Page 7 of Forcing Fate (Wildheart Pack #1)

Nora

I still can’t get my head around this.

It’s weird enough being in Cole’s bed, wrapped in his shirt and a blanket that carries his scent in every fiber. That alone is something I would never in a million years have imagined. I never thought I would step foot in this house, much less make myself comfortable in the bed of my bully.

That’s not the worst part.

The worst part is how good it feels. How right. I can’t remember feeling this content and safe and comfortable since before Mom died. Every breath I take pulls a little more of Cole into my lungs, and it’s nice. It calms me.

It does something else, too, strangely enough. It makes me yearn. When is he coming back? I want him here. I need his presence. Like there’s something deep inside that’s been waiting for this, sleeping quietly until the moment something woke it up. It’s awake now, and it wants him .

But don’t I get a say in this? That’s what I can’t understand, no matter how I try.

He made it his life mission for years to insult me, mock me, paint a target on my back so everyone else in school knew I wasn’t worth treating with respect, much less kindness.

Every day, he found a new way to make me feel small and worthless.

And I’m supposed to forget all of that now, just because of the bond we share? It’s enough to make me want to scream.

But then I raise the blanket to my nose and inhale deeply, and all of that turmoil fades away like it never existed.

I’m trying to figure out if he expects me to stay here forever when footsteps pound up the stairs.

It’s kind of amazing how deep certain reactions can run.

I’ve spent so many years living in fear that the sound of approaching footsteps makes my body seize, and my heart threatens to burst out of my chest. Only for a second or two, though.

Once I sense Cole’s presence, yet another surprising, unthinkable turn of events: feeling glad and happy he’s near.

He’s not only near. He’s carrying a box.

“Here you go.” He sets it on the floor next to the bed—from where I’m sitting, I can see inside.

“My things?” Reaching down, I lift the box onto my lap. It’s not very heavy—there isn’t much in there. Clothes, library books, a framed photo of me and Mom from my tenth birthday. Probably my most treasured possession.

“I can always go back and get the rest, though there isn’t that much left.” He sinks into the chair he left earlier, and now I look at him.

Which means I notice for the first time the blood on his shirt. And on his swollen knuckles.

“What did you do?” I whisper.

“Don’t worry about it.” He flexes his fists, staring down at them, wearing a satisfied smirk. “They got what was coming to them. I only wish I could’ve done worse.”

“What did you do? Please, tell me.”

His broad shoulders rise and fall in a sigh. “You don’t have to see them ever again. Declan banished them. They’re out of the pack permanently and forbidden to step foot on our lands again.”

I guess it’s the surprise that kind of shuts my brain down for a minute. The words don’t compute. Like he lapsed into another language. “What did you say?”

“Never again.” Leaning in, elbows on his knees, he stares into my eyes and looks straight into my soul. “They’re gone. They’re out of your life.”

How many times have I wished for this? Nothing but dreams and fantasies. Nothing detailed. Just a general sense of how much better life would be if I never had to see them again.

That’s now a reality.

And I wish I could be completely happy about it.

Instead, the part of me that has lived in survival mode all these years immediately starts running down the logistics of the situation.

It’s kind of a habit I have no control over.

Just like the way I reacted when I heard approaching footsteps.

Every situation that comes my way, I immediately look at what it means.

And this particular situation means I have nowhere to go but here. With Cole and his family. I can’t help but wonder if my situation didn’t just get a whole lot worse instead of better .

“I feel what you’re going through,” he murmurs. “The conflict. I wish there was some way I could fix it. But since there’s no way to turn back time, all I can do is apologize.”

Pain touches the corners of his eyes, narrowing them. “I need you to believe me, because I’m saying this with all my heart. I am so sorry for everything. I blamed you when you were just as much a victim.”

Touching his fist to his chest, he adds, “When I remember all of the pain I caused you, I feel pain inside. I hate myself for hurting you—but I swear I will never hurt you again. I will be the mate you deserve. I will spend every day of the rest of my life, every single breath, protecting you and cherishing you and making up for the past.”

I understand what he means about feeling my pain, because I feel his. I know he’s sincere.

But he spent every day of our four years in high school mocking me. Taunting, shoving, menacing. Making sure I couldn’t experience a moment of peace. How am I supposed to let that go all at once?

“I know you mean it,” I whisper, “but I can’t just forgive you all of a sudden. I just can’t.”

The pain in the corners of his eyes deepens before nodding once, he says, “I understand.” Right, but he hates it.

I feel the frustration twisting him up inside, like a storm getting ready to unleash havoc.

But somehow, I know he won’t take it out on me.

Unthinkable as it is, I feel safe for the first time in ages. Safe with Cole Black. What a concept.

We both hear my stomach growling—as quickly as those pancakes filled me up, my starved body is ready for more. “Want to come downstairs, get some lunch?” he asks with hope in his voice.

All I can do at first is shake my head when dread lodges as a lump in my throat.

Cole might be my mate, but his siblings aren’t.

They have no reason to accept me the way he has.

Even if they don’t hate me the way they did before, they have to be disappointed, right?

I’m not even a full wolf. I can’t even shift.

And here they are, the alpha and his family.

We are at the opposite ends of the shifter spectrum.

His expression softens with understanding. “How about I bring you something to eat? A sandwich?”

My stomach growls again. “Sure. Thank you.” It’s almost sad, the way he smiles with relief. Like all he wants is to be able to do something for me. It’s almost enough to make me wish I could forgive him. Wouldn’t it be nice if things were that simple?

There isn’t much time to reflect on it. He’s back in the blink of an eye, carrying a tray with two huge sandwiches.

“I should’ve asked what you’d like,” he admits as he sets the tray on the bed.

At least he washed his hands before making it—no more blood, though his knuckles are bruised and still pretty swollen.

A reminder of what he did for me. I can’t decide whether or not I want details.

“I don’t really dislike anything,” I admit, picking up half of what looks like a turkey sandwich packed with what has to be at least half a pound of meat between two thick slices of bread. “I wasn’t really given much choice for a long time.”

He growls softly before taking his own sandwich, balancing the plate on his thighs. “Banishment wasn’t bad enough for them. ”

I don’t want to talk about that now. I don’t even want to think about them. Instead, I take a bite of the sandwich and savor the taste before taking another. At least if we’re chewing, we can’t talk.

Or so I tell myself. “Are you sure there isn’t anything you prefer? I can stock the kitchen for you. Whatever you like.”

“I’m fine with anything.” He’s desperate to make it up to me, but it’s not that simple.

No matter how much part of me wants to accept these little gestures, too much harm has been done.

It would feel like I’m betraying myself if I gave in this easily against someone who made my entire high school career a living hell.

“Are you comfortable?”

No, I’m most definitely not comfortable with all these questions and the sense of being studied like a science project.

Taking the last bite of the sandwich, I reply, “Actually, I could use a bath. Is that okay?” Anything to have a few minutes of alone time, even if changing my clothes means no longer being wrapped in my mate’s scent.

I kind of hate that I even have to think about it.

That I sort of crave that connection thanks to the part of me that isn’t human.

“Go right ahead,” he quickly replies, jumping up from the chair like he’s glad to have something to do.

“This is your home now, too. You don’t have to ask for permission to do anything.

” What a shame that doesn’t fill me with warmth.

Living with Tara? She was just as bad as Cole ever was, only she could torment me in the locker room after gym class. One advantage she had over her twin.

He goes to the attached bathroom and turns on the light, then opens the closet door to pull out a couple of towels while I slowly get out of bed, stepping carefully on my injured feet.

Grabbing clothes at random, I walk gingerly across the room.

The water is running in the tub when I reach the doorway, with Cole turning toward me.

“There’s body wash here, shampoo and conditioner.

You’ll have to let me know the kind you use.

Or we can go to the store together,” he amends.

I could explain again that I’ve never been given any choice of what I use, but it feels like I would be wasting my breath. “Sure. Thanks.” Then I stare down at my feet long enough, chewing my lip, for him to get the message. I’m not taking my clothes off in front of him.

His disappointment hangs in the air, but he leaves the room, closing the door to give me my privacy.

Now I slump against the sink, releasing a deep breath.

I am no stranger to exhaustion—far from it.

But there is a special type of exhaustion that comes from the awkwardness between us.

Being forced to spend time with him, even if he is my mate.

A humorless laugh escapes me as I prop one foot on the toilet’s closed lid.

At least I’m used to dealing with injuries, so taking the bandages from my feet doesn’t turn my stomach or anything.

The cuts and scrapes are ugly, but they’ll heal.

If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s healing…

at least physically. Once I have them removed, I take off Cole’s shirt and fold it neatly, placing it on the counter along with my clothes.

And when I do, my gaze travels up to the mirror over the sink. Usually, it’s the bruises that jump out at me first, garish against my pale skin. This time, it’s the mark on my neck that draws my attention and holds it.

I can barely breathe as I lift my hand to touch gentle, cautious fingers to it. The symbol of our bond. Something I have no control over. Neither of us do. This is all thanks to fate. We are joined forever .

It feels like there should be a burning sensation or some kind of pain when I touch it, but all I feel is a sense of sadness.

Why did it have to be him, of all people?

There are so many shifters in this town that fate might have decided to join me to.

Why Cole? I’m supposed to feel good about this, aren’t I?

Is there something so wrong with me that I don’t deserve a mate who hasn’t made it his life’s mission to punish me?

Can’t I just be happy for once without there being something to sour it?

Tears well in my eyes, and my hand starts to shake as a wave of emotion threatens to knock me off my wounded feet.

With a heavy heart, I go to the tub and turn off the faucet before slowly lowering myself into the deliciously warm water.

What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to come to terms with this?

How am I supposed to face my future with the past dragging me down?

Covering my face with my hands, I let myself cry quietly. If there’s one thing I’ve mastered, it’s the art of silent sobbing.