7. Chapter 7
Gunnar
A knock on the door jolts me from sleep.
“Arlo, Gunnar? Are you awake? I made you breakfast!” Arlo’s mother calls.
“Shit,” Arlo hisses. “Don’t make a sound.”
Something snuffles to my left. The closet door opens, and out walks a female boar, stretching her forelegs. “What in the—” I snarl, leaping to my feet. I spring into Arlo’s bed and cover him with my body.
“Gunnar, what the bloody fuck!”
“Don’t move! There’s a boar!”
The females may not have tusks, but I’ve seen grown men get bowled off their feet during hunts when the beasts charge.
A feminine voice says, “What boar? Where?”
Did the boar just… speak?
“Boys, is everything all right in there?” Arlo’s mother rattles the doorknob.
“Arlo, what is—” Arlo slaps a hand over my mouth.
“One, ignore her, she’s an attention seeker. Two, you need to spoon me. Now.”
I am so confused right now.
“A… a spoon?”
“Fine, I’ll be the big spoon!” With a groan, Arlo suddenly rolls us onto our sides so he’s curled up behind me, arms around my waist. The warmth of his body seeps into my back like a ray of sunlight. “Come in!” he calls, breath tickling the shell of my ear.
Gods, it’s been so long since another man held me like this. My cock hardens in seconds, flooding with heat. Been even longer since that happened. Long enough that I thought I was impotent. My body comes alive with heat and desire.
Until the door opens and Arlo’s mother walks in. Shit. I’ve got to stay on my side so she doesn’t see.
“Morning!” she says with a bright smile, carrying a tray loaded with coffee and food. The scent makes my mouth water.
“That smells divine, Mum,” Arlo says, sitting up.
I prop myself on my elbow and smile. The only thing hotter than my cock right now is my face.
“Any plans for the day?” she asks.
“I’m grabbing lunch with some mates of mine to tell them the big news and invite them to the wedding.”
Mates? My heart drops into my stomach. Arlo has mates. I’m just one of many to him? I don’t realize I’ve tuned out the rest of their discussion until Arlo’s mother leaves the room and we’re alone.
“Hungry?” Arlo asks.
I’ve never felt less hungry.
I grunt a response and sit up, staring down at the food with disinterest and a sick churning in my stomach. If Arlo already has mates, then why did he ask me to be his fake mate? Am I the only wolf shifter he knows? Is that why he asked? Humiliation heats my face. What a fool I am.
The boar springs onto the bed and shoves her snout in front of Arlo’s plate. He gives her snout a light smack. “Wait your turn, Truffles!”
She snorts and sits back on her haunches. “Put lots of jam on mine!”
“Yes, Your Highness.” Arlo scoffs, a fond smile tilting his lips as he spreads several spoonfuls of jam over the halved scone.
“You have a pet pig?” I ask.
Truffles’s ears flick. “I’m not a pet. I’m his familiar.”
I pick up a scone and take a bite. “And that is?” I don’t give a damn, not really, but if I’m talking, I can’t focus on the anger simmering in my gut. Anger I’ve got no bloody right to feel because Arlo isn’t mine to keep.
“Most witches have familiars to help channel their magic.” Arlo holds out the scone and Truffles inhales it from his palm, snorting happily as she chews.
“And yours is a pig?”
Arlo smiles and rubs Truffles’s ears. “Like Freya herself, yeah. Many witches prefer boars for their association with Freya.”
I grunt my understanding and take a big bite of the scone. The silence that falls between us weighs on me. All that fills the quiet are memories of his forced laugh when I snapped at him last night, and how I stayed awake into the night berating myself for pushing him away.
No one with a lick of sense will believe we’re betrothed if we don’t act like it.
“Are you well?” Arlo asks, his voice unusually cautious. As if he worries I’ll snap at him again.
“Fine,” I answer. Anger still gnaws at me.
“Sorry if I was overbearing last night. I didn’t mean to imply you can’t look after yourself.”
“Sorry I was short with you,” I reply.
“It’s fine. Truffles will tell you I’m a bit of a mother hen.” Arlo laughs softly and takes my hand, giving my fingers a quick squeeze. They twitch, trying to curl around him and keep him there longer, but I just barely manage to resist.
His concern caught me off guard. My brothers were worried for me, but over time they stopped asking where I went or why I was gone for so long. At first, their concern had angered me, but when they stopped asking altogether, that had hurt.
We barely know each other, yet Arlo worries after me like we’ve known each other a lifetime. He’s kind and caring… It’s dangerous. This arrangement of ours isn’t real. Arlo has no business caring about me, not when we’ll just part ways when all this is over.
I can’t afford to get attached. I’ve loved and lost before. It’s not something I’ll ever let happen again.
“So, here’s the plan.” Arlo sticks his thumb in his mouth, sucking off some cream. My eyes lock on the way his cheeks hollow with a little moan of satisfaction. “We eat breakfast, get ready for the day, and then around noon, we’ll head into the city and meet my mates at the pub.”
The lust pooling low in my belly turns to ice.
Right. His mates.
A growl rumbles in my chest.
Ours, the berserker snarls. Our mate. No one else’s.
Gods, how in Hel’s name will I get through this meeting without bloodshed?
I lurch out of bed, making the tray tilt. Arlo balances it before our breakfast can spill all over the bed.
“Gunnar?”
When was he going to bloody tell me he had mates? And why does it bother me so much? I rejected him. Of course he ran off and found a mate or two or… or whatever comes after two. “Bath,” I say through gritted teeth before leaving the bedroom.
In the bathroom down the hall, I toss off my clothes and, after a bit of fumbling, get the water running. When Anders told me the future had hot water at the turn of a knob, I’d laughed in his face, but I’ve never appreciated being in the future more than when I step under the hot spray.
The tension bleeds from my muscles, washed away by the hot water. Alone and with nothing to distract me, all I can focus on is the ache in my chest that has no right to be there.
I’ve heard of some people having more than one mate. It’s not uncommon.
The gods already took one mate from me, and even now when I’ve finally found the one made for me and me alone, he isn’t mine to keep.
It’s just as well, isn’t it? Someone as free-spirited and cheerful as Arlo deserves better than a broken wolf on the cusp of insanity.
I’d rather have my arm bitten off by Fenrir himself than meet Arlo’s mates at this pub.
My wolf keeps pushing against my restraints, even without my fur cloak, making my nails sharpen and fangs prick my inner lip.
I made my choice to reject our bond, but my feral half is at odds with my decision.
It will be hard for both of us to watch Arlo and these mates of his.
Shit. Will Arlo expect me to be a part of his… What’s that word Kieran used once? Molycule? I don’t share.
How will I get through this meal without savaging anyone who touches Arlo?
I must. Arlo isn’t mine. I made my choice.
I'm still unsure of myself by the time we arrive at the pub.
My wolf won’t settle, and I can think of only one way to appease him.
“Hold a moment, Lo.” I take his wrist.
“What is it—oh!” Arlo gasps when I pull him close and bury my face in his neck. A low growl rumbles through my chest as I rub my cheek against his neck.
“Are you… scenting me?” Arlo asks. He settles his hand on my shoulder but doesn’t push me away.
My wolf’s riding me too hard to reply in anything but a low rumble. I switch sides, brushing my cheek over the right side of his neck now. Arlo’s breath quickens, spicy notes of arousal deepening his scent.
Now he’ll smell like me, like mine.
When I pull back, I’m pleased to see that the skin on either side of his neck is flushed. The flush crawls up his throat and pools in his cheeks. A shiver runs down my spine, settling hot and heavy in my balls when his dark eyes find mine.
“W-what was that about?”
I clear my throat. “My wolf needs you to smell like me.”
“Oh? Why?”
So everyone in there knows he belongs to us, my wolf growls.
I banish the possessive thought from my head. “It’s a wolf thing. Something we all do. Are these… mates of yours witches?” My throat prickles as if I’ll gag.
Arlo touches the curve of his neck. “Yes.”
“Good. Then they’ll have an easier time believing we’re really together if they know I’ve scented you.” Even if they can’t smell it, the beard burn on Arlo’s skin should make it obvious.
“Right!” Arlo laughs, averting his gaze. “Of course. Very clever of you!” He claps me on the shoulder and, after how intimate we just were, the overtly friendly touch makes something in me sour.
The hoppy aroma of beer and the sting of alcohol hits my nose when we walk in.
I’m unsure which is louder, the music or the customers laughing and talking at the top of their lungs.
The noise makes my ears ache, and my shoulders hunch as if they’ll somehow muffle my hearing.
It will be a blessing if I leave this place with my hearing intact.
Run, my berserker growls, leave. Now. We must leave.
“There they are!” Arlo takes my hand, and his touch commands all my attention.
His hand warms my skin, fingers tightening around mine.
If I listen closely enough, tune out all the excess, I can follow the soothing thump of his heart.
My shoulders drop, and the tightness in my muscles fades.
The agitated growl rumbling in my throat ceases on my next exhale.
Two men wave at us from a table, and a woman with pink hair and dark makeup springs up and waves.
“Hey, bitch!” They’re dressed in dark clothes.
One man has spiky purple hair. The other has all sorts of rings and piercings.
“Are they who we’re meeting?” They don’t look like the sort of people Arlo would associate with. Though they do smell like magic.