heartbreak. With a cold, clarifying anger that felt almost cleansing.
I glanced up without thinking, and met Caleb's gaze across the table.
I already told him, I realized with a sinking sensation. I told Caleb everything last night.
I looked away quickly.
"Don't worry," I told Damon, voice carefully neutral. "I won't say anything."
Relief washed over his features. "Good. That's my girl." He smiled, warm and easy. "I'll make it up to you, I promise. There's that new steakhouse downtown everyone's talking about. I'll take you there next week, okay?"
"Okay," I echoed.
"Love you, little wolf."
The words were casual, automatic, empty as air.
I ended the call without responding.
---
The silence that followed felt heavy, oppressive. I set my phone down carefully, staring at the dark screen.
My mind was racing, trying to fit all the pieces together into something that made sense.
I was twenty-one years old, in my senior year at Saint-Helier University. In a few months I'd graduate. In less than two weeks, I'd turn twenty-two, the cutoff age for a wolf's first shift. If I couldn't transform by then, I'd be classified as defective, a half-human embarrassment to my family.
I'd always assumed that after graduation, Damon would formally propose the bonding ceremony. That we'd complete at least the first stage, the scent-marking that would announce to other wolves that I was claimed. That I'd finally shift, and everything would fall into place.
But Damon had someone new now.
And my wolf, that suppressed part of me I'd spent my whole life trying to connect with, was not heartbroken.
Instead, a sense of relief washed over me.
The truth hit me like a slap: I had never wanted Damon.
When he touched me, my heart didn't race. When I smelled his musk-and-leather scent, I felt nothing. When he called me "little wolf" and told me he loved me, my skin stayed cool, my pulse steady.
No fever. No hunger. No desperate, clawing need.
None of the things wolves were supposed to feel for their mates.
I'd thought it was me. That I was broken, that I needed more time, that love would grow if I just tried hard enough.
But the problem wasn't me.
It was that he was never mine to begin with.
My wolf had been trying to tell me for years, fighting against the Blood Pact that bound our families together, rejecting a pairing that went against every instinct in her bones. And I'd silenced her with obedience and people-pleasing and the desperate need to be good enough.
A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts. Caleb rose smoothly, disappearing into the foyer. I heard the sound of a delivery being accepted, footsteps returning.