Blood: The Third Course

Chapter Thirty

Carson had avoided the house for as long as he was able. After leaving Vince in the barn, he'd gone and collected a coat from the stash in the back bedroom and had gone for a walk, trudging across the farm land until his bones were as frozen as the ground beneath his boots. He'd considered calling Edeline again, but he didn't want to put this on her, knowing how she already felt about everything going on with the pack. She would know too much, and guess more.

The kitchen smelled of gingerbread and orange spice when he stepped through the back door. He kicked off his boots and stood them beside the others, padding across the cold stones in his socks that had seen better days. Garlands hung from each door and cupboard handle, a stream of glittering tinsel draped artfully around the iron bows of the candle chandelier above the kitchen table, never used but for special occasions. On Christmas Eve, the candles would be lit, all other lights dimmed while they ate their pre-Christmas dinner and opened one present each. It was one of his favourite traditions. He could picture it, and yet the smiles around the table looked false, his sister laughing at another silly gift sounded hollow. The happy image in his head died to a furious silence.

Turning away, Carson strode through the house, glancing into each room only briefly before he came to the study. The door was ajar, a tapping behind the thick wood. Carson rapped his knuckles twice against the panelling and pushed the door open.

Kaleb was sat hunched over the desk. He drummed a pencil against the wood while peering between two sets of numbers on printed spreadsheets. The computer sat, quiet as ever.

Carson hovered in the doorway until Kaleb glanced over his shoulder.

"What do you want, Carson?"

Gulping, Carson stepped further into the study. He turned back at the last moment and pushed the door closed behind him.

"Farm figures?"

Kaleb went back to drumming the pencil against the desk top, a miniature drum stick.

Sighing, Carson moved further into the room. He lifted a stack of folders off one of the arm chairs and placed it carefully on the floor at his feet. He perched on the edge of the chair.

"Can we talk?" he asked.

Kaleb didn't look up.

"Talk."

"This is kind of an important conversation," Carson said. "Can we—"

"Then talk importantly," Kaleb grumbled, still not taking his gaze from the papers.

Shifting to the very edge of the chair, Carson grasped his hands in his lap and stared down at his knees.

"I know you won't forgive me for what happened," he said. "For what I did. I don't know if Jemima will ever forgive me."

"Why should she?"

Carson gritted his teeth, gulping back the lump in his throat.

"I was rash and hot-headed. I didn't think, and... and I know I deserve your anger."

Kaleb finally lifted his head. The drumming stopped and he stared at Carson.

"This is what was so important?" he asked. "Your apologies have been heard, Carson. They change little, so what is it?"

"It's Vince."

Kaleb rolled his eyes and went back to his figures.

"We need to talk about Vince, about what he's—"

"Vince is fine. He's a wolf. He was always going to be one, and now he is."

"He's already going off—"