Page 31 of Before the Bond
He started.
“Once upon a time,” he said, “before there were towns — when the forests stretched farther than anyone could see — there was a wolf who loved his mate. He loved her the way he’d been taught to. Completely. Without asking what she needed. He chose everything for her. Where she went. Where she stayed.
“He didn’t think it was wrong. He thought he was taking care of her. Keeping her safe. Making her happy.”
Caleb spoke in a calm and steady tone. But it felt different from the way he usually spoke. It didn’t feel rehearsed or evasive.
For a moment, I could see Caleb baring every emotion he actually felt as he spoke. Wonder, tenderness… regret.
Caleb continued.
“The wolf kept his mate safe,” he said. “He built a life around her and called it devotion.”
“And what about the mate?” I asked.
Caleb’s gaze lowered. “She never left,” he whispered. “Because the bond between them made leaving feel like torture. Like ruin. She stayed because she was supposed to stay. Not because she chose to.”
Caleb paused. The fire shifted, a log settling lower, and the room dimmed slightly and then held. His hands clasped tightly. I could hear the pain in his voice deepen.
“The wolf believed he loved her,” Caleb said. “But he was wrong. What he had was a certainty. He was certain she was his, certain he knew what was right for her, certain his feelings were enough to excuse what he never asked her about. And certainty…” He stopped. “Can look like love.”
I didn’t say anything.
“In the end, the wolf came to regret it all,” Caleb ended. “He’d rather have lost her than kept her that way.”
His voice didn’t waver on it. It was the most certain thing he’d said all evening, which was a specific kind of irony I didn’t examine until later.
The silence that followed was different from the ones we usually shared.
He turned to look at me.
“Is that wrong?” he asked. “Wanting to let her go?”
I thought about it honestly. By now, the book I was reading rested neatly on my lap, closed. I traced its dark cover carefully.
I’d left enough places to have an answer. I thought about my parents, which I didn’t usually let myself do in the middle of conversations. I thought about every place I’d been that I’d chosen not to need.
I remembered the joy of things, and how much torment it was when it all went away.
“I think,” I said slowly, “I’d rather not get there at all, if it meant being lost in it.”
Caleb was quiet for a long moment, and I couldn’t tell if he was agreeing or only acknowledging that he’d heard me, and the difference felt important in a way I couldn’t articulate.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “About earlier. In the study.”
“You don’t have to —”
“I do.” His voice grew louder. He was now sitting at the edge of his chair.
He sighed. “I know what this costs you, working without the full picture. I know that’s not fair to you or to Jake.”
It wasn’t the answer I wanted from Caleb, but something loosened in my chest. For once, Caleb was telling me something without hiding it.
“I don’t want to see you hurt,” he said. “Or upset. It’s the last thing I could ever wish for —”
“I understand why you can’t,” I said.
I meant it. I spent so much time the past few weeks fighting with how things were, that I never let myself sit with why they were there. Even if I didn’t agree with it, I knew everyone’s intentions came from a good place.
