Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
There is no mold for a cursed witch. Stop trying to fit in.
—Lorinne Leroux’s private journal.
Winter found solace in the skeletal remains of vampires scattered about the dining room.
A torn-open rib cage was fixed above the mantle, several femurs dangled from the ceiling, fingers were strung together like macrame, and full spines were displayed like works of art.
The décor was nice. It reminded her of being back in school, studying anatomy and attending cadaver labs.
A society of mages she’d somehow founded.
She brushed off the thought, focusing instead on the overly-cushioned throne. It made her wonder if West’s favorite color was dark blue. It matched the one from the meeting room upstairs. All the other chairs in here were made of simple, snappable wood.
Not good, she thought, considering his recent behavior.
He’d argued with her about sitting in his seat again—this time, in front of everyone—and she’d still refused. Not one fucking word had come out of anyone’s mouth since. Most of them continued to stare at her like she should be the raw pig on the table, cut into pieces and bleeding.
Slicing the tension with a butcher knife, Mellie arrived with a sheet pan full of roasted chickens.
She dropped it on the table, and chopped them up one by one.
A shifter with sleek brown hair followed behind with more pans.
Mellie finished up, then fetched the bowl of boiled chicken heads.
She tossed one to Everett, one to Winter, and the rest to her pups, who were seated along the side wall with their tails wagging.
Mellie waved her weapon around. “Everyone, please start.”
“Are you going to eat that?” asked West.
Winter set the little face on her plate and spoke out of the side of her mouth.
“I don’t think Mellie would appreciate me giving it to you, and I’m trying to stay on her good side.
” His sister was a maniac with the butcher knife.
Breasts, thighs, drumsticks, and wings were tossed around the table.
When West reached for one, Mellie hissed.
He retracted his hand.
“See,” Winter said. “Just eat the pig.”
He grunted.
The one good thing about dining with a bunch of werewolves was that no one was shy with eating.
Winter took some white and dark meat, making eye contact with several shifters.
Saying hi without saying hi was easier than she thought it’d be.
A slight nod here and there, and maybe they weren’t so scary.
Winter managed four bites before she was interrupted. A small heart rolled towards her, coming to a stop at the edge of her plate. It left a bloody trail that led right to Everett. She swept her eyes up, meeting his. “Is this for me?”
“I thought you’d like it.”
She picked the chicken heart up, cupping it in her hands. It was extra bloody and super cute. She half-smiled. “Very much.”
His gaze went as soft as his tone. “Then take a bite.”
Winter tilted her head. “But I’ve never— ”
“Sure you have.”
No, she’d remember chewing on cardiac muscle. Using it for stock and eating it whole were two vastly different forms of consumption. “I have not.”
Everett leaned back in his chair, rubbing his puffed-up chest. “I beg to differ.”
She glared at him, then back at the heart in her palms.
“Winter.” West said her name like it took effort.
“What?”
A candle flickered between them, the flame dancing inside his darkened pupils. “Everett’s right, you know.” He tapped the edge of his foot against hers. “That wouldn’t be the first heart you’ve taken a bite out of.”
Her fingers curled so tightly around the chicken heart it ruptured. Blood splattered on her face, the plate, and all over the table.
Everett smirked. “Tense, Winter?”
She shot him a death look. Boiling her cauldron and passing the spoon to West was completely uncalled for. Tense didn’t begin to express whatever feelings were swirling around inside her chest.
She huffed, dropped the abused organ on her plate, and wiped off her fingers. Licking them clean wouldn’t cool things down at this end of the table.
Everett let out a smug laugh, shared a glance with his alpha, and went back to his meal.
What the fuck were they up to?
Winter’s break didn’t last long. The brunette who’d assisted Mellie strolled over.
Her scooped blouse had a structured bodice, fluffy sleeves, and long sweeping skirt.
She stood beside West, who was still seated in his throne, and knelt before him.
She opened her hands to reveal a few chicken wings.
West smiled bigger than Winter had ever seen.
The shifter lifted her hands to his lap, holding her palms open.
He leaned down and ate off of her hands like she was his fucking plate.
There was this strange, unspoken language between them.
It was like she knew what he wanted without having to ask.
The brunette’s warm eyes beamed up at him, bright and …
Winter knew what that twinkle meant.
Her heart pounded like the little angels had taken to playing the drums. They wanted rain, they wanted thunder. They wanted Winter to reach across the table for Mellie’s butcher knife.
Everett cleared his throat. “Are you going to eat that chicken head?”
She threw it at him.
He caught it with expert speed, saving his eyeball from a peck. “Something wrong?”
“Do you ever stop smirking?”
His insufferable grin widened.
Flying away would be Winter’s best option. She was way too horny and jealous to be sitting down for dinner. Everett was annoying, West was an asshole, and this sleek haired bitch in the milkmaid outfit was still on her knees.
Westley spit out the bones of the last chicken wing into Keltia’s hands—she’d always been too good to him. He licked his lips, savoring Mel’s cooking.
“I’ve missed you, very much,” she whispered.
“I missed you.” It’d be a lie if he told her otherwise, they’d known each other since they were kids. Meeting with her tonight would be the right thing to do. “Will you come see me later?”
“I was hoping you’d ask.”
Winter slammed her water glass down, rattling the silverware. What was going on with her?
“Keltia!” Mel, the self-proclaimed matriarch of the omegas, shouted from across the table. “Get back over here!”
Keltia stood abruptly, her big, brown eyes widening.
Had his sister gone mad? First the chicken restriction, now his omega? Enough was enough. Westley pounded his fist on the table and stood. “You can hate me all you want, but you will respect me, Mel. I give the orders around here.”
“What orders? While you’ve been away sulking, we’ve been putting the pieces back together. One by one. Wolves are dead, West. And don’t you see how big the pups have gotten?” She looked at them, then back to him, her eyes blazing. “You’ve missed so much.”
His voice cracked. “You told me to stay away from you.”
She paused, blinking. “And you listened?”
“I—”
Mel didn’t let him speak, she exploded. “I’m not surprised you locked yourself up to drink.
How’d that feel? Were you just going to show up the night of the fight and hope for the best?
Like none of us even matter? You’re so selfish, West. Your betas have been stressed.
We’ve all been.” She shook her head, disappointment rolling off her in thick waves.
“At least you came out of hiding for someone.” She locked eyes with Keltia. “I said, get back over here.”
Winter pushed her chair back. “I’m going to go. I should check on Magdalene, the archives. It was nice meeting everyone, sort of.” She moved so quickly it was almost as if the wind blew her away.
Everett stood, pushed his chair in, and ran after her.
West couldn’t move. His sister had rendered his legs useless. His throne was a puddle of mud, and he was slowly sinking into it.
“Well?” Mel asked. “Don’t you have something to say? To all of us?”
He pulled on the neck of his tunic, seeking strength he wouldn’t find.
The closest members of his pack were waiting on him to speak.
To rise from the mud. To take control. To be a leader.
But his typical methods of establishing dominance had led to a level of compliance that blinded him to their individual needs.
He’d abandoned them all. Mel was right—she was always right.
He stopped staring at his plate and lifted his eyes to the room.
There was worry, shame, concern, and fear—all of the worst emotions—staring back at him.
“I’m sorry for stepping away for longer than I should have.
For drinking again. For the distress I’ve caused.
If you choose to forgive me, know that I am here now.
I will fight. And I will beat Fang. I’ll do better …
by all of you.” He couldn’t promise a win but he could try his very best.
His pack nodded.
Some raised their glasses, forgiveness and grace softening their faces. Mel still frowned. It would take more than words to earn her trust back, and he would do what it took to prove it to her. Engaging with his pack shouldn’t feel like a chore. This was his family and he loved them.
Keltia peeled off the chicken skin from her thigh, handing it to Gemma who craved the crispy layer.
Hope sat across from Livia, best friends.
Asher and Brent were bickering over who got the last drumstick.
Aisling leaned back, rubbing her pregnant belly.
There’d be a baby in the house soon. Luther, the father-to-be, was quiet as usual.
Forever thinking. His other betas, Hardin, Quinn, Kiser, and Spence, went back to reviewing tomorrow’s schedule.
There were so many lives that depended on him to beat Fang, and not only in this room. There was an entire county full.
Winter shoved Everett out of her way, mounting her broom. “Stop following me.” She lifted off the ground, relieved to be floating. All she had to do was lean forward and go.
“You can’t leave—not tonight. What’s wrong?”
What isn’t? She stared at the moon, yearning to fly towards it. “Nothing.”
“Really? Because when you were in Mellie’s room, West told me a big secret. And call it wolfish instinct, but I have a feeling you running away has something to do with it.”
Her chin was up, but she glanced down. “What secret?”
“You’re true mates.” He whispered the words as if that would soften their impact.
Winter wasn’t sure how she felt about someone else knowing about her strange connection with West. “We aren’t anything.”
Everett clutched her broomstick, pulled her closer, and flashed his teeth. “For a witch, you’re a terrible liar.”
Winter flicked his fingers. “Let go of my broom.”
He ignored her.
She couldn’t help but wonder if it was because her order hadn’t contained his favorite word. “Please, Everett, just fuck off.”
“I know this is about Keltia.”
She should fly away—take Everett for a ride before prying his fingers off. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re a liar.”
And just like that, Winter’s cauldron boiled over. “Never. Touch. My. Broom.” Her alpha voice was as bright and bold as the moon.
Everett’s hand splayed like every muscle, ligament, and tendon had gone rigid. A moment later, he shook it out.
Shit.
Winter softened her stance. “Did that hurt?”
After flexing and extending his fingers a few times, he said, “It’s fine.”
She was the liar? If that was painful, she could only imagine what he’d been through. Her frustration shifted to worry. “How often does he hurt you?”
“No.” Everett scrubbed his face. “It’s not like that. It’s an odd feeling, is all.”
Did he not recall bleeding earlier? “You must be tired of making excuses for him. Please do tell Westley I hope he has a nice night now that he’s feeling better.” Winter delivered as much snark into that message as she could.
Without giving Everett time to respond, she flew off and into the night.