Chapter 9 #2
“No.” I train my eyes ahead, frowning. “It’s not that I hate you, Sylvan. I just hate this situation. I was supposed to be home in Boston shopping for the perfect townhome. I know the house will sell fast once it’s on the market, especially with its history.”
“You want to sell the house? I don’t think it will like that.”
“I just don’t know if I could stay here,” I whisper. “You don’t get it. You didn’t grow up here. You weren’t locked inside that house for years and told how much of a failure you were because you were born without the famous Foxglove magic.”
Sylvan’s steps slow to a stop.
I spin around to look at him. “What—”
“Did she really say those things to you?” His eyes are stormy, his scowl deeper than I’ve ever seen it. In the sunlight, I catch the faint silver edge of his scar as it disappears into his hairline. I swallow hard. I feel uncomfortable beneath the scrutiny.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say tightly. “Tell me about the Helios Vault. I want to know your theories as someone who guarded it.”
He hesitates, but then follows once I start to walk again. He falls into stride next to me, his hands behind his back.
“I think there’s something in there,” he finally answers.
“The magic that pours off it, even through the two feet of iron . . . It’s strange.
Personally, I don’t think they should open it.
Whatever is locked in there was done so for a reason.
If you’ve read the history, then you know about it, so what’s your theory? ”
“What does the magic feel like? What does strange mean?”
He hums again. It’s his signature thinking sound. “I guarded it for seven nights, with one of the nights being the full moon. I was in a group with three other alphas.” He makes a face. “I didn’t get along with them, but the four of us made it work. We took shifts walking the area surrounding it.”
“The park.”
Sylvan nods. “Yes. It was buried at the very center of it.”
“They only found it because of the storms that passed through a few months ago,” I say. “Did you know that? I don’t think it would have ever been found, but the rain was so terrible in that area, the river that cuts through the park flooded and I guess the water moved it.”
“I don’t think it was the rain that moved it.
” He runs his fingers through his floppy hair, pushing it back on top.
I catch a hint of the scar that’s usually out of sight.
“Honestly, I don’t know what’s in it. I don’t like it.
Seven nights was enough for me, which is exactly why when Maeve emailed me, I said yes.
This was supposed to be an easy two-month gig. And it was.”
I smirk. “Sorry for the trouble.”
Sylvan barks out a laugh. “No, you aren’t.”
My smirk broadens into a full grin and silence settles between us, this time a lot more comfortable.
He’s as stuck in this as I am. I’ve been resenting him for that, but maybe that’s unfair. It’s not like he signed up for this knowing he’d end up bound to a witch.
“Morgan, I think I have to say this. Which is that whatever pain Maeve caused you growing up, I’m sorry. I didn’t know your relationship and I only know bits and pieces about the woman I guarded for a few weeks.”
My spine stiffens. I don’t like talking about this time of my life because I hate being pitied. But coming from him, it doesn’t feel like pity. It feels like anger. He’s angry about it for me.
I like that.
I like it a lot.
“It’s nothing you need to be sorry for,” I say. “It is what it is. She resented me for being an omega and she resented the fact that I was different. I think she blamed me for my parent’s death in a way, too.”
“But that couldn’t have possibly been your fault.”
“I don’t know,” I say wistfully. “I sure thought it was for a long time. The Foxglove curse haunted me the first twelve years of my life. But then I woke up one day and just thought fuck this. The curse couldn’t apply to me, right?”
“I’m worried it does.”
His words are gentle. Almost caring. There’s a deep tug in my stomach and chest, and I suck in a breath. “I don’t think so. Maybe we were hallucinating the first full moon.”
“We weren’t. Speaking of . . .”
It’s coming up again. This Sunday. I’m all too aware of that little fact, and the fact that my period came early which means I’m going to be at the height of my ovulation. Ovulation and my heat at the same time . . . ? The May moon was going to be brutal.
For whatever cursed reason, the goddess was conspiring against us.
“And you’re going to stay indoors, yes?” Sylvan prods.
“Yes,” I say. “All day. I’ll set up my room to have everything I need. No risks.”
He blows out a breath. “Thank you.”
He doesn’t have to sound so fucking relieved by that. I scowl, ignoring the pinprick of hurt. Am I really that awful?
“I’ll get more herbs for a brew . . .” I trail off.
Sylvan shakes his head. “No. You don’t need to. It made you sick. Just stay in your room, and all will be fine. The house won’t let anything in. I’ll go out into the woods.”
“Won’t my scent affect you?”
We’re on Main Street now, and I barely even noticed we were almost to the market.
I’ve been so focused on him. He reaches for the door to the quaint corner store, his eyes flashing gold.
“It affects me all the time, Morgan. There’s no escaping it.
You’re on everything I own, including the fibers of my clothing.
A silly little drink isn’t going to help, so just stay in your room, and I’ll take care of the rest.” He opens the door for me. “After you, witch.”
“Fuck off.” Being rude to him is the only way to keep some sort of balance between us. “You could wait out here.”
“No.”
Of course not.
“Where you go, I go. That’s the rule.”
Fucking werewolves. Alphas. I’m so over it.
I grab a basket, my shoulders tight as we weave through the tiny aisles of the store.
It’s the size of a shoebox, but at least they have a deli counter and fresh produce.
He follows me to the fruit section as I pile in apples, oranges, and avocados.
It grows heavy, and when I shift it from one arm to the other, he holds out his hand.
“I’ve got it,” I say tightly.
“Give me the basket.”
“No. I’ve got it.”
“You’re clearly uncomfortable,” he growls under his breath. “Just let me carry it, Morgan.”
“I said I’ve got it—”
Sylvan wrestles the hand basket away from me, giving a soft stubborn growl until I finally let go.
“Fine.” I want to choke him, but instead, I kick his shoe. “For fuck’s sake, carry the basket then.”
Why the hell is he so insistent on—
“Oh look, it’s the worst Foxglove to ever live.”
I close my eyes for a moment, scraping up all of my control before looking up at Cassandra.
She stands on the other side of the oranges with a snobby smirk. Her long blonde hair is drawn back into a bun that looks so tight, I wonder if she’s cutting off circulation to her brain. Maybe that’s why she’s consistently such a cunt.
Next to her is an older man with silver hair and bright eyes that send a shiver up my spine. I recognize him, I realize. He’s her father, Fionn.
“Oh, it’s Morgan, darling,” he says. “How unfortunate.”
Darling? Gross. No wonder she’s a twat.
Cassandra sneers. “The failed Foxglove.”
Sylvan bristles next to me. “And who are you, exactly? A spoiled brat?”
Her expression twists with rage, but Fionn puts his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t even pay the mutt any mind. I’ve heard about this one. He’s the heir who abandoned his duties and his people. The fact that he even speaks to you is beneath you. He’s pathetic.”
I barely have a second to register everything he says before the man spits.
The glob of saliva lands at our feet, and that’s it.
It’s one thing to be a dick to me, but Sylvan is mine and mine alone to pick on. And truly, it’s really poor timing on their part. I have weeks, months, years of pent-up rage and I’m over it.
I snatch an orange from the crate. It’s nice and firm like a baseball.
“Heads up.” I hurl it, giving it just a small magical boost so that it flies with more force.
Before Cassandra or her father can react, it hits her square in the face.
Her head snaps back and her nose crunches.
It’s satisfying. Really, really satisfying.
Blood spurts from her nose as she screams, her voice like nails on a chalkboard. Sylvan shoves me behind him as the male witch raises his hand. Magic singes the air as every piece of produce rises, poised like missiles.
“Stop,” Sylvan snarls. “Put your spells away. We only want to buy our groceries and leave.”
“She broke my nose,” Cassandra gasps, glaring at me as she clutches it.
“Sorry,” I say with an icy smile. “My hand slipped. Nothing a little magic can’t fix.”
“You bitch—”
“I said stop.” Sylvan’s growl stuns all of us.
Power ripples through the market, and all of the fruit drops. He stands in front of me, his shoulders broad, his muscles bulging with supernatural strength. I swallow hard, trying to understand how I felt his words in my body. Head to toe, deep in my marrow, I felt that.
It’d been the command of an alpha, but he wasn’t the only alpha in this store. So why did everyone stop? Why did everyone feel his command?
And why did the asshole witch refer to him as an heir?
Everyone stares at us. They glare at me. I’m the problem, of course. I have to uphold the rumors somehow.
Whispers surround us as Sylvan looks directly at me. “Finish shopping. Now.”
My cheeks burn as I rush up and down the aisles. Sylvan continues to stand with his arms crossed, glaring at Cassandra and Fionn. No one dares to move as I gather everything we need in my arms and take it to the register.
Even the cashier hates me. She silently rings me up. Sylvan adds the hand basket to the belt, the beeps of barcodes being scanned the only sound in the entire store.
I reach for my wallet, but then he’s behind me. He tosses a wad of hundred-dollar bills on the counter. “This will cover everything, including the damaged fruit. Yes?”
“Uh . . . y-yes,” the woman stammers. “It should.”
“Good.” He grabs the bags of groceries and stalks toward the door. “Morgan. Come.”
I don’t have a choice. It’s another command. I haven’t been treated like this since I was a child. Whatever he’s doing to me, to everyone, I can’t disobey him.
I’ve heard about alphas who can do this, but I’ve never in my life met anyone who could with this amount of strength. I thought alphas like him were just myths.
The back of my neck prickles as I head out the door behind him. I glance back over my shoulder at Cassandra and her father.
Fionn’s eyes are like the darkness in the forest.
Sylvan slips his hand in mine, his fingers interlacing like cuffs. I attempt to yank free, but he doesn’t allow it.
“Sylvan,” I yelp as he squeezes. “You’re hurting me—”
His grip immediately softens, but he doesn’t let go. He drags me down the sidewalk at a pace that has me panting.
“You’re going too fast.”
Sylvan’s snarl is monstrous as he drops our groceries. I squeal as he lifts me, throwing me over his right shoulder. He squats down and picks up the groceries again, his entire body vibrating with energy.
He’s furious.
All I did was throw an orange to defend him! It isn’t like Cassandra’s stupid nose can’t be healed. She has an entire coven at her disposal. Someone will fix her right up.
“Put me down,” I say, kicking out.
“Morgan, either submit to me right now, or I will force you to.”
“You can’t possibly carry me and the groceries home.”
“I can and I will. You’re getting put in time out.”
I scoff and kick at him again, only to feel claws dig into my ass. I cry out, my mouth dropping as I realize he partially shifted just to do that.
What in the fuck?
“You are going to be the death of me, Morgan Foxglove,” he says as he marches down the street. “You are worse than a curse.”
“Just put me down.”
A haughty laugh follows. “Not a fucking chance.”
At the pace he sets, our twenty-minute walk turns into less than ten minutes, which leaves me feeling disoriented. Sylvan kicks open the front gate and takes me to the door.
It opens for us. He drops the groceries inside, but not me.
Instead, he carries me to my side of the house. He kicks open my door hard enough that it splinters, again, and takes me straight to my bed.
“Fuck you,” I yell as he throws me down on the mattress.
Suddenly he’s on top of me, his face in mine.
“Do you think this is a joke?” he snarls.
“Get the fuck off me, Sylvan.”
He grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him.
“Do you? Do you think your safety is a fucking joke, Morgan? Do you think that? Because I don’t.
I don’t think it’s a joke at all. And you just made every single fucking person in this town hate you.
You just broke the nose of the Hecate coven leader and for what? ”
Tears sting my eyes. “What do you mean for what? Her father spat at you. I couldn’t just let that happen without some sort of response—”
“You don’t protect me. Ever. Ever, Morgan. You never ever protect me. I protect you.” His teeth are sharp, his voice ragged, his skin tight—and his eyes burn hotter than the sun. “Do you understand me?”
“Fuck you,” I sniffle.
Why is this making me cry? Why do I feel like a fucking failure all over again?
“Morgan.”
A hot tear rolls down my cheek and I avert my eyes. “Yes, Alpha.”
He goes very still. His breath huffs out and he closes his eyes, his expression tensing. “Fuck. I don’t . . . Don’t do that to me. Please.”
“Do what? Obey you? You’re the one who used commands.
You’re the one who dug your claws into my ass.
You’re the one who’s pinning me down, demanding that I don’t protect you.
So what do I do? I obey like a good little omega.
A helpless, useless, omega witch.” More tears fall and I hate myself for showing weakness.
I hate myself so much, it physically hurts.
I feel it in my chest, this hollowing, like I’m forever destined to ruin everything.
Sylvan clutches his chest. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m trying to protect you.”
“Just leave. Get off me. And get out of my room. I don’t want to see you anymore.”
He lingers for a moment. He raises his hand and I instinctively flinch.
Sylvan’s eyes widen. Horror fills them, and I feel like he’s just seen a part of me I usually keep so well hidden. It’s a secret, and it’s one I’ve kept locked up for a long, long time. “I would never hit you, Morgan.”
“Just go,” I whisper.
A growl ripples from him, but he pulls away. He runs his fingers through his hair, but then he’s out the door without another word.
I curl into a ball. My skin feels raw around my shoulders.
Fuck.
I’m sunburned.