CHAPTER 21
WOLF
The moment the door slams for the second time, I drop my head and close my eyes.
It’s tearing me up inside every time I act this way toward her. We want her more than anything, but we can’t have her. No matter how things turn out, we can’t. Even if she is pregnant, we can’t use that child to fulfill my inheritance requirements.
I doubt she’s telling the truth. Just like us, she’s grasping at straws to get us to mate with her.
She’s spent the past three months desperate for us to change our minds.
Once or twice, we almost did. But then my father would call, or something would remind me of my inheritance, and we’d buckle down again.
I wish we could mate her. If it were possible, we’d have already done it. Still, we can’t. There’s simply no way.
Opening my eyes, I stop on a small, rectangular-looking thing lying on the floor. It’s black leather, and it holds cards. It’s about the size of a credit card. Reaching down, I pick it up and turn it this way and that way. I feel Amos and Finian come up on either side of me.
“What’s that?” Finian asks.
“I think it’s a wallet or something," I answer with a shrug.
Flipping it open, I find a driver’s license. I glance at it and see Windy smiling at me from the photo. Her beauty is out of this world. She’s soft, alluring—everything we ever wanted in a mate.
She must have dropped it on her way out when her purse got stuck in the door.
Closing it, I sigh. “It’s Windy’s license and cards. She’ll be missing these. We should get them to her.”
Finian scoffs. “It's not like we can take it to her and be like ... Oh, hey, I know we’re dicks, but here’s your stuff. She probably doesn’t want to see us again. She’s more likely to kick us in the nuts than thank us.”
“You’re right. We’ll just wait for her to come looking for them then. Eventually, she will. They’ll be here if she wants them,” I say, walking toward my desk. Opening the top drawer, I toss it inside and close it.
Out of sight. Out of mind.
I sit in my chair and rest my arms. We let silence stretch. We're probably all thinking about Windy and the devastation on her face. I know I am. I’ll never get that sight out of my mind. It’s burned into my retinas. Every time I blink, I see her. I see what we did to her; what I did to her.
I bow my head, chin sinking to my chest, and drag in a shaky breath.
My eyes shut. It’s the only way I keep from unraveling at my desk after everything that just happened.
My pulse thuds against my skull—so loud I think it will force its way out through my ears.
I try to steady myself, to gather the frayed edges of my emotions.
I need to rein them in with what little control I have left.
The moment I think I have a grip on everything, my mind drifts back to the drawer, to the contents inside.
Her wallet sits inside like a live wire.
I can feel its presence even through the encasing wood. Ridiculous, isn’t it? Something so small, yet so fucking heavy. Everything gnaws at me. My chest feels stuffed. I want to see her face—to look at her without worrying that someone will notice my lingering gaze. I just want the freedom to look.
When I finally lift my head, the room around me feels different. The air feels charged, expectant.
I peer over at Amos. His gaze flicks downward—almost imperceptibly—toward the drawer.
His movements are so quick that most would miss them, but I don’t.
I know my bond brother. He’s just as invested in her wallet as I am.
I see how much effort it takes for him not to stare straight at my drawer.
His jaw tightens, a small muscle jumping near his ear.
He fights the urge to look again, tension rolling off him in waves.
My eyes trail to Finian. He doesn’t bother with restraint.
His stare is fixed on the drawer like his life depends on it.
He’s entranced, sharp enough to cut through the wood if he leans closer.
His eyes are wide with curiosity. He studies it without shame, as if it’s a puzzle only he can solve.
I can almost hear the gears in his head grinding, every thought clicking into place.
The air thickens, tension stretching it tight with everything unsaid. My heartbeat stutters. Hard, I swallow, wishing I could shove every emotion back into the dark where they belong.
I don’t handle emotions well. Emotions only get you into trouble.
But they’re here. They’re really loud. They’re not letting me go. No matter how much I try to diffuse them, the claws are sinking deep into my flesh.
Finian’s voice scrapes out of him like gravel dragging across metal. “Maybe ... Well, maybe one look wouldn’t hurt.”
He drags his tongue across his lips in a slow, deliberate move, as if he’s savoring the thought of seeing her picture again. He steps toward my desk in one quiet, predatory shift of his weight. A pulse of heat and yearning shoots through my chest.
Amos moves next. “Right. One look.” His voice is steadier than Finian’s. Yet there’s still a tremor underneath it; a strain he can’t seem to hide.
He steps away from the door, taking one step. Then another. And another. Each footfall lands with a dull thud, like he’s crossing territory that’s forbidden, and he knows it but doesn’t really care.
Tension grows thick between us, heavy with anticipation. I can feel their attention like hands pressing against my skin. I can feel it because it’s a need that’s buried deep inside me as well.
My mind spirals out of control.
If I open that door—if I let this happen--there’s no undoing it.
No pretending we didn’t see what we saw.
No pretending that we aren’t as pathetic as we claimed Windy to be.
No pretending we’re better, or stronger, or less desperate than her.
Once we cross this line, we’re exposed. Not just me, but all of us.
“One look wouldn’t hurt,” I whisper to myself, slowly pushing the chair back from my desk. I peer down at the drawer; my gaze sticks on the brass knob as I contemplate what to do.
My heartbeat stutters in my chest, then surges. My throat tightens as I try to swallow past the lump quickly building. My palms sweat.
It’s hard to hold myself back. I try clinging to the last shred of restraint. But it slips away, like water through a cracked cup. The pull is too strong. The pressure of them, their eyes, and my own longing crashes in a single, overwhelming moment.
My hand shoots out.
My fingers curl around the drawer knob. The cold metal bites into my skin.
Before I can think or even breathe, I rip it open at the same time they get to my desk and look over my shoulder.
I grab Windy’s ID holder and pull it out slowly, like I’m lifting a sacred artifact. I flip it open with my thumb.
Her picture hits me in the gut.
Her beauty.
Frozen in that tiny rectangle: eyes bright, mouth tilted in that almost-smile I’ve tried not to notice. My breath catches. I slowly fall back in my seat, slouching. Everything else in the room fades away. I stare at her picture; everything blurs around her face. She’s all I see.
Minutes pass.
Maybe seconds.
Time feels strange, as if it’s stretched too thin. It’s Amos who finally breaks the silence that has encompassed us.
“Um ... Wolf.” Amos’s voice is tight, strained. “Oh. I think we have a problem.”
I don’t look up. I don’t acknowledge him. I can barely hear his words through the trance Windy’s picture has me in. Her picture makes me feel like I’m drowning as I trace every line of her face with my eyes. I’m afraid she’ll disappear from sight if I blink.
His voice drags me, pulling me reluctantly back into the room.
“What’s wrong?” I mutter, not tearing my gaze away until I have to.
Amos doesn’t answer. He just points. Using one stiff finger, he points at her driver’s license.
I shrug. “Yeah, so.”
Amos growls out in a low, frustrated grumble. “Look at her name, asshole.”
The bite in his voice snaps my attention down to the text.
My world stops.
Everything stops spinning.
The letters glare at me. My stomach drops. My pulse goes wild. For a moment, I swear the floor tilts under my chair.
There’s no way.
No. Way.
It can’t be a coincidence.
“No.” I shake my head, barely able to put two and two together. “That’s not ... No.”
“Read. It. Asshole.” Amos grabs the back of my neck, clenching his fingers tight at the base as he pushes my head closer.
My heart drops. It sits there, heavy and undeniable, rewriting everything I knew in one instant.
Without another thought, I dig into my pocket, grab my phone, and dial the number I least want to. Gumption carries me. My father knows this family better than anyone. If I'm right, we're so fucked it's unreal.
It takes several minutes for the call to finally connect.
“Son?”
I yell into the phone, sounding half-crazed. “Who is Windy Carmichael?!”
A devilish chuckle comes down the line, the sound slithering all over my body and making me feel disgusted. “She’s the Carmichael heir, my boy. That little female is set to take over their entire empire.”