His Stray

Chapter 13

Present Day

The house was empty when Celia got home, just like most days. Harold was out working, as he was on every nice day and most not-so-nice days too. Usually, she enjoyed the peaceful quiet after a morning spent in the kitchens, dealing with the whirlwind of activity.

But today the silence felt heavy, thick with all the thoughts swirling through her head. Her lips still tingled from Lucas’s rough kisses. He had felt the same under her hands, warm and solid, but there was something else there too, something deeper she couldn’t quite name.

Her face burned at the memory of Landon catching them. The way he had looked at them, angry and disappointed, replayed in her mind. Hadn’t she just been telling him she had no intention of getting involved with Lucas again?

For the first time that day, she really let herself think about what Landon had said in the kitchen. It made sense, no matter how much she hated to admit it. He was right. Lucas had always hidden her. But back then, she had understood.

Ever since they were small, people had tried to keep them apart. The stray and the Alpha’s son. Nobody wanted to accept that they could be friends at seven, so of course they would never accept them as lovers at seventeen.

But where did that leave them now? They were twenty, bound by the will of the Moon Goddess herself. Did being mates change anything in the eyes of the pack? She doubted it.

Celia wandered down the hall to her room and paused at the door. Memories washed over he. So many nights when Lucas had slipped through her window. At first, it was only for comfort, a way to escape the shouting and cruelty of his father. They would hold hands under her blanket and whisper about everything and nothing, so innocent back then.

But later, things had changed. They were older, braver, and his visits brought kisses and soft touches that left her heart racing and her body warm.

She crossed the room and picked up the little gray wolf on her dresser. Rusty’s ears were frayed, his fur worn thin in spots. She smoothed a thumb over his face, feeling that old tug in her chest.

She and Lucas had passed Rusty back and forth for years. Then one day, he left him for good. So many times over the last three years she had thought about throwing the stuffed animal away. But she couldn’t do it.

Even if Lucas had shattered her heart when he left, Rusty was still proof of what they’d had. Of that frightened little boy who needed somewhere safe and the lonely little girl who just needed a friend.

**

Celia must have dozed off because she woke to the sounds of her father calling her name. She was sitting up just as he appeared in the doorway, his eyes flicking to where Rusty laid in the bed beside her. He seemed to consider the toy for a moment before his eyes flicked back to her face.

“I got that lock for your door,” he said softly, holding up his tool bag. “I thought I’d get it installed.”

Celia felt her face redden. “I don’t think Lucas will be coming over anymore.”

Harold studied her for a minute before setting the tool bag down. “Something happen?”

She shrugged, picking up Rusty to fiddle with his ear. “I just… don’t think it’s a good idea. Me and him, I mean.”

Her father turned towards the door, picking up the box that contained the new interior latch. He glanced through the instructions before reaching into the toolbag. For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to respond, but then he let out a heavy sigh.

“Your mother and I always worried about your relationship with him. You two were like magnets, always drawn together no matter where we were or what was happening. It felt impossible keeping the two of you away from each other. But…” He shook his head, glancing over his shoulder at her. “But so many people wanted him to stay away from you.”

She chewed on her lips, looking down at the soft gray wolf, not sure what to say.

“Every time I had to walk that boy back to the pack house in the morning,” Harold continued, “I would think about how wrong it all was. Not you two, but the way everyone else saw it. The way they whispered. Like there was something bad about a lonely little boy wanting comfort, or a lonely little girl needing a friend.”

His voice was soft, but each word pressed on her heart. Celia swallowed, hugging Rusty tighter to her chest.

Harold let out another sigh and started working on the lock, measuring and marking the door. “Your mother always said it would come to this, sooner or later. Either he’d be strong enough to fight for you, or he wouldn’t. And you’d be the one left picking up the pieces.”

A sharp ache tightened in her throat. “It’s not like that,” she whispered, though even to her own ears it sounded hollow.

Harold paused his work and turned to face her fully. His expression was gentle, but there was a sadness in his eyes that made her stomach twist.

“Sunflower, I love you more than anything in this world. I want you to have someone who looks at you like you’re the best damn thing that ever happened to them. Who stands beside you no matter what the rest of the pack thinks.”

She blinked quickly, forcing back the tears that threatened. “I thought he was that person.”

“I know you did,” Harold said softly. He set the screwdriver down and stepped over, resting a hand on her head, smoothing her hair back like he had when she was little. “Maybe he still is. Or maybe he needs to figure out how to be. I don’t know. But whatever happens, you’re going to be alright. You hear me? You’re stronger than you think.”

She nodded, her throat too tight to answer.

Harold leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Then he straightened up with a small grunt and went back to the door. “Alright then. Let’s get this lock on. Just in case that boy decides to start climbing through your window again.”

A watery laugh slipped out of her. “Thanks, Dad.”

He just gave her a small smile, then set back to work. The quiet tap of tools and the low hum of his tuneless whistle filled the room, steady and familiar. Celia curled up on her bed, holding Rusty close.

**

Dinner was a mess. Mainly because the trash had to be taken out far more times than usual due to the use of disposables. Also because Philip decided that was the best time to start disassembling the dishwasher, so they had to constantly work around him as they made sure the warming trays were stocked, the bread baskets full, and the tables cleaned between groups.

Celia was just refilling a warming tray with more of the pot roast when a loud jeer went up in the other room. She glanced at Hazel, who stood wincing in the doorway.

“What was that?” Celia asked, pressing the tray into Hazel’s hands.

“Brady was trying to empty one of the trash cans and the bag ripped.” Hazel grimaced. “There’s trash everywhere. Some of the warriors are giving him a hard time.”

Celia leaned to look past her and sure enough, one of the trash cans looked like it had exploded. The bag was pulled halfway out, a large gaping hole spilling disposable plates, cups, and half-eaten food across the floor.

A group of younger warriors at a nearby table were laughing and jeering as Brady desperately tried to shove the trash back into the torn bag, only for it to spill right back out. Brady’s face was red, his hands shaking, while one of the warriors stood up and deliberately kicked at the mess.

“s**t,” Celia hissed. “Put that tray out,” she told Hazel. “Then refill the bread basket and get more disposables set out.”

She grabbed a fresh garbage bag and hurried into the dining hall.

“Come on, trash boy,” one of the warriors laughed as she approached. Another snickered. “Careful, Brady, you wouldn’t want the witch to curse you for making more work.”

Brady froze, eyes darting to Celia in panic. Her heart gave a sick little twist.

“That’s enough,” she snapped, dropping to her knees beside Brady. She gave him a quick, steady smile and took the torn bag from his hands. “Go grab the broom. We’ll get this cleaned up.”

The warriors only laughed harder. “Look at that. We got the stray and her minions cleaning up after us.”

Celia felt her face go hot, her pulse hammering in her throat, but she kept her eyes on the mess, carefully gathering it into the new bag. Brady came back a moment later, clutching the broom like a lifeline.

One of the warriors leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Maybe if you’re lucky, Celia, the alpha will let you start recruiting more little mutts and spell-slingers to keep the place tidy.”

Before Celia could snap at him, a pair of boots stepped into view. Lucas crouched down beside her, silent, picking up scraps and dropping them into the bag.

The laughter faltered. Some exchanged looks. Then one gave a dry little laugh. “Really, Lucas? Helping the witch clean up the trash boy’s mess? Thought you had more pride than that.”

Lucas didn’t respond. Didn’t even look at them. His jaw was set tight, eyes fixed on the floor.

It hurt more than she wanted to admit. Part of her had hoped he might defend her, say something. But he didn’t. Just worked beside her, silent.

“Brady, come on,” she said stiffly once the worst of it was contained. “Let’s get this cleaned up in the kitchen.”

Brady hesitated, glancing between Lucas and the warriors, then gave a tiny nod and followed her. Celia didn’t look back. She didn’t trust herself not to cry.

In the kitchen, Brady tossed the broom aside and sagged against the counter, his face crumpling. “I’m sorry,” he burst out. “I didn’t mean to cause such a mess. I should’ve been more careful. And I hate the way they talk to you.”

Celia blinked. “Brady, it’s not your fault. I…”

“If they really knew you,” he pressed on, voice trembling, “they wouldn’t say half that stuff. Or maybe… maybe they would, but not for the same reasons.”

She frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Just… you’ve always been different, Celia. Even for a wolf. Everyone knows it, even if they’re too scared to say so. Some of ’em act like you’re gonna hex ’em if they look at you wrong.”

Her breath caught. “And you? Are you scared?”

Brady shook his head quickly, earnest. “No. You’re kind. You look out for us, even when we mess up. That’s all I need to know.”

Something warm and painful pressed in her chest. She reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “Thank you.”

Hazel came in a moment later, wiping her hands on her apron. “You alright?” she asked Brady, then shot Celia a worried look. “We saw from the door. You shouldn’t have to deal with that alone.”

“It’s fine,” Celia muttered, pushing a stray hair behind her ear. But Hazel just huffed.

“It’s not fine,” she said firmly. “But you always handle it.”

Celia gave her a faint, grateful smile, then turned back to start on the next batch of dishes. Her hands worked automatically, but her thoughts were tangled in Lucas kneeling beside her, silent and distant, and the warriors’ sneers still echoing in her head.