Don't Touch Him! He's Not An Alpha, He's My Patient novel · Chapter 11 of 24

Chapter 11: The Empty Shelf

I got into the water with him in my clothes.

I put my hands on either side of his face and made him look at me.

His eyes stayed amber, but his voice came back to his own.

"Is he scaring you?" he asked.

"No. Is he scaring you?"

"A little." He laughed, shaky. "He's angry, Freja. He's been in a box for five years."

"Then let him be angry."

I kissed him, and the growl in his chest went quiet under my mouth.

We sat on the steps of the pool until the amber faded back to brown.

Arlene had picked up the lantern and was holding it very steady.

"So," she said. "The moon run."

Every month Stonemere runs the lakeshore on the night the moon tips past three quarters full.

This month the early Gathering packs would be watching from the beach.

Everyone shifts, everyone runs.

"If he shifts in front of the pack," I said, "Tilly's wolf will be right there."

"She'll know," Arlene said.

"She'll know."

Wylie wiped the water off his face.

"And if I don't run?"

"Then your wolf stays half awake, and on the Hunter's Moon she says her words over a man who can't say no."

We sat with that.

"I run," Wylie said.

Arlene nodded.

"Then you run with a full belly. Come on. I've got stew."

Tilly started her courtship the next morning.

At ten, a boy from the packhouse carried a basket up the hill.

Apple butter, smoked trout from the lake, a loaf of bread with a pink ribbon around it.

A card in Tilly's round hand: "For my guest."

Wylie ate the trout.

"Trout didn't do anything wrong," he said.

At two, Tilly came herself.

She came up the path in a cream sweater dress with a long flat box in her arms.

Mom walked beside her in her gray shawl, smiling her peacemaking smile.

"We just want to talk," Mom said at the door. "As a family. Can we come in?"

Every instinct I had said no.

But Mom had never once in my life asked to come into a room of mine.

I let them in.

Tilly went straight to Wylie at the table and put the box in front of him.

"For the feast after the moon run tomorrow," she said. "You'll sit at the high table. Next to me."

Wylie opened the box.

Inside lay a white linen shirt with silver buttons and a little place card that said WYLIE in gold.

"Wrong size," Wylie said, and put the lid back on.

"You haven't tried it."

"Don't have to."

Mom had wandered over to the hearth.

She stood looking up at the shelf where Gran's book sat with its black corners.

"Your grandmother's book," she said softly. "I haven't seen it since the funeral. She never let me touch it."

"It stays on the shelf," I said.

Mom turned and smiled at me.

"Of course it does."

Tilly was still leaning over Wylie.

She had her hand on the back of his chair, close to his neck.

He stood up so suddenly the chair scraped, and walked around the table to stand beside me.

Tilly's smile went thin.

"You know what your problem is, Freja? You never could share."

"I shared everything with you, Tilly. You threw it all away."

"Because none of it was ever any fun."

"Then you won't miss him."

I picked up the box with the shirt in it and held it out to her.

"Take your shirt. Take your mother. He's not a gift basket, and he's not a thrill for a few days. Go home."

Tilly snatched the box.

Mom drew her shawl around her shoulders and followed her out with one last look at the hearth.

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