Page 11 of Pack Kasen, Part 1 (Caught #1)

10

AREN

I feel guilty.

Why the fuck am I the one feeling guilty?

I didn’t kill anyone.

I’m not the feral.

So why is it that every time the feral looks at me do I feel like I’m the one doing something wrong?

I keep thinking about her, and I can’t stop.

I went in there with an icy cold bottle of water, specifically to tempt the feral to tell me why it has better control than any I’ve put in the cage.

Instead, I walk out feeling like I just had my ass handed to me with the grace of someone who doesn’t need to shout to make a point.

I throw my head back and howl.

When there’s nothing for it, I howl out my frustration. Like I always do.

It’s a mild spring day, so most of the pack is outside, enjoying the weather. They’ve spread themselves on the decking, are relaxing near the creek, and sitting on the grass near the trees that lead into the forest.

At my howl, they pause their conversations to glance warily at me.

It’s not usual for me to start howling for no reason.

“What?” I growl.

They look away, and yet again, I feel like I’m the one losing control. Like I’m the feral, not… her .

I frown at my slip up.

The feral is not her . The feral is an it .

No days are the same in Burning Wood.

I like the freedom of waking with the sun, of letting my mood and the weather dictate whether I take the pack for a run, or I go on my own. But today, I feel lost.

I’d expected to spend the next hour interrogating the feral, yet here I am, standing outside the house, with no clue what to do with myself.

“Is everything okay?” Finan asks.

I barely stop myself from leaping out of my skin because I forgot he was there.

I glare at him like he just cursed me out. “I’m busy. Don’t distract me with any more diplomacy things today.”

I feel him watch me as I stalk toward the stairs that lead to the house. My pack mates take one look into my face and scatter, which makes me feel like I’m the one who should be in the silver cage.

My lips flatten as I continue through the house, passing the den where Marisa is chatting and laughing with Silas as a TV show plays on the massive screen we hung on the wall.

Marisa calls out to me as I stalk past.

“Not now,” I call back.

I’m jogging up the stairs to my bedroom when I halt as a thought occurs to me. A solution to my problems, and the thing that can dislodge this strange mood.

Distraction.

That’s what I need.

Is using Marisa as a distraction when she’s already gotten far too comfortable in her role as my lover a good idea?

No.

But I have to do something to get that feral out of my head or I’m going to lose it.

I turn around.

Marisa is standing outside the den, like she was on her way to following me up but wasn’t sure what my reaction would be. With the way I’ve been snarling and growling since Wes and Cruz brought the feral here, I understand her hesitation.

I aim a smile at her as I take a step down. “We’re having dinner tonight.”

She blinks at me, surprised. “ Dinner ?”

I nod firmly.

Yes, this is exactly what I need to refocus my mind on what truly matters.

“Just us.”

A bright smile breaks out across her face as she hurries toward me. I brace myself as she throws her arms around my shoulders.

“I love that idea,” she says, peering up at me through her lashes.

I pat her back as Silas studies me from the den doorway, his expression blank.

Before Marisa can kiss me, I unhook her arms from my shoulders and peel her away. “I have work to do now.”

She flashes me a suggestive smile. “Leave everything with me. I’ll sort dinner out for us, okay?”

“Sure.”

I’m twisting away when I realize I should be more excited by a romantic dinner date with a beautiful woman and turn to smile at her. It doesn’t feel like a real smile. It feels like a grimace. “Looking forward to it.”

Then I go upstairs to my room, close the door, and I look at my bed.

It’s a big bed. Like most of the house, it’s a roughly hewn, rustic style of furniture to go with our log home.

The bed I sleep in every night.

The bed that Marisa and I will fuck on after our romantic dinner date.

And I turn around, open the door and walk back out.

“Where are you going?” Finan calls out when I pass him as he’s walking inside.

“I need to run.”

He’s holding a phone, and I bet I can guess exactly who's calling. “I have?—”

I narrow my eyes at him. “If you hand me that phone, it’s going in the creek.”

He ends the call and tucks it in his pocket. “Enjoy your run.”

I do.

I enjoy it so much that I don’t return to the house until it’s dark, shirtless, because I lost my T-shirt somewhere in the forest, but relaxed in a way I haven’t been all day.

At least until I jog upstairs to my bedroom, swing open the door and take in the small candle-lit table set for two. Marisa is lying in my bed, wearing a dusky pink silk slip as she flips through a magazine.

I freeze in the doorway.

Shit. I forgot.

Her magazine lowers, and she beams at me. She tosses the magazine aside and gets to her feet, pulling me into the room. “There you are. Finan said you’d gone for a run, but I wasn’t sure when you were coming back. You must be starving to have been out for so long.”

“Sure.” I push the door closed to stop myself from returning to a run that suddenly seems far more attractive than my growling belly.

“I had Agnetha make your favorites,” Marisa says, pulling me toward the table. “You’ve been working so hard that you need to relax.”

T-Bone steak, mashed potatoes, and not a sign of anything green.

There’s a glass of wine for her and a bottle of beer with condensation forming on the bottle for me.

My perfect meal.

She leads me to the table and presses down on my shoulders.

As I take my seat, I’m tense and I couldn’t say why. My tension only decreases when Marisa takes her hands off me and sinks into the seat opposite me. “All that stuff with the feral must be stressing you out so much.”

“It must?” I watch her serve us a portion of the meal.

She nods. “It must be constantly reminding you of your parents. No wonder you’ve been so stressed.”

My shoulders relax.

Yes.

That’s exactly what this is.

The feral is reminding me of what I’ve lost.

Trust Marisa to see it when I couldn’t. I’m too close to the situation. Probably so is Finan.

“I’m just confused,” I say.

She nods firmly. “Once you’ve killed it, then all your tension will melt away.” She pauses before cutting her steak. “Or I can if you want?”

I twist the lid off my beer and lift the bottle to my lips. “Can what?”

“Kill the feral. I don’t mind.”

I take a long draw of my beer and set the bottle down.

Beautiful Marisa in a dusky pink lingerie who has prepared a romantic meal for us, likely waited around for hours for me to return from my run, and hasn’t complained once about me being gone so long when I’m the one who suggested this date.

Now she’s volunteering to get rid of my problem for me. She is easing my burden. I should be jumping all over her offer. So why aren’t I?

“Aren?” she asks, frowning slightly. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine.” I hack into my steak like it offended me and try not to notice the way Marisa is studying me.

When my plate is clear, I gulp down the rest of my beer and wonder what happened to my relaxation from my run.

Marisa starts talking about what she got up to today. All the while, I’m thinking about the fact I haven’t given the feral any water in days. What if it dies?

Why do I care if the feral dies?

A feral literally ripped my world apart, took the people I love most away from me, and I’m giving a shit whether this one has had any water. I should be drowning her in water, not wanting to ease her thirst.

It , I remind myself, the feral is an it. Not a her.

“Aren?”

I blink to refocus.

Marisa is frowning at me across the table.

“Yeah?”

She gives me a searching look, then places her glass of red wine down and rises. “You look so stressed. You need to relax.”

She pours herself into my lap, loops her arms around my shoulder and kisses my throat.

I lean back. “What are you doing?”

“Relaxing you,” she says, leaning forward to kiss me again.

I grasp her by both arms and hold her away from me, preventing her from giving me more of the neck kisses that make me want to dump her off my lap and run. “That’s not necessary.”

She smiles teasingly. “Ah, I know what you want.”

When she gets up, I breathe a sigh of relief until she drops to her knees and reaches between my legs.

I shoot to my feet, grip her by both arms, and pull her up. “You know what? I’m tired tonight. Thanks for dinner.” I walk her quickly to my door, open it, and gently nudge her outside. “Goodnight.”

She gives me a suspicious look. “You’ve been behaving strangely since the feral arrived. You aren’t…” Her voice trails off and her green eyes sharpen.

“Aren’t what?” I ask.

She shakes her head and smiles as she retreats a step. “Nothing. Just thinking out loud. Goodnight.”

I close the door and lean against it. My wolf is pleased. I’m confused as I scrub a hand over my face on my way to the bathroom to wash the scent of her off my skin.

Marisa has no clue how close she came to dying tonight and I have no clue what is sparking this violence in me.

Why now, after months of fucking Marisa, am I ready to kill her for touching me?