Wild and Free(201)

“It’s happening,” she repeated, her hand in his lapel tightening, drawing him to her, pulling him close but she didn’t have to. He bent into her as frantic activity bustled in the room.

“We’re getting a tub of ice. It’s going to be all right,” he promised.

“You know I love you?” she whispered and Callum felt his heart squeeze because her tone was frail but it was also final.

“Yes, I do and I love you too, baby doll. Now, hang on.”

“With everything I am,” she stated, so softly, her voice fading with each word and Callum felt her body burn into his as her fingers started to loosen on his lapel.

No, this was not happening.

He pulled her closer, tighter. “Stay with me, Sonia. Stay with me, little one.”

Her eyes filled with tears and held his as she whispered, “With everything I was meant to be.”

This was not happening. It wasn’t happening. It couldn’t happen. She had to survive, at least until it began.

This was not fucking happening.

Then it happened.

His mate, his bride, his wife, his queen went limp in his arms. Her green eyes open and still on him, there was nothing behind them. No focus. No light.

They were vacant.

Dead.

Dead.

Just.

Like.

That.

He stared into her pretty face and whispered, “This is not happening.”

Sonia didn’t move, her hand had fallen away from his jacket, he felt no breath from her lips touch his face, the room around him was still, a dread feeling creeping through the space, slithering, cold, ugly, heinous.

“This is not fucking happening,” he whispered, cradling Sonia close, smelling her smell, feeling the burn of her body cooling.

He didn’t twitch as Orphenon moved in, placing his fingers to Sonia’s neck as Callum stared into her face.

Vacant.

Dead.

“Please, God,” he begged, “make this not be happening.”

Orphenon’s fingers moved away and he said quietly, his voice grave, “Your grace, I’m so sorry.”

It was happening.

Rage tearing through him, Callum surged up, holding his mate’s lifeless body tight to his massive chest, he threw his head back and thundered useless words, “This is not fucking happening!”

He felt a hand light on his arm and his mother’s soothing voice, “She’s gone, Callum, sweetheart. We knew this day would come. Please –”

Callum twisted, leaned in and barked in his mother’s face. “This can’t happen.”

She didn’t flinch.

She lifted a hand to the side of his face, hers was tortured, understanding of his pain etched in her features and she whispered, “I’m so sorry, my beloved boy.”

It was then, he felt it. His skin prickling. The change was coming and he knew he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t.

He didn’t even fucking want to.

He turned, bent and placed his bride’s body on the couch like she was a piece of priceless crystal, which she goddamned was, and he stared into her eyes one last time.

Then he lifted a hand and closed them, his throat tightening, his skin beginning to burn. He bent deeper, taking in her scent, his eyes moving over her still flushed skin, registering she looked peaceful and hating it. Wanting her to sit up and argue with him. Tease him. Smile at him. Fuck, he’d take her writhing and shrieks if it meant she was still breathing.

But she wasn’t breathing.

He closed his eyes, pulled in her scent one last time then bent close and touched his mouth to hers.

“My bride,” he whispered against her motionless lips. He opened his eyes and they met hers that were closed and would be for eternity. “With everything I am, everything I’m meant to be, baby doll. Always.”

He heard quiet, muffled female whimpers but he ignored them. He took off his wedding ring, lifted her hand and placed the band in her palm. Closing her inert fingers around it, he pressed it to her belly.

His pup.

He closed his eyes.

He lost his wife and his pup.

On his fucking wedding day.

Yes, he could take no more.

He turned, crouched and gave in, leaping to wolf in mid-air, he landed on his paws and bolted through the bodies. Out of the room, past the guards, through the onlookers held back at the mouth of the hall who stared and gasped as they saw their king race through them, stepping back to give him room, one opened the door to the building and he shot through.

And he ran.

He ran for miles, for hours through the wood, his heart pumping, his paws moving, the needles on the trees brushing his fur.

He felt nothing.

Nothing.

In a way he knew he’d never feel anything again.

Except the pain.

* * * * *

Callum sat as wolf, howling his agony through the trees to the full moon.