Chapter 23
Morgan
I’m disappointed when Zach announces that he’s leaving after dinner. Sylvan has been sulking all day, and I’ve been happy ignoring him while gardening with Zach.
He’s sweet and fun and easy going. He doesn’t really look like Sylvan, although when he scowls, I can see it. He’s only scowled when mocking his older brother though.
The fact that Sylvan has a brother I didn’t know about pisses me off. Or the fact that he’s apparently a fucking prince? Or that he should’ve been leading a territory instead of playing bodyguard. I may not be a werewolf, but even I know how big of a deal it is that he’s not fulfilling his duty.
Sylvan puts trays of food on the outside table. The sun has set and fireflies dance in the garden, candles offering us light at the table. Even though I’m furious with him, I point at the chair right next to me when Sylvan hesitates on where to sit.
“Are you sure you have to go?” I ask Zach. “We have plenty of space here.”
He chuckles nervously, eyeing Sylvan. “No. I’m good. Thank you, though. Perhaps in the future, when the two of you don’t reek of pheromones.”
Fuck, I hadn’t even thought of that.
Zach has been so painfully blunt about Sylvan being my mate, that I haven’t argued with him about it or corrected him. Verena knew too, of course, but even she wasn’t so matter-of-fact about it.
“Well, in the future then,” I say. “Or if you’re ever in Boston and need a place to stay, you can crash on my couch.”
Sylvan stares at me. “He will do no such thing.”
“Well, when we’re done with this contract, you won’t have a say, will you?”
Zach smiles and stays quiet as he piles his plate with food. I’m glad Sylvan cooked, because I didn’t even consider how big his appetite might be.
“You’re not going back to Boston,” Sylvan mutters.
I stab my fork through a steak. “No? Since when?”
“Since the moment you shook my hand.”
A dry chuckle leaves me. “If you want to mark your territory—”
“Morgan,” he warns. “I’m this close to putting you over my shoulder and taking you to my bed, brother present or not.”
I glower at him. “I hate you.”
Sylvan’s eyes burn holes into me, but we table our argument for now.
Zach looks like he’s watching a tennis match and doesn’t even attempt to hide his amusement.
“Okay,” I sigh. “Sorry. Sylvan and I will argue later. I’m sure we can make it through a meal without bickering.” I’m actually not sure about that at all. We’re more like oil and water than fated mates.
Zach’s smile swallows his face, and he has little dimples. It turns him from being devastatingly handsome to cute. “It’s okay. He argues with everyone. I think it’s the alpha in him. They get so asinine.”
“They do,” I agree.
Sylvan sighs and reaches for the pitcher of water, pouring each of us a glass. “And neither of you complain when I protect you. Actually that’s not true. You both complain a lot.”
I ignore him. “Do you have a mate?” I ask Zach.
His smile fades. “No. Not yet. Maybe one day. Hopefully one day. I’d want to be marked immediately.”
I raise a brow. “Even if you don’t know them?”
“Yeah.” Zach swallows hard. “I wouldn’t care.”
“What if they were a bad person?” I ask.
“Well, my hope is that the goddess isn’t that cruel. I’d like to believe if someone is my fated mate, then we’re meant to be. I’d like to trust that bond.”
I’m a little jealous of that sort of faith in the universe. I do not share the same sentiment. With Sylvan, it’s been hard. A lot of denial and telling myself it isn’t real. That it’s the contract, and not something deeper. I want it to be real. That’s the actual problem.
“And what if your alpha doesn’t want it?” Sylvan asks. “What if they can’t take it?”
“Only a fool would miss out on the chance to mark me,” Zach snorts.
Okay, so I see they are more like each other than I thought before. Maybe having an ego runs in their family tree.
“I don’t know. My hope is that I’ll be lucky. But not everyone is. It’s worth wishing for, though. I’ve never been loved like that, and maybe it’s just a dream, but I want it.”
My eyes sting. “Yeah. I get that.”
Sylvan is looking at me, but his expression is unreadable. When I meet his gaze, he holds it. It’s only when Zach starts talking about what it’s like to try hitchhiking as a werewolf that his attention swerves back to his brother.
The rest of dinner flies by and before I know it, we’re saying our goodbyes on the front porch.
Sylvan shakes his hand stiffly. “Good luck.”
“To you as well,” Zach returns cooly. When he faces me, his expression warms.
I open my arms and give him a big hug. “You have my number,” I say. “If you ever need to talk, just reach out. Okay?”
“Thank you,” he says. He gives me one more squeeze, earning a grumbly warning from Sylvan, but we don’t care.
I don’t know how to explain it, but Zach already feels like a brother to me.
He leans back, his hands warm on my shoulders.
“My brother means well, Morgan, even when he’s being an asshole.
He does everything from a place of protecting those he cares about.
It’s overbearing at times, but it’s a sign of affection, even if he wants you to think otherwise. ”
“Can you leave?” Sylvan sighs.
Zach grins. “Text me if you need anything too.”
“I will,” I say. “Goodbye.”
Zach leaves the porch and I’m shocked when he shifts into a werewolf. His fur is lighter than Sylvan’s and he’s a little bit smaller in build. He sets off into a run, and we stand there until he’s out of sight.
“He’s like you,” I say. “He can control his shifts.”
Sylvan nods. “Yes. Runs in our family.”
“Are you sure he’ll be okay?” I ask. I don’t even know Zach really, but I still feel worried about his safety. What if one of those creatures goes after him? He’s alone, and yeah he’s probably tough, but . . .
“He’ll be fine. He’s strong and smart.”
There’s a hint of admiration in Sylvan’s voice, and that soothes me. Even though they clearly have issues, I don’t think Sylvan would let his brother leave if he was worried about him too.
“I like him more than you,” I say.
Sylvan chuckles and loops his thumbs in his belt. “Sorry. You’re stuck with me.”
I cross my arms, scrutinizing him. I have so many questions, and I’m tired of him avoiding the answers. I need us to be completely honest with each other for once. “I want you to tell me everything. You owe me that much.”
He rocks on his heels, but then gives a silent nod. “Okay. Let’s go inside though.”
I glance back in the direction Zach ran toward one last time. I hope he’s safe and I hope he finds his mate.
Sylvan and I make our way to the living room, and I notice his back is tense, his shoulders tight. There’s only one couch, and we take opposite ends as if the two feet of space between us is enough of a barrier.
Maybe this will finally answer all my questions about him.
Sylvan runs his fingers through his hair as a couple lamps flicker on for us. Soft amber light fills the room. Shadows dance across his face as he scowls, sharpening his features. I suck in a breath, trying not to stare, but it’s hard not to. He’s entirely too attractive like this.
“Come on,” I prod gently. “You’re one of two people who knows what happened with Maeve, and you know even more than Verena does. You know my secrets, so give me some of yours.”
He lets out a humorless chuckle. His body is rigid. “You don’t want them.”
“I do. I want to know you.”
Sylvan sinks back into the sofa. His breaths are shaky and he apologizes under his breath. “Sorry. I just . . . I’ve never talked about it with anyone.”
“It’s okay. Take your time.” I decide to break the distance we intentionally put between ourselves and scoot closer, settling my hand on his knee, even though it’s bouncing up and down a hundred miles per hour.
“You heard the territory thing,” he starts, the strain in his voice worrying me.
“I did. And that you’re supposed to lead one. Which is a big deal.” Calling it a big deal was an understatement, actually, but I wasn’t going to think about that too hard for the moment.
“It is.”
“And the fact that you’re not . . . And I heard the word exile.” Exile was one of the worst forms of punishment for a werewolf because they thrive in groups. Having a family or a pack is a fundamental part of their worlds, and being forced to be alone? It’s cruel.
Sylvan simply nods. “Yes. I’m in exile. I’m not allowed in that territory unless I wish to challenge those leading it, and since I turned eighteen, I’ve been on the run from them and those who killed my family. I was raised to take over, but that didn’t work out. Clearly.”
“I don’t know much about wolf politics,” I say. “But I know that it’s more . . . ingrained than it is for witches and daimons.”
“It’s a hierarchy,” he explains. “And it is ingrained, although things have changed for the better in the last century. Packs used to be a lot larger, but it’s more individual family units now.
Like my friend Catriona—she’s a daimon with three mates.
Two of them are wolves. They live in one of the northern territories, and since they are mated to werewolves, they’re under that territory leader’s protection. ”
“But you were a prince? Or are a prince? It sounds so . . .”
“Outdated,” he chuckles nervously. “I don’t claim the title, but I come from the oldest pack.
It’s the one that our lore whispers was created by Selene herself.
I’m a direct descendant of the first alpha.
I was raised to become the next leader, and everyone hoped that I would unite the three western ridge territories so that they can provide a better and safer place for everyone who lives within them.
Instead, my family was killed and this was painted as treason.
An exile in the world of werewolves, but it is even something daimons and witches know of. ”
“What about the Council?” I ask. “Surely they wouldn’t have allowed this.”