Chapter 47: Chapter 47
Lily
Clutching a wicker basket brimming with baked goods, Lily strolled home in the late afternoon sun. The trees came alive in the sunlight, their boughs gleaming, appearing to bend inwards in a series of arches, leading her to Elijah’s – to her – cabin.
And it was hers, now. She’d made it her own: Lily picked wildflowers and filled vases with them, until the entire cabin was teeming with seasonal flowers and foliage. She’d adorned the door with a handmade wreath, which she’d then made more of and sold at the market. The wreaths had been followed by pressings of dried flowers, framed in hand-carved wood, and suddenly Lily had found herself quite at home in the pine forests and meadows that made up the Sea Pine pack’s territory.
Her first month with Elijah, here, in his home, had been magical. She’d unravelled him, lying on his chest, or by his side, her head on his shoulder, toying with strands of his brown hair, wrapping it around the glinting garnet she kept on as a lone reminder of her past. She’d felt she was leaving no scrap unpicked on his naked bones. Wound together, bound together, they’d been lifted above the ordinary, suspended in a fleeting, eternal bliss.
But the longer Lily was here, in his home, the more she began to realise that parts of his story simply did not add up. There was tells, too, that he was not always comfortable having her around – the way he chewed at his cheeks, or the incessant jiggling of his leg, or the distant, dark look in his eyes when they strayed too far from safer topics of conversation.
Lily had once thought that, so long as she knew what such things meant, their cause did not matter. The mate bond wanted more, from her and from him. It desired a complete understanding – one which Elijah seemed unwilling to give.
They were destined. Fate had brought them together. They were true mates, bonded by their very souls. So why did it feel like he had something to hide?
* * *
“Lily? Are you home?”
“Eli?” Lily scrambled to finish her evening preparations. More often than not, Elijah would be the one to cook for her. Wanting to do something nice for him, she’d traded pressed wildflowers for cinnamon swirls and flakey pastries at the market.
Fresh-picked flowers adorned the table. She’d warmed the pastries in the oven, and heat curled from them in waves as she placed them with dancing fingers on the table top. Early evening sunlight streamed through the windows, hitting the wooden counters and dining table, even as the first, faint stars began to spot the uppermost stretch of the deep blue sky.
She was pouring two generous mugs of tea when Elijah came into the kitchen.
“Hi,” he said, his worn, tired smile making her feel, for a moment, that she was the only person in the world but him. She was struck anew every time she saw him that he was easily the most handsome man she’d ever seen: the dark brown hair, lightening further in the summer months from exposure to the sun, waving slightly as it grew almost to his shoulders; middling grey eyes softening like storm clouds passing over the sun; the hard planes of his chiselled face, from his jaw to his cheekbones to the straight, strong nose, broken only by the long scar that Lily thought made him all the more beautiful.
His lips – full, and infinitely kissable, as Lily now knew – broke into a wide, childlike grin as his eyes at last moved from her and acknowledged the spread laid out on the dining table.
But Lily didn’t miss the flicker of his gaze to the stairs behind him, and she couldn’t help but wonder why one of his muscled arms was tucked behind his back.
“This looks incredible,” he said, his voice low, stunned. “This is for me?”
He sounded so sincere that tears sprung to Lily’s eyes. He still struggled, at times, to believe that she wouldn’t leave him the way Leahne had – though she did not know why it was that Leahne had rejected him. It felt wrong too ask, too raw and intimate a subject to broach. Even mates had boundaries, and Lily did not wish to hurt Elijah further by crossing them.
“Well,” she said, her lips tugging into a grin, “it’s for us.” Grabbing a cinnamon swirl off the table, she shoved a huge bite into her mouth. “Ow,” she hissed around it, “it’s hot.”
He laughed. “That’s okay. It gives me time to have a quick wash, anyway.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and then one to the corner of her icing-covered lips. Then he was off, darting to the stairs and jogging up them, Lily listened to his footfalls, the pastry going sour on her tongue.
Elijah was a man of routine. They awoke every morning, entwined together atop the duvet from where they’d kicked it free in the night. With bleary eyes they’d dress for training and, if they awoke early enough beforehand, they’d make love sleepily until the dawn roused them, pressing them to hurry to the training fields.
Lily had taken to patrolling immediately after training, and more often than not Elijah would join her. She favoured the southeast section of the boundary, as it followed the curve of the cliffs and looked out to the sea. Elijah preferred to lose himself in the pine forests, leaves and twigs crunching under his feet.
Then they would both return home and bathe, usually together. Elijah ran her a bath, always seeming strangely tense as she took that first step into the water and lowered herself into the tub. His shoulders and spine would ease once she was in, and then he liked to massage her sore muscles before sliding under the water with her.
That was it. That was what had struck Lily as odd. Elijah was a notorious morning-bather here. Between Oakhame, Entra, and Sea Pine, he’d had to wash as and when he could. But this was his home, and his routine was rigid. So why was he going to wash immediately after seeing she’d made – well, bought – him dinner?
Standing abruptly, Lily’s mind was made up. This was her home now, her life. Maybe it was nothing, and then she would feel a fool. But maybe it was something, and, if it was, Lily deserved to know.
Rounding the stairs slowly, she called out to him. “Eli?”
“Yes?” He sounded flustered.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I – I just had to file something from the pack house.” He appeared at the top of the stairs, brushing his hands flat over his ears.
Her stomach churned. “I thought you were having a quick wash?”
“Oh – no, I, uh, I got confused.” He laughed breezily, but his eyes had darkened. Lily wanted to shake him. Why did his eyes change colour? And why did he not realise what a dead giveaway they were when he was lying?
“Come on, then,” she said, holding out a hand for him to take. “Let’s eat.”
Lily tried to forget about it as she shovelled lukewarm pastries into her mouth. Being near him felt so good that it was easy, for a while, to pretend that there was nothing wrong. By the time they’d finished dinner and washed up together, him splashing her gently with soap suds and water, her flicking him with the tea towel in return, she’d all but forgotten that he’d gone upstairs to hide something.
She felt silly, even, for thinking the worst of him. Though her birthday had long since been and gone, Lily was still learning all of the intricate festivals and celebrations that took place at Sea Pine. Some were similar to those she’d known as part of the Blood Moon pack, but most were not. Perhaps Elijah had bought or made her a gift he didn’t want her to see.
After her first shift, Lily had expected to return home from the pack run to a Pink Moon celebration: a bonfire and bunting and drinking, and speeches made by the returning battle-hardened wolves. But nobody had fought, and the festival that had taken place had been wholly different to that which she’d expected.
There had been a bonfire. It had stretched high into the dawn sky, calling home the wolves to the sea’s edge. As the last wolves shifted back – the Alpha, Beta, and Gamma, along with some of the larger, stronger Warrior Wolves – Lily had stood back and watched the flames lick the sky. She’d felt oddly at peace at the fireside, as though she spent much of her time beside them. They were an imprint of her, and she was of them.
Then they’d taken a piece of themselves – a strand of hair, for her, though some had sliced their palms with sharp rocks and bled – and wound it around a piece of the earth, for which Lily had picked a tall, bright daisy. This had been thrown into the flames, and they’d joined hands around the bonfire as it joined their spirit with the ground beneath their feet.
Once the circle had splintered, Elijah had caught her hands, eyes shining, and told her to run. To run, but not to think. Then he’d tugged her towards the cliff’s edge, and – somehow – found footholds as their arms had windmilled and their eyes had stung from the force of their descent. They’d shot straight into the sea, letting it wash over their heads, soaking their clothes and sticking their hair to their faces as they’d bobbed to the surface, gasping for air.
It had been otherworldly. And though Lily had not understood it, she’d come free of the sea with a sense of clarity, of herself, that she’d never had before.
They’d returned to the pack house to feast and drink the rest of the day away, and the familiarity had made her yearn for more – more family, more home. She’d missed her father, and Rose, and she’d longed for a way to join her newfound happiness with her old connections, her old life.
Months later, Lily still hadn’t found a way to do so.
* * *
It wasn’t until after Elijah had fallen asleep, his arm slung around her waist, that Lily remembered. The warm embrace of sleep left her instantly, and she pushed back the covers like a ghost opening its own coffin.
Elijah grumbled in his sleep at the loss of her body against his, but he settled quickly, his arm resting around the empty space she had inhabited. On bare feet she padded down the hallway, taking extra care to push the doors open slowly and to dart around creaky floorboards.
She just wanted to check. It was wrong, but…
But she had to be sure. If it looked like something that wasn’t her business, then she’d leave it, forget about it, and slide back into bed beside her mate. Lily crossed her fingers behind her back, hoping for that outcome. She didn’t want to doubt the man she loved.
She ducked down behind the desk, trying to think like someone hiding something quickly. He wouldn’t have dumped it on top, but she imagined it would have been shoved behind or underneath a book or map. Her deft fingers flew through shelves and cubby holes, picking out papers that seemed out of place.
She was just about to give up when she saw a crumpled letter forced into the back corner of a cubby. With trembling fingers she eased it free, picturing it being scrunched into his fist when he’d found her home – found her waiting for him.
It was addressed to Elijah, his full name written in familiar print. Her heart dropped. Turning it over confirmed her suspicions. There was the curved moon crest, cut through with a claw.
Atticus had sent him a letter.