CHAPTER 5
The first thing I thought about when I woke up the next morning was him. Michael.
I reached across the covers, searching, though I knew from the distant feel of him in my mind that he wasn’t in the bed. My hand came to rest atop a lingering warmth. He couldn’t have gotten up that long ago.
Still half asleep, I cracked my eyes open.
The covers were rumpled where he’d been sprawled out beside me.
I pressed my nose to his abandoned pillow and breathed deeply, bunching the fabric in my hands so I could drink down my fill of him.
I felt slightly debauched, but for the life of me I couldn’t stop myself from rolling over and dragging the covers with me, marking myself with our combined scents.
Before last night, smells were just smells.
Ways to identify what kind of food my parents were cooking or what mood Gia was in.
Everything was different now. That feeling of home I’d experienced when the bond snapped into place was here in these sheets, in this scent that was so much wilder and more primitive than the man himself appeared to be.
I was half tempted to burrow down in them and fall back asleep.
We’d stayed up late, talking over the days to come and what I should expect from a city with three factions perpetually on the brink of war.
He’d fallen asleep first, hands clasped together over his chest, his shirtsleeves rolled up to expose corded forearms. Gia was right.
Relaxed like that, it was easy to see how handsome he was.
The smell of my own breath finally forced me upright.
I hadn’t brushed my teeth last night, and the whiskey wasn’t doing me any favors right now.
It was cool and humid when I stepped outside, the barometric pressure so low that I could feel its weight against my skin like a warning. Rain was coming.
I paused to straighten my faded shorts and T-shirt, then ambled toward the house.
My parents bustled about the kitchen making breakfast. Dad whipped up batter for pancakes, and I smelled flour and sugar and water.
A hint of vanilla and cinnamon. Because of the early-morning gloom, the lights were on.
Michael sat at the island, and their soft glow bathed him in a nimbus of gold.
The sight hit me like a battering ram. Here was my mate, sitting in my parents’ small kitchen, taking up way more space in the room than physics should allow.
He sipped a cup of coffee. The morning paper was spread out in front of him, open to the stock section.
The sheer normalcy of the sight seemed wrong somehow, because it didn’t at all match up with the monumental derailment in our lives that preceded it.
He glanced up as I came into the room and looked me over clinically, like a doctor checking on the welfare of a patient.
“Good morning,” I said, still half asleep.
He lifted his chin in greeting and then went back to his paper.
“Morning, Layla,” Mom said from over by the stove. “Go shower. Breakfast will be ready in ten.”
I cast one last glance at Michael as I left.
By the looks of it, he was more than ready to start the day.
He wore a freshly pressed suit in charcoal gray, dark tie already in place, hair combed artfully back and still a little damp from his own shower.
I liked his haircut, shorter on the sides and long on top.
It suited him, made him seem slightly less stuffy and a smidge more modern.
He turned the page of the paper with a casual flick of his fingers.
He looked untouchably cool and supremely put together.
In my head, he was anything but. The rapid-fire cycling of his emotions was dizzying.
Fear, worry, determination, back to fear, resignation, and beneath it all, a low, simmering anxiety.
What the hell was going on in his mind? And why were none of his emotions showing on his face or in his scent?
Mom turned and made a shooing motion in my direction, and I realized I was loitering. I raised my hands in surrender and went to shower. Time enough to figure out my mate’s weirdness later.
Aside from how much Michael unbalanced me, I was in a more positive mental state than last night.
I wouldn’t say I was at peace with everything that had happened, but I was working my way closer toward accepting it.
Stressing out wouldn’t change the fact that I now had a mate.
Raging against the unfairness of it all wouldn’t undo the magic of the bond.
The best way to move forward was with as clear a head as I could manage.
Once I was done showering, I headed to my bedroom, where I tugged on a pair of running shorts and a tank top. No use putting on anything nice. As soon as breakfast was over, I needed to pack up and load my stuff into the truck.
“Any coffee left?” I asked when I reemerged downstairs.
“Plenty,” Michael said.
I padded past him on bare feet, forcing my breathing to stay nice and even so I didn’t suck in more lungfuls of his scent like a total creep.
Dad paused to drop a kiss on top of my head as he moved from the island to the stove. “How you feeling this morning?”
“Better.”
His eyes crinkled. “Michael already filled us in on your immediate plans. It’s too bad you can’t stick around a little longer so we can get to know our future son-in-law.”
I shot him a death glare.
Behind me, Michael choked on his coffee.
“He’s teasing you,” Mom told him.
I beelined toward the coffeemaker. “Dad, please. I am begging you. This is awkward enough as it is.”
I could hear the smile in his voice when he answered. “So now isn’t the time to suggest names for grandchildren?”
I whipped around. “Dad!”
His answering laugh was unrepentant.
Shaking my head, I poured myself some coffee and took a seat beside Michael. “I am so sorry.”
He appeared unruffled, and I felt his surprise giving way to a sort of steady…
readiness. Why? What was he resigned about?
Ugh. As if this situation wasn’t confusing enough, now I needed to learn how to read the variances of his emotions while simultaneously keeping myself from obsessing over each one.
“At least someone is able to see the humor in our situation,” he said.
“Thank you,” Dad answered.
Mom leaned across the counter and gave my mate a placating smile. “Sweetie, I know you’re new here, but encouraging him will only make it worse for you in the end.”
Michael shook his head, expression stoic, but a hint of amusement rose in the back of my mind.
I took a slow, deep breath in through my nose.
There, barely detectable beneath the smell of a shifter, was a small scent of humor.
Why not crack a smile? Why not show my mom that he found her funny?
Why did he guard his every emotion like this?
Ughhh. I was totally going to lose the battle against obsessing.
“Have you spoken to Nathaniel?” I asked him.
“I have. He dropped the Range Rover off about an hour ago.” So that explained the fresh suit. “Sarah’s pack is from Vermont. As he has fewer responsibilities in the company than I do, he elected to take several days off to visit and become acquainted with her family.”
Must be nice for him.
Mom turned to me. “Have you spoken to Gia?”
“No.” I craned my head around. “I left my phone in here somewhere. It’s probably dead.”
“You can use mine to text her,” Mom said, sliding it toward me.
“Thank you.”
I picked it up and unlocked it, my fingers hovering over the screen. What the hell did I say? How did I condense the enormity of what had happened down into a text message?
I settled for something vague. Gia, this is Layla on Mom’s phone. Hope you and Natalie had a good night and everything went smoothly with your mom. Michael and I are working through this. I’m heading down to Boston with him today.
Her response was immediate. Thank the Goddess you’re okay. We’re good, too. Mom is over the moon. So is Natalie’s family. Please call me when you can.
I will, I told her. Love you.
Love you back.
Breakfast went by in a blur. I was too busy inhaling my pancakes to talk much.
What conversation my parents made with Michael he answered with polite responses and inquiries of his own.
It was all very civil, but I was dying to know what Mom and Dad really thought of him.
Did they think he lived up to his reputation?
That he was arrogant? A snob? He certainly came off that way, and for some reason worked hard to maintain that persona, but even after the short time we’d spent together I knew there was more to him than that.
I headed upstairs afterward to pack.
“Do you need help?” Michael asked.
“Thank you, but no,” I told him. “Mom and I should be fine.”
She cranked the radio in my bedroom the second we stepped inside. Classic rock blared out from the speakers.
I turned to her in surprise and was pulled into a rib-cracking hug. “Oof, Mom.”
“You know you can come back here whenever you want to,” she told me, her words muffled by the music. “And I am always just a phone call away when it gets hard.”
“I know. Please stop strangling me.”
She let me go. “How are you doing, really?”
“I’m hanging in there,” I said. “Don’t get me wrong, this is a terrible situation, but the Goddess must have intervened for a reason, right?”
Mom nodded, her expression troubled. “About that. Just… be careful down there.”
“I will,” I said. “And hey, at least you won’t have to worry about me too much, what with me being damn near indestructible.”
“Don’t say that. You’re tough, not immortal.” Her gaze went to the door and she dropped her voice to a near whisper. “Did you tell him?”
I shook my head. “I can’t yet. He’s old enough to remember the stories. I need him to trust me first, so he doesn’t react badly.”
Mom nodded. “That’s smart. How are your emotions? Your anger?”
“Manageable,” I said. “Nothing overwhelming.”
“Good. You’ll do something if that changes, right?”
“I will.”