Wolves' Bane (The Order of the Wolf, #3)(32)
The look she gave him had him wanting to take it all back, to rewind to their passionate kiss and skip over his sudden need for a conscience. “I-i-is there something wrong with me? Am I defective or something?” she stuttered, a few tears popping from her eyes.
Cal shook his head as he pulled his hand away from her face. “No, Morgan. You’re perfect, more than perfect.”
“So then what’s wrong?”
He lowered his head, his hands lying useless on his lap. “I just can’t. I can’t.”
She stood, pulling away from him when he reached for her. Cal was unable to truly distance himself when she was throwing off such strong emotions. Her eyes blazed with anger once again and he sighed. Way to destroy—no, obliterate—the moment, *.
“That’s the last time I let you kiss me, Cal.” She pointed at him. “You’re a stubborn, stupid man and I want you to leave me the hell alone!” she yelled as she turned and ran.
He watched her flee, only satisfied when he saw her disappear into the safety of the house. “What I want and what I can have are two totally different things.”
Chapter Fifteen
Wake-up Call
Candy waltzed into my room bright and early as promised, bouncing on her sneaker-bound feet and urging me with a bellowing cheer to get my sleepy ass out of bed.
I moaned as I pulled my pillow over my sore eyes, shielding myself from the bubbly, energy-soaked teen.
“What time is it?” I croaked from beneath the pillow. I hadn’t slept well, not even close, and my whole body ached from tossing and turning.
It was that story that Cal had told me—the one about the first Huntress, Alkaia, and her Hunter. I hadn’t realized it at the time, my brain so muddled by all that was happening, but I’d heard that story before. Well, kind of. A version of it, anyway. Whenever I’d ask my mom to tell me a fairy tale—on the rare occasions when she was sober enough to remember that she had a daughter who might like to spend time with her—she would always tell me that story. The one about the murdering beast and the brave woman warrior. She’d tell it in such vivid detail that I finally stopped asking her to tell me stories at all, too frightened by the gruesome nightmares I would always have afterward.
It made me wonder if my mother had known all along that I might be one of the chosen ones. Had she known about the heritage and genetic link that would lead me to this destiny? There was no way to know now, not with her being dead and buried three years, her liver having finally conked out after so much abuse. It did make me wonder if our frequent trips to psychic fairs in search of what my mother called “guidance” was a result of her knowing something about what could happen when I grew up. She had often said in her drunken stupors that she prayed I would have a normal life. A sentiment that I always found ironic as I had lived anything but a normal life with her as my mother.
I’d tossed and turned after leaving Cal, unable to get comfortable all night, my mind racing through so many details. If I was being honest, my inability to settle wasn’t only because of my thoughts of Mom. I’d also been stuck in a torturous loop of Cal. Even the thought of him had my body humming to life, warming at the memory of his hands on me, his tongue in me, everything coming to a crashing stop as I recalled his words to me.
I will not love you, Morgan.
Each time I replayed what happened between us—the electricity, the fire—the crushing truth always followed. He was fighting me while at the same time wanting me. His body told me I was his, while his mouth, his mind said something entirely different. And for someone I barely knew, I was amazed by how much that hurt.
With the kind of childhood I’d had, it wasn’t hard for me to imagine why someone wouldn’t want to fall in love with me. I was used to feeling inadequate and rejected, but this time it seemed to dig in deeper, fester hotter. For some reason, I wanted Cal to love me, to accept me, to cherish me. And maybe all this really came down to was the magic of the Hunter-Huntress bond. Maybe all I was feeling was a byproduct of that, nothing more. My childhood had made it necessary to shield my heart and I’d always fought hard against vulnerability. Somehow, Cal had wormed his way through my defenses, making me utter such weak and pathetic things, like asking him if I was defective. I didn’t really understand why this was happening, but I didn’t like it.
And now Candy was ready and waiting, and all I wanted to do was tell the annoying girl to go the hell away. But I couldn’t, I wouldn’t, do that.
“It’s five thirty,” Candy called over her shoulder as she riffled through my clothes. “Here, put on these.”
I peeked from beneath my pillow. Luckily, the sun had yet to fully rise so the light in the room was bearable. I squinted in Candy’s direction. “Yoga pants?”
Candy nodded. “It’s the best thing to wear out there. The spandex will keep you warm—it’s a little nippy around here in the morning. I’ve got a jacket you can wear while we’re running.”
I pushed myself up. “What do you mean? Are we running outside?”
Candy smiled and nodded. “Yep. We’re running with Lance today. He likes to do the perimeter of the property—unlike Jer, who only likes to use the treadmills. I love to run outside, though.” She tossed the pants on the bed. “You’d better get moving or Lance will start without us and if he starts without us, then he’ll put us through hell later in the weight room.”