Chapter 25
Ophelia
By the time I woke up and put myself together, the energy in the house seemed to have relaxed significantly. It was as if everyone released a long-held breath. It took no small amount of courage to open the door and walk through the house as if I hadn’t just lost all control and zapped Henry once more, then fallen asleep in his bed like I belonged there.
I expected some kind of giggly comment from Mercy or a sly observation from Deirdre, but they seemed busy with Fran and Nola and didn’t pay any attention as I slipped into the kitchen to help with dinner. It was just as well that Evershaw and Henry argued with someone else on the porch—maybe Silas, though I wasn’t sure since the other wolves who lived in the house tended to disappear when I showed up. That gave me a few minutes to commiserate with Cricket in the kitchen as he wound around between my feet and gazed imploringly at the pile of fajita chicken I grilled.
A few tidbits hit the floor—completely by accident—to satisfy the poor cat’s hunger. It made me feel a little bit better, and I was almost smiling when the air in the kitchen moved and I glanced over my shoulder. Henry stood there, observing my surreptitious spoiling of the cat with a smile on his face. “Are you feeling better?”
I flushed and searched for something else to distract me from the lazy look in his eyes. “A bit, yes. But I should be asking you that. After what I did... I’m so sorry, I don’t know—”
“It was my fault, as Deirdre pointed out,” he said. He eased into the kitchen but didn’t get too close, which I appreciated. I couldn’t think when he was close enough to touch. It was like he muddled my thoughts and sent me into a tailspin. Henry searched through the fridge and started pulling out the rest of the fixin’s needed for good fajitas. “I surprised you.”
“Well, we were in your room, and it wasn’t like Deirdre bothered to ask you about it.” I flipped more chicken off the grill over the stove and replaced it with more of the marinated pieces. “And I’m sorry about that, too.”
Henry smiled with half his mouth. “If we’re going to apologize for everything, then I owe you another one for claiming you’re my mate. So I think we’re maybe even?”
My cheeks heated more. “Okay. We’re even.”
“Good.” Henry leaned his hip on the counter and studied me as I focused on the grilling. “You don’t have to do this, you know. I’m sure Mercy will—”
“She and Deirdre are in some very intense conversations with your sister,” I said. “Besides, I want to be useful. Everyone will be starving very soon, and I don’t want to see what everyone is like when they’re hangry. It’s the least I can do to pay you back for letting me stay here.”
He chuckled and started to cut tomatoes and onions for salsa. “You’re right, it’s best to keep the wolves fed. But there’s no reason you should do all the work yourself.”
I bit my lip to keep from saying anything ridiculous as he worked quietly next to me. The silence stretched under the hiss of the grill until I finally couldn’t take it and blurted out, “But you’re here helping, so I’m not doing it all myself.”
“True enough.” Henry nudged me with his elbow. “If you’re really not feeling up to it, I can—”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Really.”
He nodded, though he gave me a sideways look. “It’s just—you were very upset, and...”
My cheeks burned and my eyes prickled. I really didn’t want to think about all the things I’d said to him during my little pity party. It didn’t bear repeating, and I’d die of embarrassment if I had to relive all the old hurts I’d brought up. “Forget everything I said. I was… worked up. It didn’t mean anything.”
“It sure sounded like it meant something.”
I definitely couldn’t look at him, not with the rough edge to his voice and the hint of sympathy that radiated from every inch of him. He was too understanding, too... nice. And what the hell was wrong with me for being afraid of him being so understanding? “It’s old stuff.”
“You don’t always need to be strong,” he said, voice quiet. “You can lean on…other people for help, you know. It’s not something to be ashamed of.”
I laughed, though it sounded more bitter than I liked. “No one wants to listen to my complaining.”
“I didn’t mind.”
My stomach twisted. I couldn’t look at him. I sensed him closer to my side, close enough to touch, but I wasn’t brave enough to turn and confront him. I gulped for air and focused on the chicken, though my hand shook as I tried to turn it before it burned.
Henry moved closer, his clothing whispering as he moved, and reached around me to take the fork. He flipped the chicken, then turned off the grill. He stood very close and I fought the urge to lean back against him. His free hand settled low on my hip. His breath whispered against my neck and I closed my eyes, swallowing a groan of sheer need.
He murmured, “I enjoyed listening to you, Ophelia.”
His lips brushed my shoulder. I gripped the edge of the counter.
Henry grumbled a little as his fingers tightened and pulled me back against his body. “I always enjoy talking to you, Ophelia.”
“Not just talking,” I said, and I let go. I leaned against him, my eyes still closed, and tried to be braver than I knew I was. “You seem to like…more than just talking.”
He chuckled and it rippled through me. He eased his other arm around my middle, holding me tight and wrapped up in his arms, and kissed up my neck. “That’s very true. But only because you don’t mind.”
