Chapter 3

Caden

He hadn't slept.

Immediately the got back to the estate, he went to his wing of the house and got in shower. He stood under the water for thirty minutes, dried up and went to lay on his bed. It was a useless attempt. Sleep evaded him.

It was not unusual for him to stay awake through the night. What was unusual was the reason behind it. Usually, he stayed up working; his insomnia made him productive. He looked for problems to solve, but today he had no direction.

He'd been at his desk since three in the morning. He'd read the same border report four times and retained nothing. 

He was about to rip the paper when a text came in.

Caden & Marcus

Marcus: You're awake. 

Caden: Obviously. 

Marcus: I'm coming over. 

Caden: It's not yet six. 

Marcus: I know. 

Marcus: I need to tell you something in person. I'll be there in twenty minutes.

Caden was typing when Marcus double-texted. He wondered what Marcus had to say. He set the phone down and stretched. 

Then he looked at the wolf carving on the corner of his desk. It was matte black stone, given to him by his father on the day he was formally named Alpha of Ironveil, ten years ago. You carry the pack. The wolf carries you. He had never been entirely certain he believed this. He kept the carving anyway.

The east window was still dark. October in the West Hills meant the sun came late. Portland's amber glow spread across the low clouds. His territory ran from the hill's edge to the river on one side and north toward the valley on the other. Forty acres of estate that was doing better than ever, yet he had no peace.

He thought of the club again. What was he looking for? Who did his wolf want? His thoughts were interrupted by Sam's quiet footsteps. The man was probably about to bring him coffee.  The drive back had been awkward, and he knew Sam was worried.

He sighed as he heard Marcus's car on the gravel.

Marcus came in without knocking and appeared in the study doorway, looking like he had not slept.  Caden knew he was about to hear something surprising. His beta was dressed but barely — jacket, dark jeans, no tie. He'd forgotten to shave; that was never a good sign. He was carrying an envelope.

Caden looked at the envelope.

Then at Marcus.

"Sit down," he said.

Marcus sat. He placed the envelope on the desk between them and looked away. Marcus seemed heavy; whatever was in that letter was a problem. He put both hands flat on his knees and looked at Caden with an expression Caden read easily: guilt!

"How long?" Caden said.

"Three months."

Silence made a house between them. 

"Three months, you received this in July," Caden repeated. He didn’t know what was in the letter, but he knew it concerned him and that Marcus had hidden it.

"Yes, I… your father received it first. He called me the same day." Marcus's jaw was set. His tone was not defensive; he was taking accountability."He wanted to try to handle it before we came to you. I know I should have told you first, but we thought we could handle it before….He paused. "We wanted to protect you."

Caden picked up the envelope, eager to read through the contents.

It had been opened carefully and resealed. Inside was a single folded sheet, handwritten in a script that was small and controlled in some places and slightly rushed in others.

Alpha Wolfe,

You won't remember me, or perhaps you will. I was twenty-four, and you were twenty-eight, and it was one of those things that mattered more to one person than the other. That person was me. I'm not writing to revisit it. I'm writing because of what I did afterward, the consequences of which I'm only now understanding.

My grandmother gave me a necklace when I turned 18. It was made by her; she had abilities that ran in our family, passed down, and she embedded something into the pendant as a protective measure. She told me, once, that if someone ever hurt me badly enough, I could break it, and a curse would follow the person. She said it like it was a small thing. A minor correction. I believed her.

When things ended between us, now I am not sure I can say we ever started, but still, when you left without the conversation I thought I deserved — I broke it. I was standing in my kitchen at two in the morning. I had called you about 30 times, and it all went to voicemail, so I found a hammer, and  I broke the pendant, and I felt better, and I didn't think about it again.

I got married three months ago. In the happiness of it, I thought about you. I wondered how I was ever hooked on you. I was vaguely curious about you. It was not that I missed you; it was just in a random way, one is curious about people who existed in earlier chapters. I then asked my grandmother about the necklace and what it had actually done.

She told me.

I want you to understand that I thought it would be something like — bad luck with parking or small inconveniences. I did mean to hurt you, but I felt it would be the kind of thing that irritates you constantly, but no real damage. I would not have done it if I had known the severity.

What the curse does: your mate will be invisible to you. You'll see her, but your wolf won't recognize her. The bond will fire in her presence once when you meet and then never again. You'll have no pull, no certainty. One hour after she leaves your proximity, you'll smell daisies. My grandmother's signature is daisies, her favorite, which are embedded in the work.

How it breaks: say her name in her presence. That's all.  Find your mate and call out her given name while she’s in the room. The curse breaks on the sound.

Unfortunately, there is a deadline. My grandmother said ten months from the bond's first activation, the curse becomes permanent. I don't know when activation happens or if it's happened already. I'm writing as soon as I know. I'm sorry that may not be soon enough.

I can't reverse it at all, as I threw the necklace after breaking it. My grandmother says the curse has settled and might not be reversible. I'm sorry. I'm also, I'll admit it, afraid. My husband doesn't know any of this, and I'm in a country that I won't name, and I hope you'll understand why I can't be more specific than this letter.

I am genuinely sorry. I was hurt, and I was careless, and I didn't understand what I was holding.

— Mirabel

He read it twice.

Then he set it on the desk.

"Mirabel," he said. 

"Yes," Marcus said. Quietly.

Caden was still for a long moment. He had a great memory. Ten years of leadership had required him to develop one, and he moved through it now methodically. Twenty-eight. 

He had been a different version of himself at twenty-eight; he was never cruel, at least not deliberately so, but he had been careless where it did not concern his pack. During that time, his pack was threatened with invasions, and Caden did not have the time, nor did he want to build relationships.

He remembered Mirabel. Red hair. They met at a club; he went there to let steam off, and they got talking. Actually, she spoke, and he listened.  She had been obsessed with him, and he had found this — attractive, initially. Soon enough, it became too demanding, eventually, he left without the conversation she deserved.

Twenty-eight-year-old Caden Wolfe had not thought anything of it. It never even crossed his mind; he was too busy attending to packing matters.

He looked at the letter. 

"I thought we had time. The letter referenced an activation — we didn't know when it would happen. It was possible we'd resolve it first. It was possible nothing would ever—" He stopped. "And then last night, I knew exactly what I was watching happen. I went home and called your father. We agreed. You need to know." Marcus was rambling.

Caden wanted to laugh. He might have found this funny at a different age, but 35-year-old him was furious.

"She broke it seven years ago," he said.

"Approximately, yes."

"And now I have ten months." He looked up. "From last night."

"Yes."

"Did your tracer find her?"

"No. She and her husband have moved at least twice. No fixed address we can locate, no active social presence. She doesn't want to be found, which—" Marcus paused. "Which is understandable, given."

"Given that she cursed an Alpha." He said it without inflection. "Yes. Understandable." He stood. He didn’t even know whether to continue tracing Mirabel. What was the point? She had mentioned she couldn’t reverse it; even if he found her, it would not help him find his mate. Still, maybe her grandmother could help.

"How angry should I be at you and my father?"

Marcus considered this, knowing the question was rhetorical, but he felt a need to answer. "He made the wrong call for the right reason. I followed it. We both owe you an apology, and we both know it."

Caden looked at the trees for a moment. He turned back to the room. "Call the club, I want the names of everyone who entered or exited between nine and eleven. I need that list today."

"I already did that. I'll follow up immediately."

"And Marcus." His voice dropped to the register that was more serious than Marcus had ever heard. "Going forward. Whatever comes in, from my father, from the tracer, from anyone. I must hear it first.  Not after you've decided you can handle it."

Marcus met his eyes steadily. "Understood. I'm sorry, Caden."

"I know," Caden said. "Go home and shave. You look terrible."

Marcus & Elias Wolfe

Marcus: I told him. 

Elias: How did he take it? 

Marcus: On a scale of one to ten, he's presenting as a three, which means he's a seven. 

Elias: God. 

Marcus: He's not wrong to be angry. 

Elias: No. He's not. I'll call him in an hour. 

Marcus: He'll answer. 

Elias: I know. That's almost worse.

Caden & Marcus

Caden: Can we get footage from the club? Where are we with the names?

Marcus: We got entrance and car park feeds. 340 confirmed entries between 8 and 11 PM. There’s no footage from inside the club to protect the clientele. I’m working through faces from the footage we got now. 

Caden: Prioritize female wolves. Cross-reference the pack registry. Unmated, of course\

Marcus: That's most of the day, boss. 

Caden: Then you should get started. 

Marcus: Yes, Alpha.

He sat back at his desk after that and looked at the wolf carving and thought about a twenty-four -year-old woman standing in her kitchen at two in the morning, hurt and certain she was doing something small.

He picked up the letter. Read the last paragraph again. I was hurt, and I was careless, and I didn't understand what I was holding.

He knew something about that, he supposed.

He folded the letter back into the envelope and placed it in the top-left drawer of his desk, under everything else, where he put things that required returning.

He had ten months to find his mate.