“What?”
Caia looked at him intently; he had no idea what she was talking about. She groaned and whispered an unintelligible ‘Forget it,” under her breath.
“Caia.” He was crouching down before her again, his hand brushing her hair back from her face affectionately and bringing her strange thoughts back to him. “You going to be OK?”
She nodded mutely, her heart suddenly thumping loudly at his nearness, his touch. Goddess, she hoped he couldn’t hear it.
He smiled. “Why don’t you come for a walk with me then? Get up off the cold bathroom floor?”
His change in tone made her frown and she quickly got to her feet. “I’m not five years old,” she said dryly, brushing past him. She stopped abruptly and turned back to face him; he nearly crashed right into her having been tailing right behind her. She drew in a deep breath as her heart thudded again at his proximity. She had to crane her neck back to gaze up at his face. “And...” she managed. “Just so you know, I don’t cry like that normally.”
Lucien lips quirked up at the corner. “I actually believe that.”
Hmm, she wasn’t sure what he meant by that, or how she should respond.
It was quiet out here, just as he liked it. Being Pack Leader he didn’t really have much time for himself, and so was always the more appreciative of quiet moments such as these. Caia walked a few steps ahead of him, stepping over bracken and rocks as they picked their way through the woods. Lucien let her have some space for a while, knowing she probably needed some time to collect herself. She seemed embarrassed for having been caught crying. Lykans were an emotional lot, he was used to women crying and shouting over nothing. But the sight of Caia curled up on the bathroom floor with true pain behind her eyes had done something to his insides. He never wanted to see her like that again. Damn these unexpected feelings towards her - they had hit him from the left field.
“It’s heaven out here.” She stopped in front of him, her head tilted back as she breathed in heady earth.
Lucien smiled, strolling towards her slowly. “It’s why I chose the house.”
“I can see that.” She opened her eyes and smiled gently back at him. Her eyes were still red and puffy from her crying, but at the same time the green in them seemed to be electrified from all the tears. He felt himself caught in her gaze, feeling like a shy teenager all of a sudden. At the long silence she quirked her eyebrow in amusement. Lucien cleared his throat feeling himself flush. What on Gaia was going on with him?
“Uh-” He looked away from her, staring ahead into the deepening forest. “Uh... Oh did ah... Irini tell you the story about the pack history?”
“No. Apparently Irini didn’t tell me much,” she replied dryly.
Lucien thought he caught a note of annoyance in her voice and narrowed his eyes on her. “Are you angry about that?”
“No.” She sighed, her sweet face crumpling wearily. “I even understand it. It’s just... hard.”
Her response touched him. Lykans were such volatile beings, usually quick to anger and frustration. But she wasn’t like that. The kindness with which she seemed to approach everything and everyone appeared too honest to be anything other than the truth of her. It made it hard to keep his guard up around her. She seemed to pose no threat whatsoever.
He shoved his hands in his jeans pocket and started walking ahead.
“Where are you going?”
“Into the story. Are you coming?” He threw back over his shoulder.
He heard her laugh at his whimsy and then pick up speed until she was striding by his side. “Remember to slow it down a little. My legs are like an entire foot shorter than yours.”
“Are they really?” He let his gaze wander over them flirtatiously and then laughed when he saw her blush. She was too easy to tease.
“The story,” she reminded him wryly.
Lucien chuckled. “Right.” He glanced at her as she stepped gracefully over a small fallen tree limb. “You know the pack originates from Portugal, right?”
She nodded, not taking her eyes from her path. “Some of our surnames give it away,” she reminded him.
“Right... And you know about Lunarmorte?”
“Lunarmorte. Moon Death,” she breathed. “I can’t believe you fought one.”
He felt a sharp pain in his chest at the reminder. “I don’t like to talk about it.” He was curt. He didn’t mean to be, but discussing how he had killed a man he had grown up with, brought with it a hailstorm of pain that was just a little too overwhelming to bear.
“Of course. Sorry.”
The patience in her eyes made him sigh in relief. If he’d spoken that way to his mother or Irini - or any of the women in his pack for that matter – they’d have more than likely snarled and stomped away from him, in hurt.