Page 20 of Wolf’s Providence (The Shadowridge Peak #3)

NINETEEN

Willow

Whoever taught Caleb Foster how to use his mouth on a woman’s body deserved a medal.

He started making love to me right after dinner, drawing one orgasm after another until I was nearly sobbing, almost begging for him to stop. When he finally slid inside me and began to move, my body felt weightless, floating through the waves of sensations he stirred within me. Needless to say, I slept so soundly that I woke feeling completely renewed.

I’d slipped out of bed, careful not to wake him, and as the early morning light filled my studio, I settled into my work.

The charcoal seemed to move almost of its own accord across the page, creating rough sketches that were already half-formed in my mind. Over the past few nights, I’d felt the pull, the need to draw, and I knew that the scenes I was creating were not of my own making. Images of places and times I didn’t recognize but that felt unmistakably familiar.

The itch beneath my skin from Caleb’s blood had lessened when I was with him. Sometimes I would be aware of a slow hum, but that was usually when I wasn’t near him. Like my blood needed him near to cure the need I had for him.

He’d definitely cured me of the itch last night. Pressing my thighs together, I remembered my cries filling my bedroom as he squeezed every moment of pleasure from my body.

But the urge to draw had been niggling me, and this morning when I woke, I knew I wouldn’t settle for the rest of the day if I didn’t draw. Every stroke of the charcoal brought another scene from Caleb’s past to vivid life.

In the first quick sketch, a younger Caleb laughed with others around a bonfire. He looked so relaxed in a way I’d rarely seen him. The imposing log cabin stood in the far corner, so I knew he was on Shadowridge Peak, and the others in the sketch would be part of his pack.

Even from my sketch, I could tell the air around them was thick with the kind of camaraderie and belonging that he had never shown me. The dimple on his left cheek was deep when he laughed as he was in the scene. He looked so happy, alive , immersed in a world of shifters.

He belonged there.

In the next sketch, he stood in a vast, open field, the moon high above him, a wolf pup in his arms—was it his? Pushing past the moment of the unknown, I considered him as he stood there. He looked…at peace. Content in a way that pierced me deeper than I wanted to admit.

My chest tightened as I ran a finger over the outline of his form, smudging the harsher line, making it softer. Shading the familiar strong line of his jaw, catching the gleam of happiness in his eyes. I’d never seen this lightness in him. He hadn’t been simply surviving in his pack, he’d thrived in it.

It was becoming clearer, the more I drew, that he had belonged on that mountain, his world, more than he would ever belong in mine.

I dropped the charcoal as I looked over the three sketches I’d made this morning. Rubbing my hands together as if to shake off the cold sinking into me, I wondered if I could give him what he needed.

A pack.

My stomach twisted as I thought back to what Raymond had said to Caleb yesterday. Caleb had told me everything, and it was clear that Lily’s dad hadn’t minced his words about what he thought Caleb should do. Caleb hadn’t pulled any punches when he told me what happened, and then I think, to make up for the harsh words, he’d sexed me into a stupor. But looking at Caleb with his pack, I remembered what he had said to me.

“It’s not like he doesn’t care about you,” Caleb said, his voice tense, his eyes guarded. “But he’s aware of what I am, and because of that, he knows the risks.” Caleb shrugged, almost dismissively. But I could see he was angry, in the way he held his back straight, his shoulders squared.

“‘Aware’? What does that mean?” I’d asked, feeling indignant on his behalf. “You’d never hurt anyone here.”

Caleb had looked at me, the look in his eyes filled with guilt as he remembered he had hurt me. He sighed, his hand rubbing over his face. “That’s not the point, Willow. To him, I’m a threat just by being here. That’s all he sees, a creature who can bring danger to his world. His daughter’s world.” He’d looked away, jaw tense. “And can we say he’s wrong?”

I’d wanted to argue, tell him he did belong here, that he was more than just a threat, but the words wouldn’t come. Because deep down, I’d wondered if Raymond was right. Not about Caleb being dangerous, but about him not truly belonging here. After all, how could he feel at home in a place where he was always watching himself, never being his true self?

Feeling numb, I picked up the charcoal again, almost mechanically. The next image flowed from me effortlessly—a scene of Caleb, older, wiser, surrounded by shifters and wolves, the alpha of his pack. The ache in my chest grew as I shaded in his proud, confident stance, seeing how he would’ve looked in a life where he was free and had a pack to lead.

With a sniff, I hastily brushed away the tears before they had a chance to spill over. Standing, I turned to the door to freshen up before he woke, but he was already there. Leaning against the frame, watching me, his expression unreadable.

“They started again?” he asked, nodding towards the sketches.

“Yeah,” I murmured, hoping he couldn’t see them. “Been fighting the urge to draw, which meant they came out faster than ever.”

He walked into the room, looking over my shoulder easily, as his arms slipped around me, pulling me close to his chest. But I was still able to tilt my head and look up at him, seeing how his gaze softened when he looked at the sketches. A small, almost wistful smile curved his lips. “You’ve been busy,” he said quietly. “I haven’t thought of that night in years,” he told me, reaching out and picking up the sketch of him at the bonfire with his pack. His friends.

He said nothing as he looked at the one with the wolf pup, and the quiet stretched between us, heavy with unsaid words. I pushed myself closer to him, knowing he was looking at the sketch of him older with a pack. Hating myself for wanting to demand if he was happy here, if he could be happy here…with me.

“This is my little sister,” he told me, breaking the silence. I moved so I was turned to the sketch pad. He kept an arm around me as he looked down at the drawing. “She was a late addition to our family,” he added softly. “Mother called her ‘her little surprise.’”

“What was her name?” I asked, looking between the drawing and at him.

“Callie,” he murmured, his eyes filled with pain. “She was three when they murdered her.”

“Caleb…” Pressing my head into his pec, I tried to hold back the tears. “I’m so sorry.”

I felt his lips press against my hair. “Can I keep this one?” His voice was thick with emotion, and I could only nod because I knew I was going to sob if I tried to speak.

We stayed like that for a few minutes, both of us grappling with emotions that I was sure were vastly different from each other.

Eventually, I stepped back, and when I looked up at him, he was waiting, his eyes searching mine, catching the question I hadn’t dared ask yet.

“Willow…”

“You look so free here.” I gestured to the drawing of his pack. “So at ease.” I swallowed hard. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that.”

Caleb let out a slow breath, his hand finding mine, tugging me closer. “My past was…a different time. Who I am in that drawing, I can’t go back to that, not even if I wanted to.”

“Maybe,” I conceded, biting my lip. “But can you say you’ll find that here, outside of your world, where you can be free? Maybe there’s something left for you on Shadowridge Peak.”

Caleb’s gaze flickered, something vulnerable flashing across his face. “You want me to leave?”

“No, I didn’t say that. But…I don’t want to be the reason you feel…I don’t know…trapped?” My voice was barely above a whisper. I picked up the third sketch, the one where he was an alpha of a pack. “I don’t want to keep you from something you might still need.”

His grip tightened on my hand, his expression hardening. “Willow, you don’t hold me back. No matter what my past held, it doesn’t change what I want now, and I want you .”

“Really?”

He smiled softly, brushing a thumb over my knuckles. “I want you.” Dipping his head, he brushed a kiss over my lips. “I want to sleep beside you every night. I want to wake up beside you every morning.”

He kissed me again, his mouth moving over mine with a possessiveness I loved, and as the tension slipped away, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, we would find a way to make it work.

The next morning, a sliver of sunlight crept through my curtains, illuminating the room in a warm glow. I blinked sleepily, rolling over to find the space next to me empty, the sheets cool. I sat up, rubbing my eyes as memories of yesterday settled in. Caleb and I had bared pieces of ourselves yesterday morning, maybe things we’d been holding back, but I had felt lighter.

I’d gone to work in the early afternoon and spent the day with Lorna, picking up on work I’d missed. She’d set up an inventory of work from local artists that she wanted me to consider hanging in the gallery. It had become apparent to me she had her own opinion, and after a few conversations, I’d finally just made her tell me her thoughts.

She’d been a student and, let’s be honest, a very basic artist, but she had a good eye, and she knew what fit in the gallery. She knew what complemented my style, and I genuinely enjoyed working with her.

Caleb had been in and out during the afternoon, never straying far but never permanent, and I knew Lorna was still someone he wasn’t wholly comfortable around.

We’d enjoyed a quiet dinner, then I went into my studio and Caleb went out to “stretch his legs.” When he came back, we’d had an early night.

It was a good day.

Now I was awake, a new day, and my bed was empty. Part of me wondered if I’d said too much, voiced doubts he didn’t need to hear. But…I also felt a satisfaction that it was out there, and he’d listened to what I was trying to say.

Pulling on a sweater and a pair of sleep shorts, I left my bedroom, the scent of coffee guiding me to the kitchen.

Caleb was standing by the window, a mug in his hand, looking out the window to the trees like he was watching something far away. He didn’t speak when I walked in, but his head tilted slightly, acknowledging my presence. As I walked up to him, he wordlessly pulled me into his side, wrapping an arm around me, as if he’d been holding me like this every morning for years.

Putting his cup down, he reached over and placed a steaming mug in front of me. “Morning. I heard you were awake.”

“Thanks.” I took a sip, knowing that it would be made perfectly. Caleb was thorough in everything he did. I let the warmth settle me, and we stood in silence for a moment before I glanced at him, trying to read his mood. I wasn’t sure why he looked so pensive this morning.

Caleb sighed. “I can’t stop thinking about what Raymond Summers said,” he began, his gaze shifting to look down at me. “I meant everything I said yesterday, but…” His gaze flicked back to the trees, searching for the words. “And you’re drawing again. I can’t stop thinking this is Luna’s doing.”

I frowned, instantly on guard. “You think your Goddess is trying to keep us apart?”

“No.” He shook his head. “But the shaman and, I think, even Cannon think she has more of a hand in everything. I don’t think it’s a stretch to say she influences your drawings,” he said softly. “And if that’s what we accept, then what is she trying to tell us by showing my past or…”

“Your future.”

His gaze softened. “This doesn’t mean I’m going anywhere. I’m just trying to figure out how to make this work, with us being…us.”

“I know,” I murmured. I wanted to move away, but I also wanted to press closer. “I think we’ve both been guilty of forgetting everything that has happened to us over the past few days.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, his lips pressing into a thin line, then turning to a quick smile. “Not that I’m complaining,” he added. “But I’ve been ignoring the threat to you. You have people targeting you, and I need to find out who.”

His words dropped between us, heavy. He was right; reality was knocking on the door, even as we tried to pretend nothing could affect us in this bubble.

It was time to face it head-on.

Moving out of the comfort of his arm, I leaned against the counter, tracing the rim of my coffee mug. “I take it you have a plan?”

His jaw tightened, not liking that I’d moved, but he accepted it. “I’ve marked boundaries out around the town, marking territory, making it clear I’m ready to defend what’s mine.”

What did that mean? I had a sudden image of him as a wolf marking his territory. Caleb saw my eyes widen and rolled his in reply.

“You went there, didn’t you?” he asked with a shake of his head.

“You peeing in a straight line around the town?” I asked bashfully. “Yeah, I did…sorry.”

He muttered something that sounded a lot like juv e nile , but I wasn’t certain. I studied him, seeing the fierceness in his expression that I hadn’t seen since he came back. This was the side of Caleb I sometimes didn’t feel comfortable with, but it was the side I knew best. This was the fighter in him, finding a purpose in protecting something—and someone—he cared about.

“What are you thinking?” I asked, already dreading the answer. “What’s the plan?”

His gaze was soft. A warmth filled my belly as he looked at me, and I felt a sense of relief when I saw a shadow of a smile touch his lips. “Putting ‘low-key dinners’ on the backburner for a while.” His smile grew when he heard my chuckle. “As much as I enjoyed it, let’s focus on what’s important.”

“They’ll be devastated at the thought of missing out on your smooth-flowing conversation,” I teased, feeling a bit of the tension ease.

“Yeah, I’ll do better,” he promised, looking slightly abashed. “But first,” he said, growing serious, “I want to get to the bottom of who’s using you to get to me.”

For a long moment, neither of us spoke, letting the threat settle between us. It wasn’t going to be easy, but no part of me wanted to back down.

I wanted Caleb to know I was as willing to fight for him as he was for me. “What are you thinking?” I took a drink of my coffee.

“I want to draw them out,” he told me, his gaze steady and clear.

That sounded doable. “Okay, how?”

A determined glint was in his eyes, and I suddenly felt wary.

“How do you feel about being bait?”