CHAPTER 18
RueWe find Rhys in a tiny grocery store called Curry’s with a cart full of groceries, perusing the aisles slowly. As soon as I see him, nerves settle inside me, latching on so hard it’s difficult for me to meet his gaze. Will he see me differently now? Treat me weirdly?
All my doubts are settled when he notices us approaching and smiles, opening his arms for me to squeeze into. His nose immediately lowers to the spot where my pulse beats against my neck and then he releases me. “What do you like to eat?” he asks, gesturing toward the shelves.
“Oh, honestly, anything. I’m not picky.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Except when it comes to ham.”
A laugh escapes me. I’m surprised he listened and remembered. Most men aren’t like that or wouldn’t care. It’d go in one ear and out the other. In my experience, at least. “Yeah, except that.”
Kathan mutters something about grabbing some meat and takes off toward the back of the store, once again leaving Caylix, Rhys, and I to our own devices. Caylix eyes me. “Are there any other food aversions we should know about?”
“None that I can think of—”
My sentence is cut off by a loud gasp, followed by heavy footsteps. “Caylix Alexander. What the hell is going on? I’ve been calling you for days,” an angry female practically growls, every inch of a wolf behind the voice. I turn to find a stunning woman with chestnut brown hair and hazel eyes the same as Caylix’s storming our way, her combat boots clomping against the tile. Even if they weren’t the spitting image of one another, anyone could see the familial bond between the two, especially when she reaches him and proceeds to smack his arm.
Caylix has the good sense to act like it hurts, even though I know he’s as hard as a rock and it probably didn’t faze him a bit. Something tells me by the amusement in his sister’s eyes and the groan on the tip of his tongue, he’s used to her antics. “How did you find us?”
She snorts. “It wasn’t hard. I tried the cabin first but when you weren’t there, I traced your scent to town.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Of course, you did.” His sister turns, and her gaze zeroes in on me like she’s seeing me for the first time, her nostrils flaring as she takes in my scent. Caylix clears his throat. “Arya, this is Rue. She’s a witch under our protection. Rue, this is my sister.” Ha! I totally called it.
Before I get the chance to respond, Arya whistles under her breath, taking me in fully, her gaze running from my head to my toes. I’m glad I’m not wearing several day-old clothes anymore. Or one of her brother’s T-shirts. “So, this is what you’ve been up to. No wonder you haven’t been answering your phone. I’d hole up with her too if I weren’t already taken. She’s stunning and your scent is all over her, Rhys.”
My cheeks burn at her assumptions. I want to protest but think better of it because after what just happened with Rhys… She’s not exactly wrong. His sister continues pointing things out about me like my rosy cheeks, and “stunning” brown hair. I feel like a specimen under a microscope. “And she’s standing right here,” I finally interrupt. I cringe, expecting her to give me a dirty look or something, but she doesn’t. Amusement lights in her eyes and Caylix shoots me a proud grin.
“Girl, I like you already.” She loops an arm through mine and tugs me away from Rhys and Caylix. The two alphas don’t like it at all and take menacing steps toward her, growls of protest leaving their lips—more animal than human. Their normal eye colors morph into pure gold. Everything about their demeanor changes in an instant, like someone flipping a light switch.
Arya glances between them like they’ve lost their damn minds. It takes a second before they process their reaction and shake their heads like they’re trying to clear the possessive rage. “God, you’ve never met a stranger in your life have you, Arya? Just don’t go far,” Caylix rumbles and backs off, his eyes reading like he’d rather throw me over his shoulder than let me out of sight for even a second. It does funny things to my insides, but I’m dragged away regardless.
Arya doesn’t stop until we’re a few rows over, still within close distance but far enough I’m assuming their shifter hearing won’t be able to pick up every word we say over the buzzing of the other customers in the store. “Okay, spill. What the heck was that? What’s going on?” she demands.
I pause and take a moment to think through what I should reveal. I’m a witch whose blood magically cures feral vampires. It’s not a good idea to make that knowledge known, especially not in a public place. “What do you mean?” I ask carefully.
“What do you mean?” She mimics my voice and movements in an overly dramatic fashion. My lip twitches and she notices. “Girl, don’t give me that. I’ve never seen my brothers act like that in my life. Are you their mate?” Her casual question makes my heart rate spike and butterflies erupt in my stomach. They did give me their saliva, which is how shifters mate, but so far, I’ve been convincing myself all the strange feelings were residual. What if they’re not?
Would I be okay being the mate to these three men? I blow out a breath. Absolutely. Mates are held in the highest regard to shifters, and it would be an honor to be one. My thoughts continue to speed through my head at ninety miles per hour as I puzzle everything out. A part of myself doesn’t want to get my hopes up in case it really is residual feelings from being saved with their saliva. I wonder how soon those things normally pass…
Arya’s head tilts to the side drawing me back to the moment. Her hazel eyes assess every twitch I make. I’m sure my thoughts are plain as day across my face too. “Interesting. Your scent turned fizzy, but your shock smells genuine, which means you really hadn’t realized the possibility,” she confirms. “But you also couldn’t hide that spark of panic or hope in your eyes either.”
“My scent turned fizzy?” I ask, inconspicuously trying to smell myself. It doesn’t escape her notice and she smirks.
“That’s what you took away from that? Yes, all witches have an earthy, herby scent to them, but strong emotions cause a shift. I’m good at picking out the subtle differences.” She pauses. “If nothing else, at least tell me what your intentions with my brothers are.”
“That’s the second time you’ve said ‘brothers’ as in plural. I didn’t think they were related?” Am I stalling to figure out what to say? Definitely. I’m not good at sitting in the hot seat, but I’m also afraid of sitting here too long, lest I get burned.
“They aren’t. But they are tripack, a bonded unit, so they might as well be. Which means the three of them are a package deal. If you’re with them, it’s a ménage à quatre all the time or nothing. Are you cool with that?”
“Technically, I could take them one-on-one,” I begin automatically, but clamp my mouth shut when I realize what I’m saying. “I’ll be honest, I like your brothers. Things with them are… intense.” It’s an understatement but there’s no way I’m telling a practical stranger that, even if she does seem cool. “Besides, witches usually mate in threes. I’m used to the idea.” Yep, totally selling it.
Arya howls with laughter, and it’s a contagious, booming sort of laugh that makes you want to join in. “You know, you’re different from other witches. Less snooty.”
“Uh, thanks. I think?”
She spins on her heel and motions for me to follow. “It was a compliment,” she calls over her shoulder. “Promise me you’ll have a chat with them about mate bonds, okay? There’s obviously more to this story that you’re not telling me, which is fine, but I don’t want to see any of you hurt when simple communication could fix things.” Something about her tone tells me she’s speaking from experience.
It doesn’t take us long to reach Rhys and Caylix because they’re a lot closer than they were before, having drifted toward us while we chatted. I appreciate them not letting me too far out of their sight.
Kathan lumbers up from the back of the store, his muscular arms filled with packages of meat. My eyes almost bug out of my head. “Holy wow, that’s enough food to feed an army, don’t you think?”
Arya chuckles. “You’re underestimating how much shifters can eat. Our metabolisms are higher because we have to sustain two forms. The transformation takes a lot of energy.”
Duh, that totally makes sense, Rue. They’re shifters, remember? “I guess I’d never really thought about it like that.”
Aisle by aisle we go, adding whatever they want to the cart. I follow dutifully, listening while they catch up with Arya. She doesn’t mention our little situation again, instead focusing on pack business. I do my best not to eavesdrop too much so Kathan can’t accuse me of anything. But if I’m honest, I think the whole spy thing is losing its steam for him. Eventually, Kathan breaks off to grab another cart because the first is overflowing.
“So, Rue,” Arya starts. “How did you meet my brother?”
“We met at The Growl a few nights ago,” I tell her, opting for as close to the truth as I can get. “Someone tried to mug me, and they saved me. Things clicked.” I shrug like there’s not much more to say, but her sharp gaze tells me she knows I’m leaving details out.
Arya pats Caylix on the back, pointedly staring at the marks on my neck. “I want the full story back at the cabin.”
I almost trip over my own feet, and it’s only a steadying hand from Rhys that keeps me from face planting. She sure doesn’t miss a thing, does she? I never thought to cover the marks, but now I realize it was a bad move. Smudges sake, what if I run into someone involved with the Witches Council? Suddenly my skin is itchy with the need to cover up and I pull the neck of my shirt as far as it will go. Maybe Kathan picked out something that could work like a scarf…
Caylix scrubs a hand over his face and glances over at me. His hazel eyes are back to their normal color. “It’s not our story to tell, Arya. You’ll have to get Rue’s permission.” My chest warms with his thoughtfulness. No wonder they haven’t mentioned anything to her yet. They’re allowing me to choose.
Arya breathes a sigh of relief. “You totally passed that test. I’m proud of you, little bro.”
“Wait, little?” I gasp, rounding on Caylix who gives me a small sheepish grin. I turn back to Arya, gaze ping-ponging between the siblings. “You’re older than Caylix?”
She smirks, looking smug as hell as she examines her nails. “By three minutes, but it totally counts.”
I swear my jaw hits the floor. “You’re twins? No hexin’ way! I think my brain just exploded. That explains why you’re the spitting image of him.”
“Technically,” she drawls, “he’s the spitting image of me.”
I laugh, feeling a lot lighter all of a sudden. Like I said, Arya’s boisterous personality really is contagious. “Something tells me you never let him live it down either.”
She snorts. “Hell no, I don’t. I need some leverage over our big bad alpha, don’t I?”
“Okay, that’s enough, Arya. Let Rue pick out some things to eat.” Caylix wraps an arm around my shoulder, steering me down the snack aisle.
Arya’s lip protrudes in a cute pout that highlights her plump lips. I’m jealous because if I tried to do that, I’d probably look constipated. But she does as he asks, and I get lost in the assorted options. Like a robot on autopilot, I start piling the second cart with whatever makes my heart happy. None of the guys question my choices which earns them extra brownie points from me.
When we come along a small section of tea and herbs, my focus is drawn to them. I may not be the most powerful witch, but I certainly know basic spells, and with everything that’s happened the past few days, it seems like I need to boost my protection wards. Which reminds me… I haven’t read my tea leaves in a few days. Normally, I would every morning.
I turn to Rhys since he’s the closest. “I’m assuming you don’t have any teacups and a kettle laying around the honeymoon cabin, do you?”
He shakes his head. “Afraid not, vixen.”
“We do have a coffee machine though?” Caylix chimes in, and I grimace.
“If it’s okay, would one of you mind seeing if they have anything in stock? I’d like to read my tea leaves later. See if they give any insight into what’s going on. Plus, I really like a good cuppa in the mornings,” I admit softly.
Caylix gives me a soft smile. “Of course, little witch. I’ll check to see if they have any right now,” he responds before taking off in the direction of the utensils and such. Hopefully, they have what I need, or I’ll be drinking out of the coffee mugs I spotted hanging on a rack in the cabin. They’ll work, but the wider rims and shortness of a teacup adds to the accuracy of my readings.
With a little more pep in my step, I return my attention to the aisles, browsing the various spices and herbs. Eventually, I settle on some oolong since the loose leaves will be perfect for reading. I also grab some rosemary and juniper berries to strengthen my protection pouch. As I’m turning, I spot a little wolf charm on the shelf, and Arya’s comment about them being my mates pops into my head once again. Everything in spell craft is about intention, so I grab it too. Hoping I can protect the wolves as well. Not that they need it with all their bulky muscles, but it’s the thought that counts, right?
The next thing I know we’re heading to the register. The woman behind the counter seems older but doesn’t necessarily look older. “Alphas,” she greets with a nod of her head. Her gaze always stays to the side or above theirs, never locking with them in a show of respect. “I’m glad you’re here. There was another feral sniffing around town last night.”
All of us tense, Arya included, and the lightheartedness from a few minutes ago dissipates. It’s like a switch flips and the three guys slip into alpha mode. “When? We haven’t heard anything from our scouts.”
She waves him off. “They took care of it, but said you’ve seemed rather distracted lately.” Her gaze swings to give me an assessing stare. It’s not exactly welcoming, but it’s not hostile either. A step further than curiosity, but it doesn’t give off any animosity at the same time. She returns her attention to Caylix, and I take a deep breath. “I can see why.” There’s a twinkle in her eye.
“Thank you for letting us know,” Kathan responds. “We’ll double patrol throughout the night until we’re sure there aren’t any more.” She gives him another respectful nod, watching him while he’s putting our groceries on the conveyor belt.
“Of course,” she says and smiles. “The honeymoon phase is the best.” Her eyes grow distant as if she’s remembering her own past. “Don’t take it for granted.”
And for some reason, none of them correct her.
Yeah, we need to have a talk about this whole mate thing.