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CHAPTER SIX: HUNTER'S MOON - PART TWO
Russ jerked his shoulder out of Harold’s touch. “Dawn didn’t ask for this.” They’d dragged her into this. He’d dragged her into this. She didn’t deserve that.
Harold shrugged. “She could have denied it.”
Russ shook his head. “And leave me to rot in that cell?” He sighed. “She’d never do that.” She was too sweet, too kind.
“Maybe she would never,” Willem pointed out as he reached out to grab the pot of coffee and fill his and Harold’s cup, “but she could have. She chose not to, right?” He held out the pot to Russ.
Russ scoffed as he watched Willem pour the dark, rich brew into the mug in his hand. “Some choice.” While he certainly didn’t relish the idea of being stuck in that silver-plated cell for the rest of his life, he hated that, in order to free himself, he’d effectively trapped her for the rest of hers. He took a sip, letting the hot, bitter taste burn on his tongue. “What we asked of her wasn’t fair.”
“You’re right. It’s not fair.” Willem took his own long sip. “So what are you going to do about it?”
He’d leave her alone. It was the only thing Russ could do for her. Hanging his head, he stared into the steaming cup as if he could divine answers there. “I’ll do whatever she wants.”
“And what’s that?” Harold asked. When Russ looked up at the soft-spoken man curiously, Harold shrugged. “Have you asked her?”
Russ looked away and scowled. He couldn’t ask. Couldn’t bear to hear — to know — the answer. “I don’t need to.”
Willem snorted. “You’re worried about taking her choices away from her, but you won’t talk to her about what choices she wants to take.”
Russ glared at the other werewolf. “She’s afraid of me.” And who could blame her? She’d finally seen what he was, had come face to face with the violence inside him. She should be scared, had every right and reason to be. He sighed. They really should have left after the Billy Parson incident; then Dawn wouldn’t have had to deal with any of this.
Harold frowned. “I’m a gay yeti with anxiety;” he said in a sardonic tone, “I know a little about being afraid.” He sighed and pursed his lips. “It’s not fair that werewolves can smell other people’s fear — can sense it without even trying — but not understand it.” He shook his head, his shaggy hair fluttering about his face. “Believe me, it’s almost always more complicated than you think it is.”
Russ’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Meaning,” Willem said with an understanding sigh, “you should talk to her about it.” He scratched the back of his head, chagrined. “We’re white, male predators, man; we’re never gonna fully understand what it’s like to be her. The things she has to deal with every day. What it takes to just walk through this world that, for the most part, stays out of our way. She’s scared? Yeah, after what she’s been through; who wouldn’t be? Of you? Maybe. But you’re not going to change that by avoiding her.”
Russ sighed and sipped his coffee, hating how much sense these two were making. This mess had happened; there was no changing that now. What was the point in wishing it away?
Besides, how much would have been fixed if he’d never met Dawn, really? His heart ached at that thought, even as his mind recoiled at the idea of leaving her unprotected. She’d have been all alone to deal with Tucker. With the kids in her class. And, while he was sure she’d have been fine — she was one of the most capable people he’d met, effortlessly enchanting every person she met — he couldn’t bring himself to regret being there for her, hopefully helping her however he could. Even with how messy everything had gotten, he couldn’t wish away every moment — every smile and laugh and touch — he’d shared with her. No matter how selfish it made him feel.
Harold sighed and set down his mug. “Willem’s right, you know. You’re punishing yourself for all the things you think you’ve done wrong, but how much does that actually help her?” As Willem wrapped an arm around his partner’s waist, Harold leaned into his mate’s side. “Talk to her. See if you can find ways, together, to make things right.”
***
Dawn stood in the kitchen and watched Garrett make himself at home in Russ’s apartment, digging through his cabinets and fridge like they were his own. Garrett grabbed a pan and the kettle. “How about some eggs and toast and some ginger tea to help settle your stomach?”
Dawn just shrugged, watching him fuss with the mugs and electric kettle. She was less concerned about food than she was about answers. “You said you know where Russ is.”
Garrett paused slightly before turning on the stove. “I do.”
She bit her lip. “Is he all right?” He’d left without saying where he was going or when he’d be back. She didn’t even know if, like her, he had anywhere else to go.
Garrett cracked eggs into the sizzling pan. “He’s at my house, surrounded by the pack; he’ll be fine.”
That should have made her feel better, but it didn’t. “We fought, before he left.” Frowning, she folded her hands in front of herself awkwardly. “I think I made him mad.”
Garrett scrambled the eggs in the pan with ease and grace. “I very much doubt it’s you that he’s angry with.”
Dawn frowned. “If not me, then who?”
Garrett sighed and flipped his eggs. “Mr. Jones, certainly. The police, without a doubt. Me, I’m sure.” He looked up at her before plating the eggs. “But, most of all, I would assume he’s angry with himself.”
“For what?”
Garrett placed the bread in the pan and fried it, instead of using the toaster. “For losing control and letting that loss hurt you.”
Dawn shook her head. “He didn’t hurt me; he saved me.”
“From what I heard,” Garrett said, plating up their food and pouring them both tea, “you saved yourself. Mr. Jones had already let you go by the time Russ broke down the door.”
“Only because Russ had distracted him by pounding on the door.” Before that, Dawn had been frozen in terror. After the contractors had left, Tucker wouldn’t leave. Then they’d been arguing, yelling, and he’d just grabbed her. Wouldn’t let her go. She’d been all alone with him. She didn’t want to know what would have happened, if Russ hadn’t come when he had. Knowing he’d been there, just outside her door, had given her the strength and bravery — not to mention the time and opportunity — to push Tucker away and slap him.
She could still feel the possessive crush of Tucker’s hands and mouth on her body. It made her sick. She shut her eyes, trying to will the memory away.
Garrett pushed her steaming mug closer on the table as he took a seat across from her. “Sip the tea; it really does help soothe your stomach.”
Standing next to the table, she gripped the mug in both hands, letting its warmth seep into her skin, and pulled it close. The sweet, spicy scent filled her senses and somehow eased something tight inside her. She took a sip. “Mmm, I’ve never had ginger tea before. It’s good.”
Garrett nodded as he drank his own. “Yes, Russ introduced me to it as well. He grows and candies his own ginger.”
She swirled her cup and saw three slices of ginger at the bottom. He grew this? Of course, he did. And, of course, it did make her feel better. If just because it made her think of him. “Russ does so much, doesn’t he?” He was an impressive man. You wouldn’t think it by looking at him, seeming like such a loner, but he was gentle and kind and took care of the people and things around him. He was always helping others; who helped him?
She sighed and thought about their situation. “Okay, he’s upset that he lost control.” She could understand that; she didn’t like feeling out of control either. “What can I do to help him?”
Garrett grinned, looking genuinely pleased. He pushed her plate closer. “First things first, eat. If he comes back and sees you looking sick or weak, he’ll worry and feel worse.”
She rolled her eyes but nodded and picked up her plate from the table, beginning to eat. She didn’t really know how she’d thought alphas ought to act. Every time they’d met before, Garrett had always seemed rather imposing and intimidating, like the CEO of a company or a head of state. Which she supposed, in a way, he was.
But, at the moment, he felt more like the head of a family, reminding her of her father or Gerry, mother-henning those in their care. Garrett waited until she’d eaten a few bites before nodding, satisfied. “Next, there are some things you should know about mating a werewolf. Things I very much doubt Russ fully understands.”
With a forkful of eggs halfway to her mouth, she wrinkled her brow. “Why is that? Why doesn’t he know these things?”
Garrett stabbed some eggs on his plate. “As you know, there are two ways to make a werewolf: you can be born as one, like the kids in your class, or you can be turned.” He frowned. “Even before the amnesty agreement, turnings were rare. It’s a brutal process that brings a human close to death, before they’re brought back as a werewolf. It can only happen on a full moon and, even then, most people die before their first transformation.” Wincing, he set down his fork. “There have been times in our history when we’ve practiced it more often — during times of war or persecution, when it’d felt like a matter of survival — but, certainly in the modern era, it’s unthinkable to inflict that on another person when we have other means.”
“But Russ was turned.” She frowned. Brutal. Close to death. Unthinkable. She shivered imagining Russ going through something like that.
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