Delia
1432 Words
Delia Voss was beautiful.
That was Elara Whitfield’s first thought when she saw her.
Her second thought was that she wished she hadn’t.
The entire thing happened accidentally.
At least technically.
Elara had stayed late at the diner helping close after one of the kitchen staff called in sick, and by the time she started back toward the cottage, the roads through Cresthaven were nearly empty. The moon hung low and silver through drifting clouds while cold wind carried the scent of pine through town.
Distracted and exhausted, she took the wrong path at the fork near the forest edge without realizing immediately.
Only when the trees thinned did she recognize where she was.
The Drave Estate rose ahead through the darkness, enormous against the moonlit hills.
And tonight the estate glowed.
Golden light spilled from tall windows across the stone walls and front gardens, warm and elegant against the surrounding night. Cars lined the gravel drive. Music drifted faintly through the still air.
Some kind of gathering.
Elara slowed instinctively.
Then stopped altogether.
Through the enormous dining room windows she could see them clearly.
Six figures seated around a long candlelit table.
Crystal glasses.
Dark suits.
Silver cutlery catching the light.
And at the head of the table sat Caelum Drave.
Even from this distance she recognized him instantly.
The straight-backed posture.
The controlled stillness he carried everywhere like armor.
Dark jacket perfectly fitted against broad shoulders.
He looked exactly as he belonged there.
Powerful.
Untouchable.
And beside him sat Delia.
Pale blonde hair fell elegantly over one shoulder while candlelight shimmered against the soft gold fabric of her dress whenever she moved. She was graceful in a way Elara had never managed to be every gesture smooth and deliberate, every smile perfectly composed.
Beautiful.
Sophisticated.
The kind of woman who probably understood complicated political dinners and expensive wine and ancient family expectations.
The kind of woman who looked correct beside a man like Caelum.
Elara watched Delia laugh at something someone said.
Then watched her hand rest lightly near Caelum’s on the table.
The movement was brief.
Casual.
But something cold slid quietly through Elara’s chest anyway.
Sharp enough to steal her breath for half a second.
She stepped backward immediately.
Then turned and walked away.
Fast at first.
Her boots struck hard against the forest path while cold air burned against her lungs.
Ridiculous.
Absolutely ridiculous.
She forced herself to slow down several minutes later.
Then finally stopped altogether in the middle of the moonlit trail.
The forest stood silent around her.
Elara shoved both hands deep into her jacket pockets and stared straight ahead into the darkness.
Then had a very honest conversation with herself.
You have no claim on him.
The thought came brutally clear.
You’ve known him less than two weeks.
He owes you nothing.
He has been kind to you. Generous. Careful with you.
And you are absolutely not allowed to feel whatever this is.
The problem was that feelings rarely cared about logic.
And this feeling this horrible aching twist beneath her ribs ignored reason entirely.
She exhaled sharply through her nose.
“You are being insane,” she informed herself aloud.
The forest, unhelpfully, offered no counterargument.
So she kept walking.
By the time she reached the cottage she had almost convinced herself she was fine again.
Almost.
She made tea automatically.
Boiled water.
Loose leaves.
Honey.
The familiar motions steadied her hands even while something deeper inside remained painfully unsettled.
She carried the untouched cup to the kitchen table and sat staring at the steam rising from it.
This was absurd.
Truly absurd.
She was Elara Whitfield.
She had survived worse things than unreturned feelings for a man she barely knew.
She had buried her mother at nineteen.
Worked double shifts until her feet bled through cheap shoes.
Spent years learning how to survive loneliness sharp enough to physically hurt.
And through all of it, she kept going.
So no.
She was not going to emotionally collapse because Caelum Drave had dinner with another woman.
A beautiful woman.
A socially perfect woman.
A woman his world probably expected him to choose.
Elara closed her eyes tightly.
“I’m fine,” she whispered.
The lie sounded weaker tonight.
She went to bed at nine.
And spent hours lying awake in the dark listening to the forest breathe outside the cottage walls while her chest hurt in ways she deeply resented.
Comprehensively.
Thoroughly.
Not fine.
Caelum Drave lasted exactly four hours.
That alone felt impressive under the circumstances.
The dinner unfolded exactly as Elder Maren intended.
Smooth.
Elegant.
Strategic.
Delia Voss proved intelligent, politically sharp, and flawlessly composed. Her father controlled three hundred miles of northern territory critical to several unstable pack alliances, and every conversation tonight quietly revolved around that reality.
Trade agreements.
Border security.
Rogue activity.
Future cooperation.
Caelum handled every discussion perfectly.
He smiled when expected.
Answered questions calmly.
Played the role everyone needed from him:
Reasonable Alpha.
Responsible leader.
Man making sensible choices.
Meanwhile his wolf spent the entire evening pacing furiously beneath his skin.
Restless.
Agitated.
Oriented relentlessly northeast toward the cottage hidden somewhere beyond the forest.
Toward Elara.
Every instinct inside him remained painfully aware of her absence.
Wrong.
Everything about tonight felt wrong.
Not because Delia lacked merit.
She was exactly what the pack expected.
Exactly what politics demanded.
And absolutely not the woman his wolf wanted.
By the third hour he barely tasted the whiskey in his glass.
By the fourth his control had thinned dangerously close to snapping.
When the Voss family finally retired upstairs, relief hit him hard enough to feel physical.
Caelum stood near the estate entrance afterward listening as the house slowly quieted around him.
Doors closing.
Footsteps fading.
Voices disappearing one by one.
Then silence.
The moment it arrived, his wolf surged forward instantly.
Go.
Caelum closed his eyes briefly.
This was irrational.
Dangerously irrational.
But the thought of spending another hour inside the estate while Elara sat alone in that cottage with hurt in her eyes felt unbearable suddenly.
So he walked.
He didn’t allow himself to think about it too carefully.
Thinking complicated things.
His feet already knew the path.
And his wolf always knew where she was.
The forest swallowed him silently beneath silver moonlight while cold wind moved through the trees overhead.
Twelve minutes later the cottage appeared through the darkness.
Its windows were dark.
Caelum stopped at the edge of the path.
His chest tightened unexpectedly.
She was asleep.
Good.
That was good.
She deserved rest.
Peace.
Distance from complicated things tied to his world.
He should leave.
Immediately.
Instead he stood there staring at the dark cottage while something nameless unfolded slowly inside him.
Not relief.
Not sadness.
Both somehow.
Then suddenly light flickered on inside.
Caelum went perfectly still.
One minute passed.
Then another.
The cottage door opened softly.
And there she was.
Bare feet against cold stone.
Oversized sweater sleeves covering half her hands.
Dark hair loose around her shoulders like she’d been trying unsuccessfully to sleep.
She held a mug of tea carefully between both palms while studying him from the doorway with an expression trying very hard not to reveal emotion.
It almost succeeded.
Almost.
“I heard footsteps,” she said quietly.
“I’m sorry.”
His voice sounded rougher than usual.
“I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I wasn’t sleeping.”
The pause afterward stretched gently between them.
“How was dinner?” she asked finally.
Caelum held her gaze.
Necessary.
That was the truthful answer.
Strategic.
Expected.
Emotionally unbearable.
“Necessary,” he said.
He watched the word land.
Watched her process it carefully.
Something flickered across her face before she hid it away again.
“Caelum.”
Her voice softened.
“What are you doing here?”
The question should have been easy to answer.
Instead he looked at her standing there beneath the porch light with sleep-tousled hair and bare feet and hurt carefully concealed behind composure…
And realized he genuinely didn’t know.
His wolf had simply brought him here.
Like gravity.
Like instinct.
Like need.
So he answered honestly.
“I don’t know.”
Elara stared at him quietly for several long seconds.
Then her shoulders relaxed just slightly.
And without another question, she stepped backward from the doorway.
“Tea?” she offered softly.
Warmth hit him instantly and unexpectedly hard.
Not because of the tea.
Because she was still letting him in.
Caelum crossed the threshold into the cottage.
And for the first time all evening, his wolf stopped pacing.
- Writer
