The Mates of Monsters

Chapter 14

I don't know what made me detest dependence. Maybe if I flipped through my life like a picture book, I could point out each moment that added a brick to the wall, but I can't. Or maybe I just don't care to know. I'm far too consumed with the fact that I can't help but be dependent on David.

I think I would do anything for him.

"Perfect," Helena says as I slide the dressed potatoes into the oven. "Now can you watch the sauce?"

I stand over the stove and inhale the heavenly fumes of the kitchen. "I'm happy to help every night. It's not like I have anything else to do."

"David's mother did all of the cooking; seeing you in here reminds me of her."

"Oh, do you know where she is now?"

Helena slows down as she prepares the fish. "She passed two or so years ago."

"I'm sorry, David never told me. I just assumed his parents no longer live in the pack."

"Yes, well, the previous Alpha does not. Ever since his mate's passing, he has kept his distance from all of this. He made David Alpha and was off."

I stir the sauce and swallow. "And how does David feel about all of this?"

"His parents were very much in love, as mates tend to be. I'm sure it was a brutal change to endure. He does not say much on the topic, which is understandable, of course. But he has adapted well. He's a strong Alpha, just as his father."

"He is—a good Alpha, I mean."

"I'm sure he would tell you more if you asked," Helena says. "The man knows more about himself than I ever could."

"Of course," I murmur.

Helena takes over so I can have a shower before David comes home and we have dinner. The past few days have been back on schedule, excluding the previous arguments here and there. Yet not arguing hasn't made anything feel much better than before. Last night's dinner wasn't very intimate since Tarlo stopped by with things for David. I finished and went to bed, not hearing Tarlo leave until eleven o'clock.

I return downstairs, expecting David to get back any second. Helena has everything ready under covers, and when I enter the kitchen, she brushes her hands together and says, "David called. He's running a little late."

"I'll just wait for him," I tell her and sit at the table in front of my empty plate.

"Are you sure? Would you like me to stay?"

"No, you've done enough. He'll probably be back within the hour. Please, go home."

Helena leaves, and I continue to wait.

I bring my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around myself while looking out the windows. The sun has nearly set, and the descending darkness dims the room. The only light comes from a single one in the kitchen, but I don't get up to turn on another.

I keep imagining the second I hear the front door push open. What is the first thing I'll say? How will I be sitting? I feel like my mother, waiting with her food for my father to come home. The last thing I wanted was to wait as our dinner cools and as my mind slowly starts to dim with the light. Maybe I would have been in Europe by now—it's the first place I wanted to go. I always pictured myself on a train, plowing through snowy mountains glittering in the daylight. My eyes close and I can nearly feel the warm cup of coffee or tea between my hands. It would have been so cold outside, yet all I could feel was the heat from the train and the thick fabrics against my skin.

Thirty minutes pass and I leave the table. I wander from the dining room to the kitchen to the living-room to the foyer and around again. Walking past the steps, I think about the master bedroom. I think about walking in and looking over everything, but it's isn't worth the risk if he comes home and I am caught. Instead, I return to the kitchen and pick at the food, taking a potato or two. Another fifteen minutes have passed—he's never been this late.