Chapter 5 Brothers
Brothers
Dom
Ahand slaps me on the shoulder, and I turn to see Aaryn holding a crate of honey against his hip.
He sets it on the table, his dirty blonde hair blows lightly in the cool breeze. He’s not as tall as I am, but with his lean build, he’s pretty damn fast on his feet.
I laugh, looking around and giving him shit. “You’re late, the booths have already opened.”
“I know, I know. Would you believe the reason I’m late is because my parents were talking to me about taking over?”
“No shit?”
“Yeah,” he replies, smiling widely.
I’m proud of him. We’re different—a werewolf and an elf—but his mom calls us The Twins. Brothers.
The stand smells of wildflowers and the honeycomb samples he’s brought for display.
I lean against the edge of the booth as he takes jars of glistening honey one at a time out of the crate, lining them up just right on the white tablecloth.
The sun is making its way through the clouds after an early morning drizzle. The air smells of rain and the damp earth beneath our boots.
Aaryn runs the stand for his parents for a few days of the Spring Festival. It’s to give them a break during the long market days. I already helped my mother and grandmother set up the flower stand and fill the buckets with water for the bouquets and single stems.
For his parents to want him to take over Groves Bee Farm—it’s big news. I am more than ready to do the same at the flower shop.
“What are you doing after this?” I ask, reaching down into the second crate to help set up his signage and bee-themed decor that his mother uses. Smaller boxes sit in this crate of beeswax products Aaryn makes to sell—beeswax lip balms and lotions.
“I don’t know, what do you want to do? Or do you plan to take a run through the woods all night?” He smirks.
“If you want me to whoop your ass in a game of pool at Four Lanterns, just say so.”
“Fuck you.” He laughs, nudging me with his elbow.
The memory fades as the forest blurs around me in the darkness; my vision, however, is sharp. My mind always goes blank out here when I can't sleep, allowing memories to flow in and out.
I drop to all fours, my claws tearing into the soil with every stride.
The ground shudders beneath my weight, and the cold wind roars past my ears.
Power and strength course through my body while I run.
My fur, black as night, ripples with each movement of my muscles, glistening under the moonlight that shines between the trees.
The beast relishes its freedom. The feeling of submitting control as the cold air burns my lungs. It feels euphoric.
I come to a violent halt at the edge of a cliff gravel crunching beneath my feet. My wolf stands over seven feet tall—a humanoid figure on raised heels and clawed toes.
My chest heaves up and down, nostrils flaring wide to absorb every scent. My pointed ears twitch, hypersensitive to every sound. A mouse scurrying on the forest floor and the owl looking for its prey. Nothing escapes me.
I think back to last night. I’m proud of Jasmira wanting to put herself out there again.
It’s not easy to take these steps after everything she’s lost and everything she has to continue to live for.
There was once a time when she could barely utter a word about Aaryn, couldn’t say his name without breaking down.
When simply taking care of herself seemed impossible.
Now she’s smiling and laughing more. The light in her eyes is back.
She’s not the same woman she was all those years ago. Who wouldn’t see beauty in that?
I could sense her anxiety rising as we talked. Her heart was beating like a racehorse. I saw the skin at her throat jump with each flutter of her pulse.
The thoughts twisting in her head made her question everything.
What she is doing, who she is. I could see it in her face.
The glow of her eyes faded, just a little.
I tasted the change in the air. The anxiety seeped into her nerves, suffocating her blood like a toxin.
The sweetness sharpened to something bitter, and I didn’t like the flavor.
If Jasmira wants to bring another man into her life, fine. But it doesn’t mean I will stand by and let someone hurt her. She deserves someone who treats her right. Treats her with kindness and love, not pity.
Lifting my head to the sky, I bask in the moonlight, letting it wash over me. The power of the moon calls to something deep within me. Its timeless, restless magic hums through my veins—a blessing from Moiraya to us werewolves, allowing us to shift regardless of a full moon.
Chest tightening, I raise my muzzle and release the howl burning within me.
The sound explodes from deep within my chest—a long, raw sound spilling into the world, demanding to be heard.
It ricochets through the tall trees, reaching up to the star-flecked sky and echoing off the cliffs until it feels like the world is shaking.
“Yes, Mom,” I say, tapping an egg against the skillet. It cracks open and falls into the pan.
If there is one thing Angelina Wilcott loves more than living out in the country of Crescent Springs with the pack and letting her wolf free, it’s calling me, her only son, once a week like clockwork.
Saturday mornings are kind of our thing. I love talking to my Mom, but she always wants to gossip. So, I listen. I visit as often as I can, but the spring and summer seasons can be rough.
“We miss you,” she says, her voice carries warmth and sadness, even through the phone.
“I know, Ma,” I sigh as I flip the eggs and remove the bacon from the pan onto a plate. “I miss you all too. I’ll look into planning a trip this summer.” She knows it’s a busy season for flowers, especially with wedding season finally here, but I’m sure I can schedule some time off.
When my mom and Grandma wanted to move to accommodate a growing pack, they expected me to come along. But I wanted to stay. I had to stay. Sure, I could have opened another flower shop elsewhere, but I have roots here. Memories. I didn’t want to sell our family business. I had to stay.
“There’s something I want to talk about,” she says, her voice muffled, fading slightly. Like she’s walking around and shuffling through papers, looking for something.
“Is Grandma okay?” I ask, my stomach sinking.
“Oh, yes, honey, Grandma is fine,” she says, her voice clearer now.
I let out a deep breath of worry and turn off the stove. I can’t imagine life without my grandma, especially when she is still out here living her best life at over a hundred years old.
I pull the two pieces of toast from the toaster, layering the crisp bacon and eggs in between. Nothing fancy, but the protein will keep me going. I add a few slivers of avocado. We werewolves need healthy fat, too.
I eat while my mother continues to go off on one of her rambles, bits of information thrown here and there.
“Your grandma and I are going to be talking to the pack this week. We have to prepare all the single werewolves for the Blood Rose Moon. It will be rising soon, and we need to educate them on bonding.”
I remember hearing about the Blood Rose Moon as a child. My grandparents last saw it a little over eighty years ago. It is a rare event, a blessing, in which the Moon Goddess bonds two souls together as one.
“You should come visit when the moon rises. Maybe you’ll find—”
“Mom,” I sigh, my fingers pinching my brow. “I need more notice than this, and do you honestly think I’ll find my mate?” I laugh before finishing the last bit of my sandwich.
“Hey! Don’t laugh at your mother!” she says with a smile in her voice.
“Moiraya is busy this season,” she continues. There’s joy dancing in her voice, but I know she’s also wagging a finger at me on the other side of this phone. “You, my son, are not meant to be alone. Trust me, I’m your mama. I know these things.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, fighting the urge not to roll my eyes. Mom will know I’m giving her attitude. “There are no packs near me, Mom. I’m not coming to Crescent Springs just so you can parade me in front of eligible contestants.”
"My Bloodsense doesn’t lie,” she says, in a voice just as wise as my grandmother’s. “The moon’s stirring the old magic. You have it in your blood, too.”
I shake my head lightly. Her Bloodsense, this strong intuition and ability to have prophetic dreams, has an unsettling way of coming true.
Like the time I fell flat on my ass during soccer tryouts, and she told me not to worry about it.
I still made the team. But this time the stars are wrong.
I don’t see myself searching for love. It isn’t on the horizon.
I’ve had a few dates here and there, but nothing has sparked enough to chase after and hold on to.
“If anything changes, I’ll let you know. I promise.”
She chuckles. “You'd better. I have to go, but I’ll call again soon. Think about the visit. I love you.”
“Love you too, Mom,” I say, before ending the call.
The Blood Rose Moon. I do remember the stories, but as a child, they sounded like a legend. A myth. It’s rare. Very few people ever experience lasting love—let alone having a mate. I’m a lone werewolf who separated from his pack by staying here.
A Goddess who creates bonds, tying two souls together, would focus on the wolves who believe in the pack, in belonging together. Not me.
I don’t mind the silence. The solitude. I don’t know what Mom feels and why, but we'll see what Moiraya decides. I already chose to be here.