His Stray

Chapter 7

Present Day

Celia stared at the window long after it closed behind Lucas. Her heart thudded painfully, his scent still swirling around her. The room seemed to hum with his presence. Ariadne was pacing again, restless and yearning, and it took everything in Celia not to throw open the window and call him back.

She closed her eyes, forcing a slow breath, but it didn’t help. All she could pick up was the scent of bergamot and sage. She pushed away, needing to leave her room and the memories he had stirred up.

In the living room, Harold was settled into his battered armchair with a book propped on his chest. His glasses had slipped down his nose, his chin resting against his chest as soft snores rose and fell. Celia smiled faintly. Seeing him dozing there was one of the few constants left in her life, especially since Lenore died.

She cleared her throat gently. Harold snorted awake, blinking in confusion until his eyes found hers. He pulled off his glasses and set the book aside.

“There’s my girl,” he said, squinting like he was trying to read her face. “You look troubled. Did the alpha pup leave already?”

She tried to smile, but her lip trembled.

Harold patted the ottoman in front of him. “Come on over, sunflower. Tell me what’s going on.”

She sat down, close enough to breathe in the familiar scent of pine and earth that clung to him. He reached out and took one of her shaking hands in his weathered ones.

“He’s your mate, isn’t he?”

Her eyes widened, startled he had figured it out so quickly.

“Yep, Lenore always suspected it might be him,” Harold said, a wry smile tugging at his mouth.

Celia’s eyes grew even rounder. “She did?”

“Oh yeah,” Harold chuckled. “She always said he was drawn to you like a moth to a flame. Even when you two were barely old enough to tie your shoes. Thought there was something in the way he looked at you, the way you two understood each other. Better than most grown folks ever manage.”

Her throat tightened, eyes burning. “Maybe she was right.”

“Hard not to think so, seeing how he just came climbing through your window again.” Harold’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Though I’d appreciate it if you two saved surprises for daylight hours. Nearly gave this old heart a run for its money.”

She let out a watery laugh and squeezed his hand.

His expression softened, turning thoughtful. “I do worry for you, sunflower. You’ve got more scars than most people twice your age. I remember how torn up you were when he left. You tried to hide it, but Lenore and I saw it. We heard you crying at night.”

Celia’s heart twisted and a tear slipped free. Harold squeezed her hand tighter between his.

“I know what this means, being his mate,” he went on. “It’ll stir up every old whisper this pack ever had about you.”

“I know,” she whispered.

He reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His hand lingered against her cheek. “You may not be my blood, but from the moment the Luna placed you in Lenore’s arms all those years ago, you were ours. You gave your mother and me more than we ever thought we’d have. We’d long given up on the idea of a little one underfoot. Then there you were, this tiny girl, feisty and ready to take on the world at two years old.” He chuckled. “You’d already been through more than most, already stronger than anyone had a right to be.”

Another tear slid down her cheek. Harold brushed it away with his thumb.

“I’ll always be here. No matter what the pack says. No matter what comes. You are my girl.”

She knew it was true. Even though Harold and Lenore had been older than most parents, they never once treated her as anything but their daughter.

Celia leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him. Harold grunted, then hugged her back tightly, his chin resting on her head.

They stayed like that for a long moment. Eventually, he gave her a gentle pat on the back.

“All right. Enough tears for tonight. Try to get some sleep, even if I know it’ll be hard.”

She nodded and pulled back, giving him a small smile. “Thanks, Dad.”

He gave her hand one last squeeze.

She rose and padded back to her room, her heart still aching but steadier than before. At her window, she pushed the curtain aside and looked out toward the pack house, her mind drifting to the little boy she had once found crying beneath this very window.

**

Lucas stalked back across the clearing toward the pack house, hands shoved deep in his pockets, his thoughts tangled. The night was cold and still. Usually it cleared his head, but now it only made everything sharper.

He was nearly to the porch steps when he caught movement from the corner of his eye. Landon leaned against one of the big oaks lining the drive, arms crossed over his chest.

“Coming back from Celia’s?” Landon’s voice was low and edged with something hard.

Lucas stiffened. “What does it matter?”

A humorless smile crossed Landon’s face. “Still chasing after the stray, huh? Some things really don’t change.”

Lucas’s jaw tightened. “Don’t call her that.”

“Why not? Isn’t that what she is?” Landon pushed off the tree and came closer. “A little abandoned pup Mom found in the woods. You used to cling to her like she was your own personal security blanket. Guess that hasn’t changed either.”

Something sharp twisted in Lucas’s chest. He took a step closer. “Why didn’t you look out for her? While I was gone. You knew how much she meant to me. Hell, you were the one who told me not to hide it. Said if I wanted her, I should make it clear. Not treat her like a secret.”

Landon’s eyes flashed. “Not like you took my advice. Besides, why would I do anything for you?”

“It was never just about me. You knew what she’d been through. You knew she needed protecting.”

For a moment something almost guilty flickered in Landon’s eyes, then vanished. His face settled into a hard mask. “She didn’t want my help.”

Lucas’s brow furrowed. “What does that even mean?”

“It means after you left, she didn’t have much use for me or anyone else,” Landon snapped. “It was like something in her shut off. Best I could do was make sure Dad gave her the head cook job after Lenore died. Gave her a way to take care of herself, kept her close enough that no one would touch her.”

Lucas’s stomach dropped. “Wait. Lenore… died?”

Landon’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah. Couple years ago. You’d have known if you cared enough to stay in touch. But you didn’t write. Didn’t call. Didn’t give a damn about anything except your fancy training and getting away from here. To hell with the rest of us left behind.”

Lucas felt like he’d been punched. He opened his mouth, then closed it, because what was there to say? He had run. His dad told him he would be the heir, that he was due at the academy, and Lucas had left the very same night. He needed to breathe. Needed distance from their father’s crushing expectations. Now, hearing it laid out like this, every excuse sounded hollow.

Landon let out a short, bitter laugh. “Funny, isn’t it? You spent all that time running and now you’re back, shocked that nothing waited around for you to care.”

“I always cared,” Lucas bit out. “You know I did.”

“Not enough,” Landon shot back. His hands flexed at his sides like he was itching for a fight. “And sure as hell not for the people who were left picking up after you.”

Lucas flinched. For a heartbeat he looked at Landon. His big brother. His protector. His oldest friend. He had no idea how to bridge the divide that had grown between them.

Finally Landon shook his head and stepped back. “Whatever. It’s late. Try not to break too many windows climbing in and out of your little girlfriend’s room. I’d hate for the groundskeeper to keel over from another heart attack.”

Lucas’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t rise to it. He watched Landon turn and disappear into the darkness.

Lucas blew out a shaky breath, his heart hammering. He stared up at the looming silhouette of the pack house, feeling more like an outsider than he ever had.