Chapter 19 The seed of doubt
Tasha's POV:
Weeks after staying with Neel,the first thing I learned was the rhythm of their house.
Not the rooms.
Not the furniture.
The people.
Neel moved through the house like someone who never realized how much space he took. His presence was quiet, steady, always purposeful. He closed doors softly, never slammed cabinets, never rushed unless someone else needed him. Tara, on the other hand, filled spaces without meaning to. Her laughter lingered in hallways. Her footsteps were light, but constant. She hummed when she forgot she was doing it.
And I noticed everything.
Weeks had passed since I started living under Neel’s roof. Long enough for my scent to settle into the walls. Long enough for my wolf to stop pacing constantly and start claiming corners of the house in quieter, more dangerous ways. Long enough for something darker inside me to stop screaming....and start thinking.
That was when the nausea began.
It came suddenly one afternoon, sharp and choking. I barely made it to the sink before black liquid spilled from my mouth, thick and bitter, staining the porcelain like ink. My hands shook as I braced myself against the counter, breathing through it, feeling the heat coil low in my stomach.
Patience, my wolf whispered.
We are learning.
I wiped my mouth, steadying myself before anyone could hear. By the time footsteps approached, my eyes were clear again, my breathing even.
Tara appeared in the doorway.
She paused when she saw me, concern immediately softening her face. “Hey… are you alright?”
I smiled.
It was an easy smile. Soft. Grateful. The kind people trusted without realizing why.
“I think I drank the tea too fast,” I said lightly. “Still getting used to… human habits.”
She laughed gently, relief easing her shoulders. “That happens. Neel forgets sometimes how strong his blends are.”
Her use of his name struck something sharp inside me.
I tilted my head, curious instead of offended. “You make tea together often?”
Tara shrugged as she walked in, reaching for the kettle. “Whenever he’s home. It’s kind of our thing.”
Our thing.
The words echoed.
I watched her from the corner of my eye as she moved around the kitchen, comfortable, unguarded. She knew where everything was. Didn’t hesitate before opening drawers. Didn’t ask permission. This wasn’t a house she stayed in.
It was a house she belonged to.
I stirred my tea slowly, letting the silence stretch just enough to feel natural. “He’s very… attentive,” I said. “Not everyone would take in someone like me.”
Tara smiled, fond and proud. “That’s Neel. He can’t help himself.”
I let my fingers curl tighter around the cup.
“Doesn’t it ever… worry you?” I asked softly. “The way he puts himself second so easily?”
She hesitated.
Just a breath. Barely noticeable. But I felt it. That tiny fracture opening beneath her certainty.
“I trust him,” she said finally.
I nodded. “Of course. You should.”
Then, carefully, gently, I added, “I just wonder if he realizes how much of himself he gives away. Sometimes I feel guilty, staying here. Taking so much of his time.”
Tara looked at me then, really looked at me.
“Oh,” she said quickly. “You’re not taking anything from him.”
Her voice was firm, but something underneath it shifted. A need to reassure. To defend.
I lowered my gaze, letting vulnerability soften my posture. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just… he listens to me in ways I’m not used to. He stays up late with me when the nightmares get bad. He checks on me constantly. Sometimes I think—”
I stopped myself.
Let the silence do the work.
“Think what?” Tara asked.
I hesitated again, then shook my head lightly. “It’s silly. I don’t want to sound ungrateful.”
“You don’t,” she said quickly.
I met her eyes, something raw flickering across my face. “I just don’t want to come between anything that matters to him.”
Her brow furrowed.
“You wouldn’t,” she said. But the certainty from earlier wasn’t there anymore.
I smiled again. Smaller this time. Sadder. “You’re very lucky,” I added quietly. “To have someone who gives like that. Some people don’t know what they have until it’s… uneven.”
That did it.
She went quiet, stirring her tea long after it needed it.
I felt the shift fully then. The seed settling into place.
Later that evening, Neel found me on the back steps, watching the trees sway in the dark.
“You should’ve told me you weren’t feeling well earlier,” he said gently, handing me a blanket.
I accepted it, letting my fingers brush his wrist just long enough to feel his pulse jump. “I didn’t want to worry you.”
He frowned. “That’s literally my job.”
I smiled faintly. “You already worry enough.”
He sat beside me, close but careful. Always careful.
“Tara mentioned you seemed off today,” he said.
I stiffened, just barely.
“Oh?” I murmured. “I hope I didn’t upset her.”
“She didn’t say that,” he replied. “Just… thoughtful.”
I hugged the blanket closer around myself. “I hope she doesn’t think I’m… too much.”
Neel sighed softly. “She knows how things are.”
“Does she?” I asked, quietly.
He turned to look at me.
“I mean,” I continued, eyes fixed on the dark, “she’s used to having you all to herself. Then I show up. Broken. Dangerous. Needing things.”
“You’re not dangerous,” he said immediately.
I flinched.
His voice softened. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t—”
“It’s okay,” I said quickly. “I know what I am.”
Silence stretched again.
“I just don’t want her to think you’re choosing me over her,” I added. “That would be unfair. To both of you.”
Neel rubbed a hand over his face. “She always thinks I overdo things,” he muttered. “Even before you came. It’s just how I am.”
I let concern crease my brow. “That must hurt.”
He shrugged. “She says she understands. Sometimes it just feels like… she doesn’t see it the same way.”
I leaned forward slightly. “Maybe she’s afraid.”
“Of what?”
“That someday,” I said carefully, “you’ll give so much to everyone else there won’t be anything left for her.”
He went quiet.
I felt my wolf stretch inside me, pleased.
That night, I lay awake listening to the house breathe.
The walls remembered me now. The floors recognized my steps. Tara slept down the hall, unaware of how closely I listened to the sound of her door closing each night.
I didn’t hate her.
Not yet.
But the jealousy burned low and steady, feeding something ancient and patient inside me.
She touched what I wanted.
She stood where I could not yet stand.
And slowly...carefully....I was teaching her to doubt.