Chapter 68
Well, guys, I think grimly, checking my reflection in the gilded mirror we hung beside the manor’s front doors. I have unfortunate news.
The bond is tense as fuck today, which just means my pack needs me more than ever. Gideon finishes fussing with Atlas’s collar and moves on to the bow at the small of Violet’s back.
They all slide wary looks my way as Ryker thunks down the front staircase and tosses me a glower. Demanding, What now?
I heave a heavy sigh and turn to our mate, cupping her hands while I gaze into her eyes. Confessing.
“Firefly, I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but…” I grimace, pointing to my face. “I think my nose is crooked.”
The tension smothering our foyer shatters. Atlas pinches the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up. “Finley.”
My omega trills a surprised laugh as Gideon punches my arm. “You idiot!” he chuckles. Just as Ryker mutters, “For fuck’s sake.”
In truth, I accepted how off-kilter my nose is like two weeks ago. I just saved my admission for an opportune moment.
It worked, though. Instead of vibrating with apprehension, my packmates and my omega are rolling their eyes and chortling as we face the front doors. Atlas leads the charge, opening them and striding outside. Gideon squares his shoulders and follows.
Ryker wraps his arm around Violet’s waist and waits for me to slide into her other side. I join them, then remember—
“Wait!”
I bend to another piece of newly acquired furniture, opening the small hutch under the scrolly antique mirror Violet picked out. They watch as I reach in and fish out her trusty frying pan.
“What is that for?” she giggles.
I shrug, setting it on the low cabinet. “Just in case shit goes sideways and this turns into a rumble.”
I’m fully aware of how ridiculous I sound—and I don’t care. As long as Violet keeps beaming at me like this, I officially don’t care about anything else.
“A frying pan?” Ryker replies. “If we get into a fight, you’re going to defend yourself with a frying pan?”
“It worked for our omega,” I point out, pulling her close and edging toward the exit. Hoping I can get her outside without making her more anxious. I point to my bent nose again. “Exhibit A.”
Gideon practically groans. “Your nose was always crooked, Finn.”
I hear gravel crunch as a vehicle turns onto our winding driveway. My chest clenches, but I bend to murmur one last joke in Violet’s ear, “Vicious slander. Although I happen to like your homemade nose job, honey.”
Pride warms my chest when I earn a final laugh… just seconds before a sleek black Maybach coasts around the circular drive and parks on the right side… as if positioned to leave at a moment’s notice.
Shit.
I remind myself that my entire life has been preparation for this very moment. Choosing my moves, knowing which charms to employ, holding back until the right moment.
I clutch Violet’s hip, squeezing softly. Waiting.
Cillian Blackwood steps out first, of course. Looking predictably stoic and dark-haired in his equally black suit. His unnervingly cool eyes snap over our pack before he motions to whoever is climbing out behind him.
It’s Dane, the massive, mask-wearing alpha who likes to hold knives to my balls. Only today, his face is bare. Twisted scars pull at the skin around the edges of his short beard—all the more visible thanks to his unbuttoned henley and the way his hair is tied into a low bun.
He might not look particularly bloodthirsty today, but he’s still an intimidating man. Violet trembles in my grasp, and Ryker drifts closer, stepping partially in front of our mate. Blocking her with his equally built body.
Rhys Blackwood appears last. If I’m honest, I’ve always hated him the most. Gideon claims it’s because he’s the blond, sneering version of me.
The absolute nerve, right?
I would never wear those shoes.
For a long moment, the Blackwood alphas line up to face us. They must be communicating in their bond, the same way we are. They don’t have time to finish whatever silent debate they’re having, though. Because a bone-pale woman with a tumble of shiny black hair suddenly bursts out of the backseat.
Muttering something that sounds a lot like, “Ridiculous, overprotective alphaholes.”
You know, what? I’ve always liked Briar.
And she’s only a little terrifying.
She’s dressed to kill—literally. A crimson mini dress, silk stockings with black bow garters just below her hemline—and a gleaming dagger strapped to her left thigh.
Her complaint loosens the tension stretched taut between her mates. They turn their attention toward her, each of them mooning in their own special ways. Which is bizarre, given they’re the Oh-So-Scary Blackwood Pack, but it’s also…
Very familiar. Don’t we do the exact same thing with our girl?
I’ve been holding my breath this whole time, trying to find the right moment. Using my evil powers for good, as Violet likes to say.
Briar finally struts between Cillian and Dane. Her Louboutins scuff to an abrupt halt. Wide green eyes beam across the gravel drive, sinking into my mate’s. Full of disbelief and hope so strong, I can see them from here.
And that’s when it hits me.
Now.
I nudge Violet, carefully encouraging her. Atlas, Ryker, and Gid are all communicating with her, too. Urging her forward.
My mate doesn’t move, though. Not until I whisper into our private link.
It’s really her, baby. Your sister.
That word seems to snap her out of her trance. I slide my touch from her hips and step away, giving her room.
And she runs.
Right into Briar’s open arms.