Chapter 8 Marcus
MARCUS
“I’m more than a little insulted that you didn’t trust me to come fetch you from the airport in the car.”
“Last time you nearly killed me. I didn’t want Esmerelda to think I had planned an assassination attempt on her.”
Leonard scoffs. “She ditched you really fast.”
Heat shoots up my neck, and I clench my fists. “Wanting to be with her family is hardly ditching me.”
“And now you’re defensive.”
“Leonard, it was a long flight. And I’m not in the mood.”
“Is that what she’s been saying this whole trip?”
I snap my jaw shut against my harsh retort, my lips pressing into a thin line.
The best way to end this conversation is to ignore Leonard entirely.
I have no clue why he’s getting under my skin, but he is.
Perhaps it’s that this entire trip was mentally exhausting with the back and forth, hot and cold with Esmerelda.
It’s like walking on broken glass, never mind eggshells.
Or perhaps it’s that some moments weren’t that bad.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat as the car cruises through the drenched streets.
Rain beats against the windows, dragging my mood lower and leaving me chilled.
I briefly wonder if Esmerelda is warm enough and try to remember if she had a jacket with her.
It’s these kinds of thoughts that exhaust me.
Fighting my natural instincts to protect what’s mine when what’s mine is the enemy.
Eventually, the gold-and-emerald detail of my family crest emblazoned on the ten-foot-tall, wrought-iron gates leading to my property come into view.
As the car comes to a halt in front of the gates, I flick my fingers in a lazy greeting.
The guard ducks toward the window, his eyes sweeping over me, then Leonard, before he eases back.
The hinges groan, and the gates part just enough to let us in.
Our family has many properties, but this one always meant the most to me and is where most of my warm childhood memories come from.
When I became alpha and my father gave it to me, I was surprised, to say the least. I hadn’t realized he knew how much it meant to me.
My father is loyal and gracious, but he is also a very busy, self-absorbed man, not at all warm and fuzzy like Esmerelda’s family seems to be.
It bugs me that I wonder what it would be like to have people miss me so much that they come to the airport to welcome me back from a vacation.
It’s great that Leonard came, but seeing Esmerelda with her family today made me wonder what else I’d been missing from my life since my grandparents and mother died.
As we drive through the long canopy of trees lining the driveway, there’s a brief reprieve from the rain battering against the windows, and I can see a blanket of fog rolling in from the forest. When I was a boy, I’d pretend the fog was a cloak shielding me from the weight of expectations I wasn’t yet ready to carry.
My thigh muscles tighten, heels digging into the floor like they might spring me free if I let them.
The fog curls low over the lawn, a beckoning hand I have no business taking.
I press my palm hard into my knee, pinning myself to the seat, breathing through the ache in my jaw until the dark stone of my home comes into view and the urge to flee subsides.
A shiver of trepidation creeps up my spine.
Nothing has changed in terms of how everything looks on the outside, and yet I can’t help but wonder if that’s how I seem.
The same old Marcus. Calm. Collected on the outside, yet full of the weight of my responsibilities.
I cover a sigh with a yawn. Despite silence usually being my comfort, I now find it oppressive.
However, it’s still preferable to the million questions Leonard is no doubt chewing back.
I cast a glance at my best friend, at the man I can tell anything.
He’s taken the hint and is staring out the window, lost in his own thoughts, and I wonder why I’m dreading telling him about my honeymoon.
Could it possibly be because it was way more tolerable than I’d expected it to be?
Or could it be that despite being forced into this situation, I’m feeling a small amount of loyalty to my wife?
Make that a minuscule amount.
Barely even there.
But I’m duty-bound, and if you’re going to do something, you might as well do it right.
See what I mean?
The car pulls up to the steps of my family home.
The hand-carved doors and pretty much everything in the home outside of my study were designed to my grandmother’s tastes.
And yet, despite my disdain for the pomp and flash, this is still my safe place.
The scent of old wood, the cool stone floors, and the sound of rain against the roof…
it all grounds me. Today, though, is the first time I feel as though my safe place is about to become my prison.
Maybe it’s a good thing Esmerelda went to lunch instead of coming for a tour before moving in.
Over and over, like a hamster on a wheel, I contemplate how life will be once she moves in. What is her agenda going to be when she arrives?
Will her presence destabilize the current state of business affairs?
Will clients trust that she won’t be involved in more raids?
What will our daily routine be?
Will we take our meals together?
Will there be opportunities for more wolf runs?
The last thought gives me pause. Why am I even thinking of running with Esmerelda again? Sure, it was fun, but Esmerelda will already be invading my space—I certainly don’t need to be causing scenarios that will have us in the same vicinity more than we have to be.
As soon as the car comes to a complete stop, I shove open the door and bullet up the steps and through the hand-carved doors.
Taking the grandiose marble staircase two steps at a time, I all but stagger to my study like a man starved for oxygen.
The air shifts as I cross the threshold.
It’s warmer with the faint scent of leather, old paper, and polish.
My fingers trail along the dark, gleaming wood of my desk.
The grain is familiar beneath my touch, anchoring me in a way nothing else does.
Exhaling heavily, I sink into my chair, and it greets me with a groan, louder than before, thanks to fewer wolf runs on the honeymoon than I’d have liked.
As I take in the titles of the encyclopedias and apothecary journals, I glean comfort from the bound pages containing years and years of unrefuted science.
There is solace in science. In facts. The world of ancient rituals, of obscure magic, of formulas and history—this is where I feel most at home.
I open my laptop and sign into the cloud.
The sooner I get back into routine, the better.
When Leonard walks in and takes his usual seat on the couch, I give him a cursory glance before looking back at the research on my screen.
I’ve been at my desk for a solid two hours already, and despite being excited about my new project, I have accomplished absolutely nothing other than driving myself to the brink of insanity.
Leonard remains seated silently on the couch with his laptop balanced on his crossed legs, shooting me surreptitious glances every six seconds.
It shouldn’t grate on my nerves, but it does.
I can feel his unspoken questions bombarding me.
He thinks he’s giving me space, not prying, but I know the inevitable is coming because of how introspective I’ve been since my arrival.
Exhausted, I rub my eyes. The honeymoon, although somewhat tolerable, should’ve been the moment when it all became real.
Wait, scratch that, the wedding, as surreal as it was, should’ve been when reality sunk in.
But as soon as the car pulled up in front of my ornate doors and I gazed at the place that used to be my sanctuary through the rain-sprayed car window, it all hit me with startling reality.
My life is no longer my own. And my haven will no longer be a place where I can withdraw into myself and work when my family’s politics get me down. Now, it will be a place where I have to be on guard against my wife. My enemy.
Sighing, I lean back in the chair and clear my throat, knowing it will get Leonard’s attention.
Leonard looks up expectantly. I almost feel bad for the look of enthusiasm on his face because he’ll be expecting a rundown, and that’s the last thing I’m going to do right now.
“How did the drop-off for the Dublin coven go?” My voice is sharp enough to slice through the quiet.
His brow furrows. I know he’s expecting me to go into detail about the honeymoon, and to be honest, I’m surprised by his control.
Usually by now I would’ve been restrained and tortured until I’d given him all the details, but I’m not in the mood to sit in a fucking circle and braid each other’s hair.
I shoot him a look that says “Well?” and he places the laptop on the table and unfolds his legs.
“It went well. Obviously, or there would’ve been a bloodbath.”
“Good. Did we make sure they didn’t try to tip in cursed coin again?”
“Again, obviously, or you would’ve been told about it.”
I ignore his snide remark. I realize I’m micromanaging Leonard, who is the last person I need to manage at all, but I’ve struggled to hand over control this past week. I just need to know something in my life is going right and isn’t about to become a shit-show.
“And did you manage to look into expanding the client list to the Western Isles?”
He reaches for his coffee, which he must have got from Sebastian, and gulps it down before taking out his handkerchief and wiping his mouth.
“Dante is handling it. He has contacts with the O’Hares, who run the region. I’m meeting with him later this afternoon to hear of his progress.”
“Great. And what about the dragon clan in Marseille? Were you able to follow up about the new security escort needs?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Leonard raises his hands. “Catch your breath first. Everything is fine. You don’t need to follow up on every single piece of business in one go. First, tell me how your honeymoon was. Since you’re back in one piece, am I to assume it went well?”
I reorder the already perfectly ordered papers on my desk. “I’m not talking about it.”
“That good, huh?”
I cut a glare in his direction. “I said—”
Leonard raises his hands. “Fine. Relax. If you won’t talk to me about it, then maybe take a few days to decompress. Spend time with your family. Regroup. Something. Jokes aside, spending time with your enemy, no matter how gorgeous she is, had to be stressful.”
“It was fine. I had an entire week to relax and decompress. I’m sick of it. Besides, I’m inspired by a new area of study.”
As I say the words, the tension and distractions of the morning dissipate, and the knot that has been plaguing the back of my neck all week slowly unwinds. I knew I was tense because I couldn’t focus on my new study, but I didn’t realize to what degree.
Leonard’s eyebrows shoot up. “First you come back alive, then you say your honeymoon was fine, now you’re inspired. I’m afraid to ask what transpired in your marriage bed.”
I roll my eyes and choose to ignore my best friend’s quips. “I want to look into the ancient midwifery traditions. Specifically, the acolytes of Eileithyia.”
“You want to study birthing magic?”
“Precisely.”
“You’re serious.”
“Deadly.”
“I know you’re a man of peculiar interests, Marcus. But this has to be the oddest rabbit hole you’ve been down. And that includes the ancient mating rituals of the southern provinces. I thought I was going to have to remove my eyes with silver spoons.”
“No one asked you to scratch around in my files. Besides, this is practical. These things take time, and I need to be ready when she is. You know it won’t be long before our families start pressuring us to produce an heir.
Not to mention if we don’t, the council will insist for the sake of peace, don’t you think? ”
My stomach clenches around the words, and the dread and doom I’ve been feeling hit me once more.
“I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re always prepared.”
I shrug. “She’s my responsibility. Even if neither of us asked for it.”
Leonard shoots me a look. “And this has nothing to do with Esmerelda over the responsibility?”
“I don’t like repeating myself, but like I said, she’s my responsibility.”
One eyebrow quirks up ever so slightly, but he doesn’t call me out on my tone.
“So, you plan on producing an heir of your own?”
“It’s expected.” My tone tells him to drop it. I stare back up at my computer, ignoring the images flashing through my mind of how exactly I would give Esmerelda an heir. Images that have nothing to do with labs and test tubes and more to do with sweat, heavy breathing, and skin on skin.
I shift uncomfortably in my chair. I really need to get some sleep.
Maybe Esmerelda is right, and the jet lag is getting to me.
But sleep will have to wait. Any deviation from my routine will have Leonard asking more questions.
And I never take naps in the middle of the day.
I stare at the hands of the clock. They seem to mock me by how fast they march on their revolution.
On one hand, the evening can’t come soon enough—the promise of sleep and, with it, the peaceful respite of being unconscious long enough for the noise to stop in my head.
On the other hand, it will mean the day Esmerelda invades my space, for the rest of my life, is creeping in all the sooner.
Leonard’s voice breaks the silence. “You don’t have to carry all this alone, you know.”
I don’t look up from my computer. “I know.”
“But you will anyway.”
There’s no point in stating the obvious, so I remain silent.