Page 32 of Alpha’s Wife

Chapter 15 - Selene

I’ve been at the clinic since the crack of dawn. I think Tom thought I’d lost my mind when I asked to leave so early—not that he knew it was because I wanted to avoid Ronan and keep busy, all because of that stupid kiss.

I kissed him…or maybe he kissed me, I’m not sure. And I’m not sure it actually matters. He didn’t force me; I could have moved away, I could have left, but instead, I leaned in. I fisted my hand in his shirt and made some kind of embarrassing, involuntary sound against his mouth. And then I panicked, pulled away, and told him I couldn’t. And he just let me, grabbed his jacket, and left.

Now, I’ve been left wondering if he’s chasing me, or I’m chasing him. Is he just waiting me out, waiting for me to crack and go to him? Maybe he’s right, because every time the temperature rises between us, it gets harder to resist what I already know feels so right.

Despite it all, I like him. I shouldn’t, and I constantly doubt myself, thinking it’s some form of Stockholm syndrome, but deep down, I know it’s true. Somewhere along the way, I started looking forward to our evenings, even before I tried to escape and he brought me here. He has a dry way of saying things that makes me laugh, and we spar over almost anything—he’s so different from anyone in the coven, and yet I enjoy his company far too much. He is also annoyingly and devastatingly attractive, and the memory of his hands on my body haunts me. I find myself craving his touch, and resisting him is driving me crazy.

So, here I am, folding all the clinic’s weekly laundry because I can’t bear to sit in his kitchen replaying yesterday and wondering when he’s going to walk back in.

The walk to the clinic took me by the bakery, the school, the rows of ramshackle but well-loved cabins, and I realized that people have started waving to me as if I belong; they stop and chat with Tom and me. I realize that I know about their lives; I ask about their week, and they tell me little funny stories about the pack and their families. They don’t look at me like I’m a stranger anymore, and I don’t see them as rogues.

Emma puts me to work as she glances briefly at my face and nods. “You’re early again. I’m going to have to start paying you; you’re here so often.”

“There’s no need,” I laugh. “I grew up always being useful; I can’t just sit around.”

She gives me a look. She gives me a lot of looks, because she seems to be one of those women who sees straight through you. After I’ve been folding laundry for a while, she stops by the door and says, “Dax could use a hand changing the dressing on that wrist. Boy won’t hold still for him.”

Dax is crouched by one of the cots, completely dwarfing the tiny stool, holding a splint in one enormous hand and looking more helpless than I’ve ever seen him. The boy in the cot is maybe six, white-faced and stubborn, clutching his injured arm to his chest.

“He thinks I’m going to make it hurt more,” Dax says.

“You probably are,” I say, and the boy almost smiles. I sit on the edge of the cot. “What’s your name?”

“Ewan,” he mutters.

“Okay, Ewan. Look at me, not at him.” I take his good hand and hold it, and I let myself settle, feeling the old familiar bond magic. It’s not something I can direct or use; it’s not like our spells, which can be as dramatic or simple as we choose. This is more innate. I know it soothes, so I stroke Ewan’s hand while Dax works, watching as his shoulders drop, and he barely notices as Dax begins to work the splint. By the time the splint is on, Ewan has practically fallen asleep, a mix of the bond magic and a lot of adrenaline.

“Witchcraft,” Dax says, completely deadpan.

“Maybe a little,” I agree.

He huffs, which is as close as Dax gets to a laugh, and I let myself enjoy it. I look at Ewan, who looks so much calmer now, and tuck a blanket over him because he might as well sleep until his parents arrive. Everyone in the coven talked about how dangerous a bond witch can be and how I needed to protect my magic, keep it hidden. But no one really talked about this, the way it can soothe a frightened child. I think I like this version of my gifts rather than the one Ronan wants to use.

I keep busy the rest of the morning, and I keep waiting for the familiar feeling of being an outsider, but it still doesn’t come. It’s unsettling, the way I’ve so easily slipped into life here and how little I feel like a prisoner, even though that’s what I am. Emma doesn’t treat me like one; neither does Dax. Somewhere along the way, Tom started to feel more like a friend than a guard, and I’ve started to enjoy everyone’s company far more than I should.

When the rush dies down, Emma makes coffee for everyone, and we drink it while leaning against the counter. She asks me about the coven, and I tell her a little about the children, my old kitchen, and Maren, who raised me. She listens as if it matters, and she tells me about her mate, who she lost, and I find myself opening up to her in ways I didn’t expect, and I realize that I’ve made a friend without even meaning to. More than one.

Tom appears at the door and waves me over. “Ada’s just come in again. She’s asking for you. One of the nurses has checked her chest, and it’s no worse, but I think she just wants someone to talk to.”

Emma chuckles. “I’ll be giving you a job, too, Tom. You’re running triage now.”

Tom laughs and accepts the coffee that Emma holds out for him, but I catch the look in his eye. I think he enjoys these clinic days far more than his other duties, and I make a note to mention to Ronan that Tom might prefer a different role one day. Not that it’s really any of my business, I remind myself.

Ada looks frail when I walk into the room, propped up on her pillows; she somehow looks even smaller than she did just a few days ago. She’s one of the oldest in the settlement, with a rattle in her chest, but I suspect it’s not really her chest that’s bothering her the most. It’s the fact that her mate died two winters ago, and some mornings she wakes up and forgets, and then she has to remember all over again.

I pull the stool up and take her hand. “Morning, Ada.”

“There’s my girl.” Her fingers close around mine. “You’re so kind to sit with an old woman.”

“You’ve just gotten me out of sorting a mountain of laundry,” I say, and she huffs a laugh that quickly turns into a cough.

I feel the warmth of the bond magic in my hands, and I hold on to hers until it reaches the sad, scared part of her, and I hold her until the tremors stop. It’s the part of me I’ve never had to guard or ration with anyone. It just goes where it’s needed. Ada’s shoulders come down, and the lines around her mouth soften into a smile.

“He was at my house yesterday, you know,” she says, eyes drifting closed. “Your alpha. Sat next to me because I was so tired, and he held my hand, too. He told me that I’m too tough to die.” She smiles faintly. “Comes every few days, for the old ones. Thinks nobody notices, but we all know.”

I can believe it. I’ve never doubted he’s a good alpha to his people, though it doesn’t fit with the fact that he’s also the man who kidnapped me and wants to use me to help him go to war with the island.