Page 53 of Someone Else's Wolf

Peter deserved better. I told him that a lot, and reminded him that he didn't have to settle for me, either.

"What are you talking about? Settle for you?" He looked at me with a funny little smile, as if he thought I was joking. "You're...you know. You're great." He gave me a light punch on the bicep, his smile shy.

It wasn't the easiest thing in the world for Peter to admit he liked me. His loyalty issues went deep. Intense guilt seemed to accompany any admission, no matter how oblique, that his mate was really a pretty terrible person. That he liked me better. That it was a relief Jeffrey was back in jail.

Loyalty to one's mate, no matter the cost, had been drilled into his consciousness since birth. That was how wolves behaved. But those rules hadn't accounted for an unequal partnership, where the loyalty was one-sided and one partner was abusive and exploitative.

Really, what had his pack been thinking? He shouldn't even have "married" another wolf that young, and he certainly shouldn't have chosen someone older, someone shady, and without that same loyalty to give. Even mates with some relationship issues could probably work them out a lot better if they both had the same level of commitment. But there was a big difference between that and what Peter had been living with for so long.

It might not be easy for him to talk about loyalty or love, but I had no such qualms. I told him every day that I loved him, that I thought of him as my boyfriend, that I was committed to this, to him. And if he wanted out, he could leave me, but I wasn't going to stop caring about him — and I was going to protect him to the best of my ability from now on.

He found the whole thing completely embarrassing and would usually shut me up with a kiss before I could finish.

I called him at work. I checked on him. I asked Sue if he was eating, and kept on him about it at home. He showed an unnerving tendency to cook big meals for me, but barely bothered to eat anything himself.

At first, he found my kitchen difficult to use and too small, and of course my pots and pans were all wrong. But after a bit, he got my kitchen arranged to better please himself, and we filled my pantry with the right supplies and my fridge with things to eat.

He tsked over the takeout containers that had been forgotten and had gone half-moldy in the back. He threw away every single one of my pizza place flyers and order out menus, even the aging magnets on the fridge. When I complained, the indignant flash in his eyes as he refused to apologize was worth giving up fast food entirely.

"You're certainly not going to keep eating that way," he informed me.

"I'll have to resign myself to your stews and soups and beef Wellington," I replied with a wink.

"I know you're joking, but, yes, you will."

It was things like that that projected very clearly how he felt about me. He could only approach it from the dark side, for moments at a time, and not while he was thinking directly about it. But he cared about me, however guiltily, and he was planning to stay with me for the long haul.

I was pretty sure of it. And that made me pretty damned content.

I hadn't realized the challenges we'd be facing in order to be together. I'd have said they were impossible to overcome if I'd known. Sometimes, it still felt like it would always be an uphill battle, but I knew what we were dealing with now. It wasn't a secret, and I wasn't making it all about me.

When Peter didn't — couldn't — say he loved me, it wasn't really about me at all. I knew he did, or at least close enough to work for now and maybe forever. Anyway, I had what I wanted: Peter, safe and sound, in my home, in my arms, no longer subject to that jackass's whims and rages.

I thanked Kirk more than once for his advice, and for being my backup — and for saving some of Peter's pots and pans.

"You know how to thank me," he said, giving me a stern stare.

And I did. Bringing him some of Peter's delicious homemade food — salads, sandwiches, brownies, and the occasional four-course meal leftovers — was a good start. Kirk never said much about the food, but he ate every (vegetarian) bite. A soft grunt of satisfaction when he realized what was for lunch that day was the highest accolade he offered. Coming from him, that was enough.

Peter rather enjoyed the challenge of cooking for someone with special dietary needs, as he put it. When I asked what he meant by that, he looked surprised. "No meat," he said, as if it should have been self-explanatory. I supposed that to a wolf, it was.

We were learning to communicate about the things that weren't self-explanatory in a relationship like ours. There was still a lot to learn, and a long way to travel — but I was confident we were walking the right way, arm in arm, together.

#

Most of the time, our relationship seemed a lot like it used to be. He cooked for me, we joked together, I got annoyed when I felt neglected, and he was awkward about anything social. He was as tactile and affectionate as he used to be, except for when he was having a bad day and didn't particularly want to see anyone or look at anyone, much less touch or be touched. There weren't many days like that, but there were some.

As ill at ease as he'd been before, his confidence had retreated even further. He freaked out the first time he dropped and broke one of my dishes — a panic attack. He wasn't hurt, nobody was here to judge, and I sure as hell wasn't going to berate him, ever. But the old feelings bubbled up and he was hyperventilating and close to tears, couldn't stop it, couldn't avert it — he took a while to wind down from that awful place.

It hurt so much to see him like that and know it was about things in his past, and how he'd been treated by Jeffrey. To know that I couldn't undo any of it. All I could do was be here for him, a steady, friendly presence, ready to talk or listen, or cuddle or otherwise comfort when and if he was ready.

"I hate that you see my weakness. I was so much stronger before he came back."

"You will be again. None of this is your fault."

"I blame myself, though. What was I thinking, way back when I picked him?" He pushed his hands up over his face and breathed into them, fighting the guilt, sorrow, and regret that still accompanied so much of his memory related to his mate. "When he went to jail, it was a new life. Then he came back, and I wasn't myself anymore. I was his, and I didn't want to be. I wanted to be myself — and I wantedyou."

"You've got me now. For as long as you want me."