Fate: California Obscura

I got dressed, then curled up in a wingback chair with the blanket and sighed. For a few minutes there, I’d started to feel optimistic, like maybe we actually had a chance of making this work. Or maybe we were doomed to repeat the same arguments, locked in an endless cycle of seeing who could be more stubborn.

Chapter 5

Maybe an hour later, I heard a faint rustle out in the hall. Then the door creaked slightly, and I realized Elias had taken a seat on the floor and was leaning against it.

I’d been staring out the window, and I set aside the book I’d forgotten about, crossed the room, and put my hand on the door. I wished I could read his mind. It was easy with some people, but werewolves’ thoughts tended to be a chaotic, nonverbal jumble. A minute ticked by, and when nothing happened, I asked, “Why are you sitting out there?”

“I wanted to be close to you, but I figured you needed some time to yourself.”

That was actually really touching. It was also totally unlike the Elias I thought I knew, because when we first met, he absolutely would have barged in uninvited and tried to order me back upstairs.

I sat down too and leaned against the door, so we were back-to-back. “Why did you want to be close to me?”

“Without our bond, it feels like a part of me is missing. That feeling goes away when we’re together.”

I admitted, “I feel the same way.”

“Explain to me again what Carter’s little magic trick was trying to accomplish.”

“It was supposed to let us deal with each other as two rational, clear-headed people, as opposed to pheromone-crazed mates. When I’m under our bond’s influence, all I want to do is fuck and submit to you.”

“So, you do realize the very first thing you did without the bond was fuck and submit to me,” he said.

“I know. It’s very confusing.” I sighed and fidgeted with the hem of my shirt.

“What exactly do you think I would do if you fully surrendered to me?”

“I don’t want to find out,” I said, as I wrapped my arms around myself. “The only person I can rely on is me. That’s how it’s always been, and that’s how I want it.”

His voice was gentle when he asked, “What happened to make you think you can’t rely on anyone?”

I fought back a wave of emotions as I muttered, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

He fell silent for a minute before asking, “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah, I am.” I was glad he changed the subject.

“Join me in the kitchen if you want to. If not, I’ll leave a tray outside your door in a few minutes.”

The door swayed, just a little, and there was a faint rustling sound. Then he was gone.

I stretched my legs out in front of me and exhaled slowly as I replayed our conversation. I liked the change in him. He seemed kinder, and he was actually talking to me instead of just ordering me around. But was he showing me the real Elias, or just what he thought I wanted to see? I wasn’t sure people ever really changed—not to that degree, anyway—and I wondered how much of this I should believe.

After a while, I got to my feet and left the library, then found my way to the kitchen. I still didn’t know what to think of his miraculous transformation, but he was making an effort, so I was going to do the same.

The kitchen turned out to be plainer and simpler than the rest of the house, functional instead of ornate. This house had obviously been built for people who had a staff to do the cooking.

Elias was pulling a loaf of bread out of the oven when I arrived, with a pair of big, red mitts on his hands. It was odd to see him doing something so domestic. He’d always struck me as a lord of the manor type, someone used to giving orders and having others do his bidding, just like whoever had built this house.

I asked, “Who owns this place?”

“I do.”

“Why do you own a haunted house off the coast of Maine?”

“Someone signed it over to me to settle a debt. I’d been planning to sell it, but then it seemed perfect when I needed to disappear for a while.” He ditched the mitts, then turned to a large pot on the stove and added, “I wish it really was haunted, by the way. I could have used the company these past three months.”

I lingered in the doorway and eyed the loaf of bread hungrily as I asked, “Did you actually bake that?”

“I did. Not now, obviously, since it takes hours to make bread. I just stuck it in the oven to warm it up. The soup was also made yesterday, but I think it’s much better the next day.”