Chapter Two
Newt was a straight-up idiot. One moment he was hovering near the ceiling, panicked and trying to figure out what to do. The next, Vaughn had somehow talked Newt into coming to his bedroom. Apparently, he had zero guardrails when it came to his mate.
He sat on the bed, wincing as Vaughn plucked the pine needles from his long hair.
He couldn’t have done it on his own. Not when his magic was acting like a drunken toddler with a flamethrower.
He probably would’ve ended up as bald as a plucked chicken.
Every careful tug sent a small sting across his scalp, yet there was something unexpectedly calming in the patient rhythm of Vaughn’s hands.
Like maybe he thought if he went too fast or was too rough, he might shatter what little composure Newt had left.
He was barely holding it together as it was.
What Newt should’ve been doing was figuring out how to get back home, not melting because a stranger’s fingers knew how to separate hair from debris without yanking too much.
Stranger. Right. That word felt outdated now that he knew Vaughn was his mate.
Which only complicated the heck out of things.
Alliance first, feelings later, his father had said when he’d arranged Newt’s marriage a year ago.
Had anyone asked what he wanted? Did anyone care?
For cricket’s sake, he hadn’t even met the woman he was supposed to marry.
Not that he wanted to. How many times had he argued with his parents that he was gay and marrying a woman would be like a toadstool and an ox exchanging vows?
But every time he’d tried to explain, his father would pat his shoulder with that heavy hand, saying, “You’ll understand when you’re older.
” His mother’s lips would purse into that familiar thin line that meant the conversation was over before it began.
The Twistboots had arranged marriages for nine generations.
His “preferences” weren’t about to break that streak.
Newt’s protests might as well have been whispers in a windstorm, swept away like they didn’t matter.
“What made you come here?” Vaughn’s voice was the kind of low, steady thunder that seemed to rumble through you. The kind of sound that could pull you out of your own chaos and into his steady orbit.
“Exploring,” Newt said, his words tumbling out way too fast. “You know. See the sights. Almost die by a vampire welcome committee. Normal tourist stuff.”
“Hmm.” The bed dipped as Vaughn shifted closer. Careful fingers combed through another knot and paused. Against Newt’s skull, the slightest tremor shivered through Vaughn’s hand.
Newt tilted his head, curious despite every good sense he owned yelling not to pry. “Why are your hands shaking?”
Silence stretched just long enough to make him regret opening his mouth. He winced then rushed to soften it. “I mean…are you okay? Do you need—” He gestured uselessly. “Tea? A chair? Twelve chairs?”
“They’re fine.” The tiny tremble settled after a breath, as if Vaughn had pressed a switch somewhere under his skin.
They weren’t “fine,” but Newt decided not to press the matter.
“Hold still.” Vaughn’s breath warmed the top of Newt’s head. Metal scraped lightly. Tweezers, probably. “These little bastards hide.”
“They’re dedicated,” Newt muttered. He smoothed the blanket under his palm, tracing the weave with a fingernail. “What are you?”
A pause then, “Wolf shifter.”
Soft surprise flickered through him. He’d pictured teeth and arrogance, not the quiet steadiness or hands that moved like Vaughn had practiced being gentle.
“Oh. Right. Okay. You’re, uh—” He glanced up and then immediately looked back down, feeling his cheeks growing hot.
“You’re big, like a wolf should be…I think. ”
Since Vaughn was the first wolf shifter Newt had met, he had no idea if huge and muscly were wolf shifter standards or if his mate was a gorgeous exception. It wasn’t as if Newt had taken the time to check out the other men who'd rushed from the house. He'd been kind of busy trying not to die.
Another needle dropped into the growing pile. Just how many did he have in his hair?
“What about you?” Vaughn asked. There was a stillness in his voice, a quiet weight that made the air seem heavier. “Seelie or Unseelie?”
The air was definitely heavier. Most preternaturals saw Unseelie and thought only of dark magic and blood rituals. They never considered that some of them just wanted to grow flowers and drink hot water from microwaves.
“Seelie,” he said, keeping his tone mild and hoping his face didn’t scream liar. “From far away. Very far.” He tugged the blanket edge. “Where toasters fear to tread.”
Nothing in the room moved except Vaughn’s hands and the slow, stretching shadows thrown by the lamp. His fingers quivered against Newt’s scalp, sending tiny vibrations down each strand. Newt pretended not to notice the faint tugging at his roots.
“Last cluster,” Vaughn murmured. “Almost done.”
Newt shouldn’t want to lean back into those muscles. He definitely shouldn’t like how careful Vaughn was with him.
The silence that followed seemed to stretch. Every beat of it made Newt more aware of the quiet pull that kept circling back to the man behind him.
Perfect. Add that to the stack of impossible problems Newt was trying his best to fix. But how did you “fix” fate? That was a dang good question, and he wished someone had the answer.
“Okay,” Vaughn said close to his ear. “I think I got most of them.”
If the guy was going for seductive, he’d nailed it.
“Could I take a shower? I feel like the forest licked me.” Newt was already inching off the bed because if he stayed, he might try to curl into those strong arms. He ached to feel them holding him, a false promise that everything would be okay.
“Through that door to your right.” Vaughn pushed to his feet, a quiet shift of weight on floorboards. Newt missed the warmth of his body already. “Use whatever you need. Clean towels are in the cabinet.”
Newt headed for the door without a second glance, afraid Vaughn might see all the lies clinging to him like dirty secrets.
Once inside, he shut the door softly and leaned back against it, palms flat on wood, forehead pressed to the cool paint.
What was he doing? It was forbidden to mate outside his kind.
So why did Newt want to fling the door open and tell the world to suck fuzzy coconuts?
“A wolf,” he said under his breath. “You know how to get yourself into a pickle.”
But Vaughn’s face wouldn’t leave him alone. That haunted look, buried just beneath the surface. Whatever pain the man was carrying, it matched the weight pressing against Newt’s ribs. Part of him wanted to run, but another part—the reckless, stupid part—wanted to stay.
* * * *
Vaughn listened as the shower cut on. Just great. Now he stood in his bedroom with images of his very naked mate, creamy skin glistening under the water, soap suds trailing down his compact body.
“Pull your shit together.” He ran a hand through his hair, noticing how badly it shook. It was the shadows playing off the lamp, making his wolf cagey in a way his beast had never been before.
Not since Vex.
Vaughn closed his eyes and rolled his shoulders, trying his damnedest to ease the tension wrapping around every nerve ending in his body.
Vex had said they would meet again. The job the demon had been hired for wasn’t finished. Not in Vex’s mind.
In Vaughn’s, the demon had fulfilled the contract, had made him feel unspeakable pain.
Even now, with the soft hum of steady water in the shower, Vaughn felt that modified cattle prod between his shoulders. Saw the glee in the demon’s sadistic eyes.
Closing his eyes, he breathed out slowly, exhaling a long breath. The technique didn’t help. Not when Vaughn couldn’t reassure himself he was safe. How could he be? Every shadow was a potential portal. Every noise sounded like taunting laughter.
The not-knowing if Vex would return—and what means of torture he would use next—was driving Vaughn insane.
Literally. How could anyone live with only a few hours of sleep every few nights? Even when he allowed himself a few hours of respite, his dreams took him back to that dungeon.
Vex at his back, whispering cruel promises, just like Vaughn’s mother used to.
It had always been from behind that she attacked, blaming him for his father’s death in one breath and, in the next, bragging about how she’d killed him. Always whispered. Always followed by the crack of a whip or bare claws or his hair wrenched. It was cruelty he never deserved.
He paced his room, his wolf howling to get free for a run. But it was dark outside. Too many possible portals for Vex to climb through.
Someone knocked on the door. Vaughn knew who it was by scent alone. The mates were curious about Newt. He didn’t blame them. Preston and Jalen were human, and this was the first time they’d seen a fae.
It was his first time too. Vaughn had heard of their kind, but he’d never actually met one in person. Fate had a twisted-ass sense of humor. Never met a fae? Well, here you go. Let me mate you to one. By the way, how’s that trauma of yours going?
With a roll of his eyes, Vaughn crossed the room and swung open the door. Two eager smiles greeted him.
“Tell me we get to keep him,” Preston said, practically bouncing in place, green eyes filled with barely contained excitement.
The guy needed to lay off the fruit from the farmer’s market. The natural sugars were clearly affecting him.
“We promise not to overwhelm him or stuff him with junk food.” Jalen crossed his heart with his finger, wearing an equally goofy smile.
Ever since this mate had gotten clean, he was on a campaign to find the weirdest combination of junk food to eat. Vaughn actually didn’t mind. Some of those combos were on point, while others made him question humanity.