Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Nixon kisses my temple.
Reed strokes my spine.
Finn touches my slick thighs lazily, eyes half-lidded. “Let them come.”
37
NIXON
Scarlet sleeps wrapped in the arms of my brothers, all of them tangled together, spent, and I know I should stay. I want to stay, but something gnaws at the back of my skull, restless and unfinished. I leave them in bed, careful not to wake them, and pull on a pair of shorts before slipping barefoot through the hallway.
Every board underfoot creaks in the same places it always did. The floor still leans slightly left past the staircase. That old air vent still whistles in cold weather. The familiarity should comfort me.
It doesn’t.
There are no pictures of us on the walls. No childhood photos. Not even the worn candidness of the four of us standing muddy and grinning after Reed dared us to jump in the lake mid-winter.
It’s like we never existed.
Or worse, like we died with Matt, and the memory of our laughter was too much to bear.
In their place, Father has hung elaborate marquetry, each one carved and burned into polished wood panels, depicting places deep in the territory: the ridge trail where we used to run at dawn, the old grove that smells like thunderstorms, the firepit clearing where Matt once swore he’d challenge Dad for alpha to move dinner time earlier.
He was all teeth and swagger, smile and backslaps.
The thought of him slams into my chest like a fist.
I open the front door, stepping out onto the wide porch. The night air is crisp, thick with pine and old secrets. I walk to the railing and lean against the porch post, arms folded, barefoot and bare-chested as I inhale the scent of home. Or rather, this home that no longer feels like ours.
Blackwood Forest belongs to us now. But this place?
This place is wedged into the muscle of my heart, and I’ll carry it, grief and all, until my last breath.
I hear the soft pad of bare feet before I smell her.
Cami. She moves like smoke.
“Couldn’t sleep?” she asks, her voice a low hum.
“I think I was born tired,” I mutter.
She stands beside me, her gaze set on the trees like she can see something I can’t. “You carry the weight well. But it’s heavy, isn’t it?”
I don’t answer. She doesn’t need me to.
“I came to tell you something,” she says, and when I glance at her, her expression is unreadable. “Your mate. She’s pregnant.”
My heart stutters. I look at her sharply, blinking. “What?”
Cami touches my shoulder. “Only just. Her scent hasn’t changed enough yet for anyone else to notice. But the flicker of it is there. A second soul is forming.”
The world tilts a little on its axis. Scarlet. Carrying our child. I was right. The doctors were wrong. All she needed was our seed, and her dreams of motherhood would be fulfilled.
“I didn’t know.”
“You weren’t meant to yet. But you should know...” She pauses. “You’re on the right path, Nixon. You left when you had to. You built something new. You protected a child not born of you. And now you’ve created one that is. This was your destiny.”
My hands flex on the porch rail. Destiny. It’s a big word and one I’ve struggled to accept for a long time. How can I believe that Matt’s death was meant to be? How can I think that his loss and my family’s lingering pain are all part of a greater plan?
“Gregory has to be stopped.”
“He will be. But you can’t beat him with wolves. Not alone. The only way to break his ambition is to show him that bear and wolf are no longer enemies.”
“Unity?” I mutter. “I have one bear family on my side. It isn’t enough.”
“Exactly. But for the bears to believe in Ahya’s tri-aspect, they must see it.”
“She hasn’t shifted into a bear yet. At least not in front of us.”
Cami looks at me. “Has she spent time with other bear cubs?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Then that’s your answer. She needs mirrors for the parts of her that are still silent. You must return home. Let her spend time with bear cubs. Let her learn who she is.”
“And the bears will believe she belongs?”
“They will feel it,” Cami says. “And when she shifts, there will be no denying it.”
I swallow hard. “And my father?”
Cami’s mouth curves slightly. “He won’t listen now. He’s too proud. Too wounded. He still sees your leaving as betrayal, and his grief blinds him.”
“I can’t wait for him to come around. We don’t have time.”
“You don’t have to,” she says. “I will work on Frederick. He listens to me, even when he pretends not to. But he needs time. He needs to let go of the past before he can see the future standing right in front of him.”
I exhale through my nose, watching the wind tug at the trees in the dark.