“Memory a little foggy, Mother?” Shana kept her voice rough and merciless, letting all the anger of the last two decades bleed acid into her words. She was hurting and not caring who she hurt. “Why don’t you have another drink?”
She crossed to the crates her mother had set up as an impromptu bar. Grabbing the first bottle that came to her hand, Shana held it up, angling the label toward the morning light seeping in through a crack in the blinds. “Ketel?” She grabbed a glass and splashed vodka up to the rim. She carried the glass and bottle over to where her mother huddled, watching her warily.
“Have a drink.” She waved the glass toward her mother, careless of the alcohol that splashed out on the floor.
Brenna didn’t reach for the glass. Her expression was cautious, but her eyes were locked on the glass. She licked her lips.
Shana’s hand tightened spasmodically on the glass, shattering it. Shards bit into her palm, sterilized by the alcohol dripping from her hand. She threw away the remnants of the glass, not caring where they fell.
Her mother’s nostrils flared as the alcohol fumes hit them.
“Not in the mood for vodka?”
Shana didn’t have any conscious intention of throwing the bottle. One second it was in her hand. The next it exploded against the door in a shower of glass. Her brain didn’t even seem engaged in the action. She didn’t have any conscious thoughts right now, just an anger that had waited too long to be released.
Brenna flinched and cowered. “Shana-bay?”
“I’m angry with you, Mother,” Shana said, the words distant and foreign on her tongue. “I’ve never said that before, have I? I think I’ve been angry with you my entire life.”
Her mother’s eyes grew wounded and misty. “Shana. Why?”
“Why? Are you fucking kidding me?” Shana’s hands curled into fists. She needed something else to throw. Something else to break.
She stormed over to the crates, inspecting the inventory of bottles. Brenna could have thrown a party for a rock band without needing to visit a liquor store. Shana grabbed gin with one hand and vermouth with the other, ignoring the way the glass shards dug deeper into her palm. She didn’t throw them, just gripped them by the necks.
“Do you remember what you said to me when Landon took over the pride?”
Brenna’s eyes flickered nervously. “He seemed a good catch.”
“‘Fuck him.’ That’s what you said. ‘If you’re going to be a slut, Shana, at least fuck someone worthwhile. It’s your time. Be his consort. Do whatever it takes.’”
“I’m sure I didn’t say—”
“Oh, no. Of course not. You’re the mother of the fucking year. You would never tell me to whore myself out to any man who might have half a prayer of being Alpha. You would never dream of telling me to leave the only man who ever made me happy because he was never going to amount to anything.”
“You deserve to be with the best.”
“I deserve to be happy!”
The vermouth bottle shattered against the door.
Shana tried to take a breath, tried to find a place of calm, but all she could feel was the bottle she held. “He made me happy, Mother. I loved him and he loved me. But all you could see was that he would never be more than a lieutenant, a good soldier.”
Brenna’s face screwed up with distaste. “Is this about that Caleb?”
“Yes!” The gin erupted, a fountain of pale green glass.
Her mother flinched at the violence, but her expression had turned mulish. “You were too young to understand what you were giving up by being with him. I only wanted what was best for you. You were bred to rule, Shana.”
“I don’t give a shit what I was bred to do! That’s no excuse for turning me into the camp slut.”
Disdain flooded Brenna’s face. “You did that all on your own.”
“Did I?” Shana hefted an oversized bottle of Scotch. “I suppose I told myself how easy men were to manipulate in bed. I suppose I decided all on my own to leave Caleb and sleep with a series of men you so kindly picked out for me. Richard…” the Scotch crashed against the door, “…Daniel and Dillon…” Chopin and Tanqueray joined the destruction, “…Ari and Corin and Jato.” Three more bottles exploded into hundred-proof debris.
Shana’s throwing arm was starting to ache, but in terms of the men whose lives she’d destroyed to become the Alpha’s mate, men hand-picked by her mother, she was just getting started. Names and bottles flew across the room, until she was panting and sweaty. Her face was hot and wet, but she didn’t remember crying.
She looked down at the crates. There was only one bottle left. An industrial-sized plastic jug of cheap tequila. She picked it up and unscrewed the top. The mixed-drink puddle at the door crept across the room, soaking into the rugs. Shana splashed through it and kicked open the door. She upended the tequila over the snow on the porch, melting the pristine sweetness of it.
After the last drop had fallen, she dropped the jug beside the wreckage at the door, crunching through the glass. She didn’t bother to close the door. She wouldn’t be staying much longer.
“I’m done, Mother. I’m going to be with Caleb now, if he’ll have me. No more machinations. No more plots. Just me and my good-for-nothing soldier.”
“You deserve—”
“Shut up! Just shut up about what I deserve!” The words were a rabid scream that sucked the last of her energy. Shana felt battered and defeated, exhausted to her core. “I have to forgive you,” she said softly. “I have to forgive you or I can never expect Caleb to forgive me, but every time you talk about what I deserve and my goddamn legacy, you make it so damn hard. I need you to stop, Mother.” She took a deep, ragged breath, trying to get air back into lungs that had gone unbearably tight. “Just stop for me.”
“Shana…”
“Stop.” Shana turned and walked through the lake of poison and out the door. She didn’t look back.
Chapter Ten
From the liquid still dripping down the front door and the shell-shocked expression on Brenna’s face, Caleb had just missed Shana.
As soon as he’d run off his anger, guilt had caught up with him. He had realized that he’d never answered her question about whether or not he forgave her. Because he hadn’t. He had been looking for a reason not to trust her. Looking for a way to pick a fight. He hadn’t forgiven her at all. Not even close.
Shana wasn’t the only villain in their relationship.
He’d been hurting her, shoving her away as hard as he could, ever since the first time she hurt him. Smacking her back every time she tried to get close again. But he’d never been able to forget her. Never been able to just walk away. Shana was in his blood. In his soul. He couldn’t be happy without her. No matter how he tried to pretend.
And he was never going to be happy with her until he stopped clinging to past hurt. It was a choice. Forgive, move on, love her as hard as he could and hold on for dear life. Or live alone and miserable, clinging to his righteous anger.
As choices went, it wasn’t difficult.
Caleb turned back to the ranch, intent on starting the rest of his life with Shana.
Provided he could find her.
Her mother’s bungalow wasn’t the first place he looked, but the chaos there was the first actual sign of Shana he’d found.
Caleb thought of tracking her immediately—her scent would be fresh—but some instinct stopped him. He stepped over the puddle of booze, drawing Brenna’s dazed gaze. He crossed to crouch in front of her, sympathy warring with anger on Shana’s behalf. The battered shell of a woman huddled in front of him had put the woman he loved through a lot of shit, but she was still Shana’s mother and, in her own way, she loved Shana just as fiercely as he did.