“He made a mistake.” Della leveled Hunter with a somber look. “Maybe it was maliciously intended, maybe not, but it would hurt you and the Pack to harm someone you considered a brother, and the settlement has already had enough violence. It’s time to move forward.” Her attention shifted to Cal. “What do you think?”
Was it possible for a heart to explode from too much feeling? If his abused organ tried to contain any more love for this woman, Hunter would need to return to sew the overtaxed muscle back together.
“I think y’all should listen to my Omega.” Cal pulled Della down to his lap with an unexpected tug on her hips, laughing at her surprised yelp. Her hair wisped soft and fragrant over his face as he planted a kiss on her cheek. He shot a glance to Hunter, who appeared to be slowly backing his way to the door.
The bond trilled a sweet, happy note as Della’s emotions flooded out from her and into him. Craving recognition or deference would never be Della’s prerogative, but that didn’t mean she didn’t deserve to be appreciated for all she did for Morris Hill. Too humble and modest to demand it for herself, Cal made it his personal mission to garner more respect for Della from the Alphas who fancied themselves in charge of it. One foot or no, the next Alpha who derisively referred to her as “mommy” in his earshot would be very sorry they did.
“Will do.” Hunter disappeared out the door, not lingering over a goodbye, which Cal suspected was both his style and a nod to their need for some imminent alone time. He hooked a lock of Della’s hair behind her ear, peppering her cheek and jawline with kisses.
“Is he gone?” he purred in her ear, his hand finding its way under her shirttail and grazing the underside of her breast. It wouldn’t take much to pick up where they’d left off earlier.
Della hummed an answer, the vibration snaking its way from low in her throat directly to his groin. Angling her head in a clear invitation to continue the amorous attention he was paying to her neck, her throaty voice whispered, “Do you want to talk about it?”
Cal growled against her skin. “’Bout what?”
Her shoulders quaked with a small laugh, and he pulled back to her elegantly concerned face. She rasped the pads of her fingers over bristles of his beard growth. “Your foot. Hunter’s apology. The Pack. The future. Anything. Everything.”
“Y’know...” Snatching her hand, he brought her palm to his lips, kissing it before laying it against his heart where it belonged. “I’ve spent too much of my life punishing myself for mistakes and being punished by others for the same. For too long, I’ve been living in the past.” Cal drew in a deep breath against the expanding love for his mate. “You’re my present and my future, darlin’, and that’s the only place I want to be.”
Eyes overflowing with affection, Della heaved a sigh that brought her shoulders down from her ears. “Okay. As long as you can be happy here.”
Grinning, he palmed her chin and dragged her lips to his, reassuring her in the best way he knew how. Between softly frantic kisses, he whispered against her lips, “Don’t you know? I already am.”
EPILOGUE
Cal
Two months later
“Time for a refill?”
Cal reluctantly tore his attention away from the sight of his mate, laughing with a small group of Omegas across the fire. She’d gone to fetch another helping of roast pig and, as usual, had been waylaid by people wanting to tell her something or ask her questions or advice. Not that he minded, not in the least. No longer holding herself back, no longer on the outside looking in, it warmed his soul to see her embrace and be embraced by the community in this way. It was everything she deserved and nothing less.
The last two months in the settlement had been busy and difficult but ultimately reparative. The Alphas made a point to reach out with friendly offers and invitations, and the topic of potential prosthetic designs was frequent around the campfire. Matteo teased him frequently about his future as a “peg-leg cowboy,” but he didn’t care, laughing it off and grateful for every morning he awoke to Della nestled beside him.
The Pack had launched into the rebuilding effort as soon as the wreckage stopped smoking, clearing it out and framing a new and improved mess hall within the week. The damage, while significant, was far from catastrophic, and everyone understood whom they owed for that. Once Cal could move about with the aid of crutches, he’d thrown himself into the efforts as much as possible: sawing, planing wood, hammering, or debating proposed design plans. It was such a relief after weeks of inactivity that he didn’t mind the additional discomfort in the healing stump or the fatigue that had him crashing in bed before the sun set most nights. Apparently, recovering from a traumatic amputation really took it out of you.
The recovery efforts proceeded so well that Hunter announced the evening’s pig roast and bonfire in celebration of the mess hall’s completion. Next, they would start on the Omega bunkhouse, finally fulfilling Della’s vision. As a nod to his mate’s new position of respect in the Pack, Cal had made sure everyone involved understood it was Della’s project to spearhead, and no one dared object, not even the Alpha loitering to his left.
Colt, brows raised, held an outstretched pitcher of beer. “Refill?”
Wrestling down his surprise, Cal drained his cup and held it out. “Thank you, brother,” he said, tone studiously bland.
Cup refilled, Colt took a seat, nursing his cup as a cautious silence permeated the air. Since the night of the attack, Cal had seen Colt plenty around the settlement, but their interactions, when necessary, remained brief, to the point, and superficial. Of all the Alphas, Colt had been the one to hang back in extending the olive branch, which always struck Cal as not an accident. But he couldn’t dwell on it. By unspoken agreement, he’d buried all of their unresolved history in a shallow grave Cal fully intended to ignore.
He examined the younger Alpha with a critical side-eye. As a general rule, Alphas flourished under exertion. With the effort required to rebuild the mess hall and erect the new Omega bunkhouse, muscles grew and honed and hardened day by day. Even Cal’s injury recovery was aided by diving into the hard work as much as he could, and despite the nightly fatigue, his leg strengthened and body healed at a pace that never failed to keep Della in constant awe.
Colt, though Cal frequently saw him in the thick of the reconstruction, appeared exhausted and weakened, a far cry from the confident Alpha Cal had fought at the beginning of summer for entry into the Pack. But they were not close—far from it—so Cal had kept his observations to himself.
Tipping his head back, Colt poured at least half a cup of the alcohol down his throat, pounding a fist against his chest to choke it down before giving a final cough to declare his mastery over the mouthful. “I owe you an apology,” he said, voice strained and gravelly.
Shock locked Cal’s body in place; any response to this revelation held tight inside as reactions stampeded through his mind. Colt, the one who possessed the key to the shackles that could’ve set Cal free with the simple flick of a wrist rather than an impromptu hacking surgery, most certainly owed him far more than an apology. Responses like, “oh, you fucking think so” and “what took you so goddamn long?” and “how about apologizing to Della for putting her in a position where she almost died and then had to cut off her mate’s foot?” danced on his tongue.
But he didn’t say any of that. Instead, he turned his face toward him before blandly asking, “Is that so?”
The Second’s eyes squeezed shut, lines carving their way into his forehead. “I shouldn’t have kept the key.” He swallowed thickly. “That night. I should’ve given it to someone else to hold—one of the younger pups, someone who could’ve freed you when I didn’t remember.”
Cal lowered his brows. “You. Didn’t.Remember?”