Chapter Gideon
Gideon
Gideon pulls to a stop on the shoulder, leaving the SUV to idle while he lets his frustration do the same.
There’s a decrepit blue porta-potty standing alone and definitely empty, right in front of where Gideon knows the Guild to be.
He wonders who thought the grand entrance to the heart of Tennessee’s magical prestige warranted a shitbox instead of a fountain.
It’s been sitting there for as long as Grayson has been coming here. The perfect metaphor, given how shitty the administration had been treating him since he began classes early last spring.
Gideon stares at the solid brick wall across the narrow street. It’s meant to be unwelcoming to non-magic users—the back end of a store that doesn’t exist—and spelled to encourage your eyes to pass right over. The spell does its job, and Gideon has to work hard to keep his glare steady.
He wills Grayson to appear now as he always does—in the blink of an eye, pale, but with his uniform’s white button-down rolled up over muscular forearms. But the wall remains as solid as ever, impenetrable to anyone not able to access the Goddess’s Plain.
“Come on, pretty…” Gideon murmurs under his breath, slamming his hand on the steering wheel in frustration. “If you’re not on this side of the wall when the timer goes off, I am coming in after you—fuck the consequences.”
He thumbs the screen on his phone. Six minutes, twenty seconds. Jay had set the timer himself when he’d agreed to let Gideon go alone, as if knowing he would find an excuse to ignore it.
Gideon had promised to do as he was asked and give Grayson time to come out on his own, but as the old saying goes, time flies only when you’re having fun.
Unbuckling his seatbelt, he turns the vehicle off, letting the silence help him hear his wolf more clearly.
Gideon has been able to hear him better since their return from Florida—and even more so since Skye came to them.
But today he is louder than ever, pacing like he knows something Gideon doesn’t.
The SUV still smells faintly of fish and lemons, the scents clinging to his hands even after the drive. Not half an hour ago, Gideon had been elbow-deep in Mediterranean-style salmon—focused on his menu and moving non-essential tidbit-stealers from his space.
With an impression to make, Gideon refused to let the lack of a suitably trained sous chef and Jay’s fingers in his tamponade impact what must be a spectacular meal.
He’d cooked for hundreds of important guests, but for some reason, he was more intense about it than usual and was leaking his mood all over the house.
So much so that Jay had leaned in, voice low and irritatingly reasonable, and suggested they just order from Quest.
Jay had only intended to relieve some of his stress, but Gideon had not-so-politely declined, unable to prevent his wolf from being anything but offended at the mere suggestion.
So he stayed in the kitchen and did not pace beside Rowan, who’d been a growling mess at the idea of strangers near their three pups.
At least Gideon could keep his claws metaphorical, his apron on, and himself entirely person-shaped.
That had been the plan, anyway—to keep his hands busy instead of his teeth.
But the plan has been slipping.
In the days since Skye had arrived, Gideon had felt an increasing urge to guard and cook nonstop.
He’s also been fucking, hard and often.
He can’t quite verbalize the feelings yet, but as always, food and sex are proving to be the best way Gideon knows how to be true to himself—the wolf and the man—this time with conscious intention.
Maybe then he’ll get better at saying what he means out loud—not just thinking it.
Gideon would never say something he doesn’t mean, but that doesn’t mean he says everything, either.
Finn says it’s possible—and preferable—to do both.
And he won’t deny it’s gotten easier, especially since Skye showed him how.
It shouldn’t have made as much difference, but seeing it for himself has. While he may be Carnell’s son, Gideon is not his father.
He’s simply Gideon.
Sure, he’d heard it all from his mates, but he’s never been able to see it for himself. The good things. The real things. The only ones that matter.
And if Skye knows everything that Gideon is and is still willing to take his hand—let him read Skye stories and gobble down everything Gideon puts in front of him—then maybe Gideon can finally forgive himself.
And, whoa, is that something he’d never thought he’d be able to say.
Magic has made all of that self-awareness possible.
Gideon snorts aloud at the thought, watching the clock count down the last five minutes.
Yes, the irony that he’s relying on magical truths to ease his conscience is not lost on him.
He can’t help but think that, ever since Nix’s lawyer had dropped Hayes’s evil pendant into his palm a year ago, magic has been barreling down on them at every turn.
Even though Grayson is (mostly) happier than ever, something about magic still manages to rub Gideon the wrong way.
There is no doubt that his frustration with the high-handed magical bureaucracy and the stick up their collective asses stems from their attempt to tie Grayson down and use him for their own purposes, with little or no regard for Grayson’s unique circumstances.
Sure, they couch it in terms of education and practice, talking about rules and regulations, but it has never rung true for Gideon.
In his mind, rules are meant to be broken—or, at the very least, bent—when they no longer serve their purpose.
No amount of legalese or arguments about the needs of the collective will get him to change his mind.
Even though it’s contrary to Grayson’s view, Gideon thinks magic is meant to serve the people who wield it, and when it doesn’t…
well, you fucking change it. He’ll never blindly allow the people he cares for most to throw themselves off the proverbial cliff like lemmings in the name of the greater good.
In that vein, Grayson’s ever-lengthening schedule has Gideon thinking he needs to have a face-to-face meeting with the head of the Guild about how magic is serving Grayson.
Preferably alone.
In the dead of night.
If Nix’s outburst today is anything to go by, there’s one thing Gideon knows for certain about magic: he can trust their omega’s instincts. There is a reason Nix insisted that, if he couldn’t go himself, it had to be Gideon who brought his soulmate home.
Gideon may have promised Jay restraint, but if Grayson weren’t outside soon…
No sooner is Gideon relishing the thought of rampaging through the Guild, shouting Grayson’s name, than he appears beside the car.
Pulling open the car door, he slips gracefully into the seat and tosses his bag into the back. He leans in close so he can rub his forehead on Gideon’s shoulder, his basil-vanilla scent singed around the edges. “Thanks for coming, Gid.”
“You’re late,” Gideon breathes, pressing his nose into the top of Grayson’s head. He smells of strangers and the ever-present patchouli of The Plain. “You’re okay?”
“Yeah. Jay said Nix was freaking out, though, and they sent you.” He waves a hand encompassing Gideon’s entire person.
Gideon runs his hand over Grayson’s fuzzy head before using a fingertip against his forehead to push him back.
“And why not send me?” Gideon asks, starting the car. “I can be nice.”
It’s mostly true, even if he’s annoyed at having missed his chance to give Grayson’s teachers a piece of his mind. He wonders if he could plow over the offensive porta-potty and somehow not put the car back into the dealership in the process—just to make his point.
Deciding it’s worth the risk—what’s a scratch or two—he narrowly sideswipes it as he pulls away. The SUV passes through unscathed and, as he watches in the rearview mirror, it wavers like a mirage before becoming solid once again.
How unsatisfying.
“Well, for one, you smell like you were in the middle of cooking,” Grayson wrinkles his nose.
He opens his window all the way to air out the mix of salmon, onions, and residual thunderstorm-scented frustration.
“Plus, you’re still wearing your ‘good’ apron, so you must have been in a hurry. What happened?”
Gideon looks down, realizing he still has his pink ruffled apron on—another gift from Leo for no reason except that he has a spending problem and Gideon loves them.
So much for his dignity.
Huffing out a breath, he hopes the burning in his ears isn’t visible under his shaggy hair.
“I was making dinner for your visiting teachers, and the next thing we know, Nix is climbing the back wall. Rowan managed to shift and take him to the ground before he went over the top.”
“What?! Why?” Grayson rubs the center of his chest, where pale pink light glows through his shirt.
“It took a few minutes to get him to calm down enough to tell us, but…he said something was wrong with you.”
He leaves out that he’d been madder than a wet hen, fanged out, and with blue eyes bright enough to be seen by the Moon Themself. It had set Rowan off, and only Leo and Finn physically barring the doors kept him inside and not on the evening news.
“He felt that?” Grayson’s eyes go wide with shock in his pale face. “It wasn’t a big deal. I didn’t feel bad or anything, just—”
He stops himself before shaking it off. “I had Time for my last appointment today,” as if that is explanation enough.
“You had your least favorite teacher, and then something went so badly that Nix was determined to handle it on his own? It has to be more than that.”
Grayson only shrugs. “I hate this lesson. You know that. It’s not the kind of Affinity the Guild needs to worry about, but—” He bangs his head back against the headrest, eyes squeezed shut. “To top it all off, she insists on the last period of the day. I’m already exhausted by then.”