Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
I asked for this family. I wanted real. This is real. So why is real so painful?
—Lorinne Leroux’s private journal.
Everett was on his knees, apologizing to Winter. Westley would throw him out the window otherwise. His barb had been unnecessary, and she’d been through enough. When his second finished, Winter tapped his head and said, “You’re forgiven.”
She pulled her hand back and frowned, rubbing her fingertips together. “What the fuck, West?” She faced him, anger knitting her brows. “He’s bleeding.”
“So?”
“So? You’re an asshole.” Winter bounced her eyes between her hand and Everett, then brought her fingers up to her nose.
Were her eyelids fluttering?
Jealousy ripped through him. “Smell something you like?”
She sunk her teeth into her lower lip and said nothing, her focus remaining on his second. Westley stomped over and seized her jaw. “Eyes up here, Winter.”
Black pupils ticked his way as her body went wholly still. She could compel him to let her go—that was their deal—but not a single word had left her mouth.
Was Winter, an alpha, capable of submission?
Hmm.
He studied the blood trickling down her chin. “Look who’s bleeding now.”
How long had she been biting her lower lip? Getting used to the points of her new teeth would take forever. It wasn’t only the rich, woodsy smell of Everett’s blood that had entranced her, it was the feel of it. Like liquid satin.
West wasn’t choking her, but somehow, he was siphoning all of the air from her lungs. Or was it her soul he was sucking? She’d stumbled into a dark, dark daze.
How had she ended up with an infuriatingly hot werewolf on his knees beside her and a boldly beautiful one in front of her? West’s thumb stroking her cheek was making her reconsider how dominant she wanted to be.
Fuck. What was happening?
Winter even considered dropping to her knees, joining Everett on the splintered wood. Before she could, West leaned closer. A low and steady growl escaped him.
She didn’t need to be outside for shivers to dance up her spine. Why was he making her so nervous? They’d agreed to be friends. Winter licked the blood away from her bottom lip, the tang of metal coating her tastebuds.
He angled his head. “Keep your tongue … in your mouth.” He paired his syllables as if he were a mage reciting a spell.
She tried not to pant. “Are you thinking about yanking it out again?”
“You are so very cold,” he countered, playing her game. “Which is why Everett’s on the floor apologizing. Say the word, Winter.” He dragged a finger to her lower lip, tugging it down. “I’ll kneel for you.”
Burning-hot cinnamon scalded her lungs, making it hard to breathe. She needed space—she needed him talking less. She found his wrist, slowly pulling his hand away from her face. “That won’t be necessary.” The words came out quieter than she’d intended. Everything felt weaker, including her grip.
His eyes moved, scanning her face. “Then why wrinkle your nose?”
“I didn’t. Can Everett get up now?”
He smirked. “If you’re satisfied.”
Winter was used to riddles and lies, but not this. Was he still referring to an apology? She side-eyed Everett, nudging him with her foot. “Just get up.”
West swallowed audibly. “Chairs, Everett.” The order was firm, sending his beta to his feet. Wood was shoved to the side of the room and three chairs were gathered—including a large one wrapped in velour and embellished with gold buttons.
Was a throne really necessary?
“Sit,” West growled.
Everett obliged faster than necessary. Winter reached for the other chair, only to be yanked back. West was always pulling and grabbing her. She craned her neck up. “What?”
“I want you in my chair.”
She glared at him, then the throne. “Why?”
“Because you’re not the only one who likes to play games, Winter.” His voice was deep and mystical, as if he was leaning into his inner wizard today. He’d already tricked her heart into tiptoeing towards him every time they were together. What else could be up his sleeve?
“This ought to be fun. So, what are we playing?”
He tapped his nose. “Smell my chair.”
She didn’t need to; it reeked. Of him. She sniffed anyway, but only to amuse him. “What’s your point?”
“This game is called Loyalty. There’s only one rule: no one is allowed to sit on my throne.
If any of my betas do, their scent will give their deceit away.
So I wait for the challenge—who’s brave enough to betray me?
” He posed the rhetorical question like he was some evil villain preaching to his knock-kneed assistant.
“I want my second to see you sit where he never will.” He flashed his ominous gaze to Everett, as if daring him to counter, then back to Winter.
“Let him see how much respect you deserve.” Then he angled his head, adding to his devious nature.
“Go on, Winter. Teach my beta how to behave.”
She sat on his throne with a sigh, wishing she’d worn her red pleather leggings for such an occasion. West’s dick must’ve been exhausted from swinging around so much. Winter was tired by proxy. It was West who needed to be taught a lesson.
She threw her shoulders back and raised an eyebrow at him. “So you’re telling me we can’t get anything done until everyone knows you’re in charge?”
West sank into the other chair, rubbing his temples. “This isn’t about me, Winter.”
“Right. The werewolf nobility clause is in full effect, got it.” She shifted her attention. “Tell me, Everett, how many tables has this room seen?” She put her hand in front of West’s face to stop him from interrupting her. After all, she was the one on the throne.
“Twenty or so,” Everett mumbled.
Resisting the urge to slap West, she squeezed his oversized armrest and shot him a withering look. “You are pathetic.”
Again, Winter had been expecting him to argue—witch this, witch that—but he sulked instead. “I’m sorry.”
“Good. Now, apologize to Everett for tossing him like that.”
Everett’s mouth hung open and he quickly averted his gaze.
West faced his second, swapping his pout for a stern look. “Look at me,” he said.
Everett raised his teal eyes slowly. To Winter’s relief, they’d retained their sheen.
“I apologize,” West said firmly. “No more table smashing.”
“Thank you.”
“There, there,” Winter singsonged, patting West’s thigh a couple of times. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? No dick measuring needed.”
West and Everett froze, their cheeks blooming with color. Were hers? She would really need to stop using certain slang in this time period. “It’s just a saying. I don’t mean actually—”
They both burst out laughing.
It went on for too long. “Enough!” She accidentally used her alpha voice, settling them both on the spot. Not her intention, but very well then. “West, you brought me here for a reason. You wanted to talk about Fang, remember? Why don’t we try to do that.”
He cleared his throat, focusing on Everett. “Why didn’t you tell me Fang won?”
“Following orders, sir.”
“Too well, Everett. Too well.” West shook his head.
Knowing him, he’d probably told everyone to leave him alone. She’d experienced his self-loathing firsthand. Perhaps, Winter thought, if he wasn’t so strict with his betas, they’d feel more comfortable disobeying orders.
West continued, “He found us on the lake yesterday and tried to challenge us both on the spot.”
Everett went pale. “But the battle isn’t scheduled until—”
“Fang doesn’t want to wait. How did he win the tournament?”
“No one knows, sir. But he’s bigger than he used to be. Stronger. Faster. It’s not adding up to any of us.”
Westley pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’ll need to send someone over to his property to sniff out what’s going on. Have them bring meat and eggs, and offer it as a token of good faith before the fight. Then make sure they slip inside. I expect a detailed report.”
Everett nodded. “Anything else?”
“Winter still needs our help. Continue guarding the archives for as long as possible, even if …” He trailed off, unable to finish that thought. “Buy her as much time as you can. And Mel—I need you to take really good care of her. If anything happens to those pups—”
“West?” Why was he talking like this?
His worried gaze met hers. “It took more strength than it should’ve to fight Fang.
He’s been after Xavier’s position since they were teens, but he was always too weak to take it.
The Fang we saw on the ice yesterday was not weak.
Something is off.” West paused, staring at her intently.
“And worse, your title is no longer safe.”
“I’ll use my voice.”
“You cannot use your voice during a full moon.”
Right, it stifled the power. Shit. Coming to terms with being a werewolf had been hard enough; she’d never considered the difference her title made. “I don’t need to follow your rules,” she reminded him. “And I don’t even have a pack to battle for. There’s nothing to take from me.”
His nostrils flared. “They’re not my rules. And last I checked, you have a magical library containing books that help transport you across time. There’s plenty to lose. If the moon is full, they have the right to challenge you. That’s how it works.”
She didn’t like his tone. “That’s how what works?”
“Our culture. Our blood.”
Why was he snapping at her like this? Sure, she was a werewolf, but she was born a mage. Raised by mages. She’d use her immortality status to her advantage if she had to. “I’m a witch, did you forget?”
He growled at her.
She hissed back.
Everett was silent, raking fingers through his disheveled hair.
Winter seriously needed a fucking break. She sat up, grabbed her broom, and stomped out of the meat locker. Halfway down the too-quiet hall, she pivoted. Knocking on Mellie’s door was a risk, but what wasn’t?
She moved closer and spoke through it. “It’s me. Just me,” she added.
There were a few sniffles in return. After that, the door clicked and cracked open.
Mellie left enough room for her to squeeze through.
Any more and the pups would’ve burst out.
Winter shut the door behind her, handed her broom to Mellie, and collapsed on the floor.
It wasn’t just Cara and Cori she required, it was all seven pups.
The pups—innocent, full of joy, and without orders to bite—ravaged her with kisses.
“You’re so strange, Winter.”
“And you’re stubborn,” she choked out. It was difficult to talk while being trampled. The pups were so big now. When Mellie didn’t respond, Winter switched to a lighter topic. “What are all their names?” she wheezed.
“The reddish ones are Yarrow, Anise, and Ginger. The black and white ones are Pepper and Poppy. And you already know Caraway and Coriander.”
Winter didn’t realize Cara and Cori were nicknames. How cute. “You really do love to cook, don’t you?” she asked, blissfully struggling for air.
“I do. Are you staying for dinner? It’s at five.”
Was that an invitation? Magdalene could cook, but Mellie could cook. Winter’s attempt at the craft was measly by comparison. “Now I am.” Her words were muffled by Pepper’s or Poppy’s kissing snout.
Mellie grinned. “Good, I’ve missed you. The pups too. And yes, I’m sorry for snapping at you the other day. I’ve been foul all-around lately.”
This was more affection than Winter had bargained for. Little angels must’ve flown in, wielding their magical bows to shoot rain droplets into her eyes. “I’m sorry, too,” she admitted. “I can be harsh.”
Mellie laughed, tender and sweet. “Sometimes, yes. Other times, you’re not so bad.”
Winter cried happy tears while Cori nibbled on her shoulder. He didn’t break the skin, he was tickling her.
“Anyways, stay in here as long as you’d like to. I need to defeather some hens.”
Winter rolled away from the pups and sat up to face her. “Thank you, Mellie.”
Her smile was warm despite the layers of pain behind her eyes. “Of course.”