7. Chapter 7
Merritt came looking for him at the stables.
It was early, the light still gray, Eclipse stamping in the end stall.
Roman had been coming down here most mornings since they got back.
He told Lance it was to check the horse.
It wasn’t. This was where he’d found him, where all of it started, and the wolf in him liked to stand in the spot and be sure it was real.
“Amanda said I’d find you down here.” Merritt came along the row without his ring on, Roman noticed. Just his brother in an old leather jacket, hands in his pockets. “You always did spend more time in this barn than in the house.”
“I had my reasons.”
Merritt stopped a few feet off. For a while neither of them said anything, just two big men and a horse and the smell of hay. Roman didn’t rush to fill the silence. Their father had taught them both how useful quiet could be.
“I keep thinking about what you said at the shed.” Merritt’s voice was low.
“That I starved him out of his home and lied to you about it. Fifteen years I’ve called that protecting the pack.
Protecting you. From the scandal, the risk, a half-blood cracking up in our own halls.
” He looked away. “I believed it, too. I had to. Because the other version is that I was nineteen with our parents barely in the ground and a pack I wasn’t ready for, and I took the cruelest way out because it was the safest one.
And then my little brother, seven years old, spent months asking me where his friend had gone, and I looked him in the eye and lied. Every time.”
Roman held his tongue and let him get the rest of it out.
“I told myself the same thing again when I made the deal with the Venators. Hand Lance over, keep you clear of it, call it saving you.” Merritt finally looked at him.
“It wasn’t. I was scared. You were going to throw yourself away on him and I couldn’t stop you any other way, so I tried to take the choice out of your hands before you could make it.
Same as I did to both of you the first time.
I’m not going to pretend I’m proud of any of it. ”
“Don’t,” Roman said. “And don’t expect me to forgive it yet. Maybe not for a long time.”
“Fair.” Merritt didn’t flinch from it. “Is he worth it? Not the bond. I can feel the bond from clear across the estate, I don’t need selling on that. Him. The man. Is he worth all of it.”
Roman thought about it and found there was only one honest answer.
“You know I never really fit here.” He kept his eyes on the horse.
“Prince of a pack I didn’t ask for, going through the motions, waiting on something I couldn’t have put a name to.
” He looked at his brother. “Lance walked back into the stable and the waiting just stopped. That’s all of it.
The whole deal. He’s not a phase, and he’s not a mistake.
He’s the piece of me you all cut out when I was seven, and I’ve got it back, and I’m not losing it twice.
Not for the pack. Not for my place in it. Not for you.”
Merritt was quiet a long moment before giving a nod.
“Then he’s pack. Properly.” He paused, and for a second he was just Merritt, the brother from before the crown and the lies. “I’ll make it official tonight, in front of all of them. And I’ll apologize to him. He’ll find some way to make me sorry I said sorry.”
“He’ll make you regret it for a long time. Let him. You’ve earned it.”
Merritt gave what passed for a laugh and held out his hand. Roman looked at it, then took it, and for the first time since their father died it felt like there were two brothers again instead of one Alpha and one problem.
“Now,” Merritt said, letting go, “Amanda tells me you want something about the summer games, and that I’m going to hate it.”
“With your whole heart,” Roman said, and grinned, and walked his brother out into the light.
***
Roman perched on the edge of the antique desk like it was a park bench, ignoring the couple of centuries of family history creaking under him.
Merritt signed the document with a flourish, set it aside, and finally looked up. “There are chairs,” he said dryly.
“Are there? Didn’t notice.” The study was far too formal for Roman’s taste. “So. The summer games.”
“Are you joining? Did Lance finally talk you into it?” Merritt leaned back in his chair.
“Not quite. Although we might be willing to host a couple of the visiting packs, if...”
“If.”
“If Lance could compete in the games. Maybe earn a shot at a Venator slot.”
“A half-blood. A Venator.” Merritt shook his head. “You’ve floated some harebrained ideas before—”
“You mean like becoming a game developer?”
“All right, not that, but—”
“Or mating a half-blood who’s done nothing but be loyal to this pack for a year, taken on real responsibilities, and—”
“You’ve made your point. But half-bloods, omegas especially, don’t have an alpha’s—”
“Hear me out. The Venator trials aren’t just about brute strength. They test speed, agility, resourcefulness, quick thinking. Lance has all of that in spades—”
“And he’s a half-blood. A half-blood hunting half-bloods is unheard of.”
“It’s no different from a wolf hunting wolves.
Who do you send after an alpha who crosses the line?
Another alpha. Same thing. Lance understands half-bloods.
He’d give the Venators insight, make them less quick to judge, and the ones they keep tabs on might actually check in if they thought there was someone in there on their side. ”
“No one’s going to go for that.”
“You went for letting him into the pack.”
“Who gets into the Venators isn’t up to me.”
“No, but who gets into the games is up to you, brother. So. What do you say? Let him in, and put a bug in the right ear.”
“Roman. Get out.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Get. Out.”