Getting away with the Alpha's Pup

Chapter 14

Dylan

“Oh, Dylan, love, I’m so sorry,” My mom wrapped her arms around me, but I didn’t squeeze her back, worried that if I did, I’d shatter completely. I didn’t have the luxury of showing my hurt. I was the Alpha-in-training. I wouldn’t show weakness, not even to my parents.

My dad was the first to mention practicalities. “We’ll take care of canceling the caterers, but I think it’ll be best if you talk to the pack later.”

Hardening my stare, I said, “Thanks. And yes, I’ll tell them later.” My jaw clenched, and I added, “But it’s not over. We can talk more about all of this later.”

I didn’t miss the worried look my parents exchanged, which said that there was nothing to talk about. Nothing could be done, not if Cherry had rejected the mating bond between us. But needing space, I left them, stalking down the path to my own house.

I realized that it was only now, with my heart feeling like shrapnel in my chest, that I knew what it wanted. It wanted its mate. I wanted Cherry. I’d fallen in love with her but too late. If I’d only swallowed my pride and nurtured our relationship by showing her the affection she deserved, I knew with my every fiber that our love would have grown.

Her words from only hours ago haunted me in a way I knew they’d continue to for years: “it’s not enough, Dylan. We’re not enough. I want a real relationship, a full life.”

As I saw her keys in the bowl, regret swamped me. I thought of how she’d spent the majority of the year under this roof, trying to get to know me, only for me to throw it back in her face. I’d kept her at arm’s length, hiding behind excuses and retreating from her as much as I could.

Then, over the last few months, I’d stagnated, refusing to take things any further than being friends. I had believed that I had all the time in the world for us to know each other and that if we were meant to be together, it would happen in its own time.

Like a blind man, I wandered into the living-room, my gaze skittering around as if searching for something. It stopped on the cushions Cherry had made. Covers that bore my mate’s namesake: Cherry blossom. It was one of the little quirks I’d learned about her over the last few months as she’d shared her designs with me. In every one, she liked to hide her mark in it somewhere. Even in the clothes she made, she’d invariably stitched the detail of two cherries in. It was her signature in every piece she made.

Desperation seized me, and I stumbled into her bedroom. My chest tightened as I took in the empty dresser and the wardrobe. Even the bed had been stripped of her sheets and duvet set. She’d left the duvet and pillows neatly bundled on the mattress.

I collapsed on the bed, clutching the covers to my face. I dragged in a deep lungful of breath, hoping to find her scent buried in the material. I needed her sweet perfume, peppered with the grassy undertone of the pack, but the bedding was absent of it. My heart sank.

The silence in the house rang so loudly around me, and I closed my eyes, trying to imagine her in the living room, in a sea of sketches. I pictured her petite body lying on the living-room floor, her back and long neck as graceful as a dancer’s as she drew flowing lines onto a blank page. Desperately, my tortured mind tried to conjure the scratch of her pencil and the shuffle of papers. I wanted to pretend that she was back. I needed everything to be okay, even if it was only for a moment. But the longer I sat there, the more aware I was of my own breathing and of my hurried heartbeat, telling me that things weren’t okay.

Blinking my eyes open, I saw the one piece of clothing left in the room, hanging from the wardrobe door: the silver dress Cherry had been supposed to wear at our Moon Ceremony. Each fine bead laced into the fabric sparkled like dew on a spider’s web.

My breath caught in my chest as I remembered how devastatingly beautiful she’d looked in the gown the night she’d worn it. Suppressed groans of desire shivered through me as I recalled stroking her beautiful curves through the sheer silk. I remembered her curves and softness pressed up against me, and my cock stirred. Too vividly, the texture of her soft hair fisted in my hand came back to me. Then, a flash of her molten silver eyes pulsed through me.

“Mine,” I remembered growling. The word had thrummed with all the hunger of my wolf and a need that shot up from my very foundation.

With blinding clarity, I realized that it wasn’t just this house that was full to bursting with memories of Cherry, but that, like the designs she crafted, I was part of her now too.

I was hers.