Sly as a Fox {Book One}

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Change

verb

-to make the form, nature, content, future course, etc., of (something) different from what it is or from what it would be if left alone

Blithe

I'm such an idiot. A controlling, douchebag, fucking idiot that doesn't know anything about my own mate and didn't even try to learn. "What the hell is wrong with me?!" Blithe asked himself out loud as he pulled his arm back and twisted his fingers into a fist, about to punch another hole in his bedroom wall. The third hole in one day. His dad was going to murder him. His temper had never been great, but since yesterday, all of his control had been clipped away along with a bit of his sanity.

She had only been in his life for a few hours, but in that short amount of time, she had turned his life upside down. Blithe's life had been mapped out for him before he could even walk and, in one instant, Willow had entered the picture and changed everything. And at the worst possible time too, with his Alpha ceremony just days away. He couldn't say that he would have it any other way because he already cared for the Volpe, but he also knew that she would never want him back after his outburst and whatever the hell that was.

He knew that if he was in her shoes, he wouldn't want him either, but that still did nothing to lessen the guilt and panging ache in his chest. His face contorted into a scowl as he thought about last night and as he started to wind up his fist in preparation to take out more anger on the wall beside his bed. He figured taking it out on an inanimate object was better than taking it out on an actual being. A dainty hand caught his fist mid-swipe and the feminine touch startled him. He hadn't felt something as gentle and caring since she had last touched him.

Blithe's eyes locked with Tiffany's; she seemed concerned, but her eyes were still as gentle as ever. A timid smile appeared to play on her lips and it was so small, it was almost unnoticeable as she spoke. "Hey, boo," she said calmly, using the nickname she always used to call her older brother as children. This small gesture made his eyes a little wet to remember the last time she had called him that: the tenth anniversary of their mother's death. "How ya' holding up?" She let his fist fall back to his side, and his muscles relaxed when she placed her small hand up on his shoulder.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, still filled with the dirt, leaves, and debris from his previous runs in his wolf form; feeble attempts at releasing the tension. "Not good, sis." Blithe moved out of the grasp she had on his shoulder and went over to the bed where he collapsed his face into a pillow. "Not good at all." He wasn't sure if she could hear him or even understand him because his voice was muffled by the pillow, but he didn't care.

She sighed lightly and came to sit on the side of his bed next to his body and she waited a few seconds before saying anything. Instead of speaking, she simply used her delicate touch to rub his back up and down with just enough pressure to loosen some of his tight muscles. He knew that if someone was separated, emotionally or physically, from their mate, they could change and some of their so-called power was lost, but this separation had taken that to a whole new level. This was almost certainly not normal. Nothing about what had transpired since their meeting was normal.

Tiffany hit a sore spot on the right side of his back he had acquired during one of his many runs. He hadn't been paying attention earlier in the day, full of nothing but a blinding rage, and had ended up tripping over a fallen tree from the last storm. His entire right side was now an ugly green-ish blue bruise. Even his healing was being affected by the separation from his mate. He had lost all control over himself in every sense.