by H G Lynch
Surprisingly, Des made a bitter sort of noise too, and scowled. “Oh, he’s big on relationships. As long as they’re between a boy wolf and a girl wolf. Anything else is...” He made a vague, dismissive gesture with his hands, but there was a sour twist to his mouth.
“You said it’s obvious that Spencer likes me...but I didn’t know until he told me.” I chewed my lip, my fingers going reflexively to the Charm at my neck. The cool stone still hummed with magic.
“That’s because when a guy like Spencer likes a girl like you, the girl is always last to notice,” Desmond said quietly, smiling.
I looked at him, pursing my lips uncertainly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t worry, it’s a compliment,” he said.
I remembered the last compliment he’d given me, before the running under the full moon. Ravishing! Yes, that’s the word I was looking for! Remembering the way he’d eyed me, I bit my lip, wondering…
Hesitantly, I asked, “And you’re not...bothered...by any of this? I mean, it kind of seemed like...” I shrugged, twisting my fingers together. I felt my brows draw together and tried to smooth them out. It wasn’t that I wanted him to be bothered by my…whatever it was I had with Spencer. I was just worried that maybe, knowing what I’d done to his brother, and what his half-brother had done to me, he’d think of me badly.
His even gaze wasn’t full of disgust or contempt, just comprehension. “It seemed like I was into you, too?” he said flatly.
I scrunched my nose, shrugging. “When you say it like that, it sounds really...conceited.”
Desmond was silent for a few seconds, his expression unreadable. Then he said carefully, “It’s okay. I'm not bothered. You’re really not my type.” He glanced at me, a thin sad half-smile on his mouth.
I blinked, confused. “Then why were you…?”
“Because I need everyone else to think you’re my type, so they don’t say anything to my dad.” The bitterness in his voice was pronounced, and he glared at a spot on the ground, looking both defiant and uneasy at once.
I opened my mouth to ask why he’d need his dad to think I was his type, and then something clicked. Oh, he's big on relationships. As long as they're between a boy wolf and a girl wolf. The words clicked in my head.
“Oh,” I muttered, staring at him in surprise.
He seemed to realise I’d caught on, and hunched his shoulders, bowing his head. He was bulkier, more muscled and rough edged than his brother, with a faint graze of stubble across his set jaw. Looking at him, I’d never have guessed.
“Oh. You’re gay?”
He winced at the word, and nodded. “Yeah.” The word was glum and quiet. He cast a look around, as if ensuring nobody else had heard, and then lowered his gaze again.
I got the impression it wasn’t something he admitted easily, and I felt a pang of sympathy for him. Hesitantly, I asked, “And your parents don’t know?”
He shook his head, nudging a piece of wood with his toes. “My dad would have a fit. And if he knew I’ve got a boyfriend, too…he’d go nuts.”
I tried not to look too surprised that he had a boyfriend. Instead, I asked gently, “Does Dominic know?”
His shoulders slumped, and he huffed. I really did feel bad for him. Nobody should have to hide who they really were from the people they loved, from their family. It wasn’t right.
“Dominic...doesn’t know yet,” he said, kicking the chunk of wood with a sudden, forceful movement. It sailed into the trees, crashing through leaves, and disappeared. “I’ve been meaning to tell him. Actually, aside from you, the only person who knows is...” He paused, his eyes meeting mine briefly.
“Spencer,” I said, understanding. Of all people, of course Spencer would be the one Desmond could trust. Even more than his full-blooded brother.
Des smiled thinly. “He’d never tell the pack. He’s good with secrets that way.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I know.”
Desmond looked up at me quickly, green eyes flashing as if he’d just remembered something. “He knew about your witchy mojo, right?”
I tried not to wince and failed. There was no condemnation in his voice or his expression, and no fear or repulsion either. Just curiosity.
“Yeah,” I sighed gloomily.
Spencer’s voice echoed in my head: I won’t let them hurt you, Tilly, not for any reason…You understand me, Tilly…I know you want me… Absently, I touched my lips, feeling the phantom warmth of Spencer’s mouth on mine.
There was a pause, and then Desmond broke into a grin. Knowingly, he asked, “So, you and Spence, huh?”
Startled, I dropped my hand from my lips hastily, feeling my face flush. I shrugged, and chuckled.
“Wow. The guy’s only had one girlfriend that I know of, and that didn’t last long. I was starting to wonder if he was…” He trailed off, looking uncomfortable.
“Like you?” I put in. Desmond made a face, but nodded. I looked down at my hands, unsure what to say. Changing the topic, I asked, “Who was Spencer’s one girlfriend? Jasmine?” It would explain their overtly friendly manners toward each other, I thought, though the idea did give me a strange, hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Desmond’s eyebrows went up sharply in surprise. “Huh? You know Jasmine? Well, I suppose, she’s a witch, you’re a witch.”
“No, I don’t know her, really. Spencer just took me to see her earlier...” I reached up and touched the Charm around my neck again.
He shook his head. “No, not Jasmine. She just flirts with everyone. Although, she does have a special fondness for Spencer, so maybe they did hook up at one time or another. I don’t know.” He shrugged casually, disinterested.
“So who?”
“Sarah,” he said, and I felt my eyebrows shoot up. He made a face, nodding. “A couple of years ago. He was seventeen, she was twenty two. It was...weird. Everyone knew she was crushing on him, even though he was younger, and I think Spence only agreed to go out with her because he thought it would get him into the pack more. Like I said, it didn’t last. Spence was just too distant, and Sarah was too pushy. The ending of the story is that she broke it off, but personally I think Spencer did. He just let her tell everyone it was the other way round, so she wouldn’t have to be humiliated, telling everyone a seventeen year old kid from the bottom of the pack dumped her.”
I gaped, amazed. “Wow. That’s...” I pressed my lips together, unsure exactly what it was. Desmond might have nailed it with weird. It also kind of made sense…kind of. “That might explain why Sarah was so adamant I go out with Dominic. She said Spencer wasn’t boyfriend material. Not that I was even looking at him like that at the time.”
Desmond arched his brows wryly. “At the time? So now, you’re...?”
I scowled. “Now, I’m...confused. Just shush.” I waved a hand at him, and he grinned. Having officially reached the maximum amount of blushing I could withstand for one day, I cleared my throat and made a vague gesture over my shoulder, saying, “I should…go.”
Des shifted uneasily, looking down. “You know, what I told you?”
“Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. I promise,” I assured him, and he smiled gratefully. “If you see Dominic, tell him I need to talk to him, will you?”
Desmond nodded. “Sure.”
“Thanks.” I turned, shoving my hands into my pockets as I walked away. I chewed my lip thoughtfully. I was having a really interesting day so far.
Chapter Twenty One
** Tilly **
By the end of the day, Dominic still hadn’t shown up. I wasn’t really surprised. I hadn’t expected him to just swing by to play checkers like everything was still alright, but I was disappointed. I’d hoped he’d at least come by in order to yell at me some more. At least then, I could have apologised, explained to him that I hadn’t meant to kiss Spencer, hadn’t meant to hurt him. Guilt was gnawing at me, and it didn’t look as if I was going to get the chance to relieve it. I figured
I probably deserved to live with the shame for a while, until Dominic deigned to talk to me again. After all, he had caught me kissing his brother—half-brother. Yeah.
I sighed, putting my head down on the dining table. Words played through my head, taunting me, berating me, haunting me. He’d get bored of a human girl pretty fast…I’d been hoping you would arrive in time for our little party…I can smell it on you. Your desire…You’re better than him, Tilly…so this is why you wanted to come find him so badly? This is how you make sure he’s okay? By making out with him and letting him put his hands on me.
“Do you regret it?” The sudden, quiet voice came from behind me, and I nearly jumped out of my chair. With a gasp, I twisted in my seat and saw Spencer standing by the door, watching me with an unreadable expression in his eyes. I hadn’t even heard him come in.
I cleared my throat. “Do I regret what?” I asked. My voice was a little hoarse, and my eyes felt sore and tired, but I was glad to see him. My heart rose just a little inside my chest at his presence.
He frowned at me, tilting his head in that quizzical, thoughtful way of his. “Do you regret kissing me?” he asked tonelessly.
I flinched as if he’d snarled the question and shook my head slowly. “No, I don’t regret it.” I tried to read his expression, and couldn’t. I whispered, “Do you?”
His mouth curled up at the corners, and he moved toward me across the floor, his footsteps eerily silent. He didn’t stop until he was right beside my chair, and then he took my face gently in his large hands and bent to place a swift, chaste kiss on my lips. He stepped back, breaking into a grin.
“No. I never do things I think I’ll regret. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t, because of Dominic.”
At the mention of his half-brother’s name, I winced. Spencer saw it and his eyes narrowed. I sighed again.
“I don’t regret the kiss. I just feel bad about hurting him. I mean, I knew he liked me, I think I even led him on, letting him kiss me before, but I didn’t mean to hurt him. I thought maybe I…but I didn’t realise…” I shook my head, frustrated that I couldn’t get the words out. I was trying to say that I’d thought I did like Dominic the way I liked Spencer…before I realised I was falling in love with Spencer. I couldn’t say it, not to Spencer. I didn’t want to admit to him that I maybe sort of did like Dominic that way, still, and I wasn’t bold enough to admit, out loud, in real words, that I loved Spencer.
Spencer sat down in the chair opposite mine, across the table, and looked at me evenly with those sharp blue eyes. He folded his hands neatly together on the shiny table surface, his gaze so intense I started to squirm.
Everything about Spencer is intense, I thought, from the way he looks at a person, to the way he speaks, to the way he moves. Nothing he did was without focus, without consideration. Every movement, every action, was contained and purposeful. Like he was a predator who was always tracking his prey.
Eventually, he said evenly, “You said you wanted to talk to me.” He blinked, once, briefly breaking his intense gaze.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding and nodded slowly. I opened my mouth to explain, felt the words dry up in my throat, and turned my face to the window. Outside, it was dark, the black sky flickering between the swaying tops of the trees. Faint silver stars speckled the area around the milky white moon. It was still full, but Spencer had explained that the running only took place the first night of the full moon. The other two nights, the wolves could Change and run as they pleased. Beyond the glass, I could hear howling and barking.
Sideways, I glanced at him, but he looked perfectly patient, waiting for me to talk. I fixed my gaze on the window again, and decided the best way to explain was quickly, like ripping off a plaster. So I sucked in a deep breath, and said, “The woman I thought was my mother, who died in the car crash, wasn’t my biological mother.” The words burned my throat, and tears seared the backs of my eyes. I felt sick. The woman I’d loved till I was six—still loved, despite the years that had gone by—wasn’t who I’d thought she was. Was the man I’d called Daddy my real father, or just another liar? Had I ever had a real family at all? Had my biological dad just dumped me off on some poor, unwitting couple after I killed his wife in giving birth to me?
The darkness outside the window blurred, and I was looking at my reflection in the glass, seeing tears streaking my cheeks, my grey eyes wide and scared. Then there was another reflection behind mine. Spencer leaned over the back of my chair, his hands reaching to clasp mine, his cheek resting on the top of my head. I closed my eyes, feeling the reassuring strength of his fingers and the warmth of his cheek against my hair.
He whispered, “I’m so sorry, Tilly.”
I knew he meant it. It made me cry harder. He let me cry; he didn’t try to soothe me, didn’t tell me it would be okay, or that it wasn’t the end the world. He just held my hands and hummed softly into my hair until stopped shaking. Then he let go of me, moved around my chair to face me, and knelt on the floor at my feet, looking up at me with gentle blue eyes. Lightly, he rested his hands on my bare knees under the hems of my ragged denim shorts, and despite my tears, I shivered at his touch.
His thumbs rubbed over my skin, and he said quietly, “You figured it out when Jasmine told you that you’re a Grey witch. How?”
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I whispered, “You know how Jasmine said Grey witches were rare? Well, that’s because they can only be made by a Light warlock and a Dark witch, and being on opposing sides, they don’t often get together. And when they do, when they create a Grey witch…the mother dies giving birth to it. Every time.” my voice cracked, and I took a breath to steady myself. Spencer was still rubbing his thumbs against my knees, which wasn’t really helping my stability any.
He frowned. “You mean, the odds—”
“No. I mean, every time, Spencer. Every single recorded birth of a Grey witch has killed the mother.”
Spencer blinked. His thumbs stilled. He pursed his lips, apparently at a loss for words. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him speechless before—not when he didn’t want to be silent. Normally, when he was silent, it was simply by choice. Then he laid his head down against my legs, and I almost choked on my next breath. He rested his forehead against my knees, his breath hot against my legs. I looked down at him in surprise and confusion, a jittery feeling racing around and around in my stomach.
His lips brushing my skin, he murmured, “I’m sorry, Tilly.”
I shuddered. “You said that already,” I observed, curling my fingers into my palms so I wouldn’t reach out and twine them in his dark hair as I wanted so badly to do. My concentration on the conversation was wavering. Having him so close, breathing against my bare skin, was throwing my focus in other directions, and I was having trouble pulling it back to one place.
He looked up, putting his chin on my knees instead, and I saw his pupils were slightly dilated. I knew he could tell my mind wasn’t all in the right place.
“I mean it, Tilly. I know what it’s like to lose your mother when you’re young, and it’s even harder when you feel like she betrayed you,” he said softly.
I blinked. I’d almost forgotten his mother was dead too. She’d stolen him away from the pack, from his father, and then died and left him on his own when he was just a toddler. That was why the pack didn’t accept him, and probably never would, because his mother had betrayed the alpha.
I felt suddenly sorry for him, but I didn’t dare show it. Instead, I lifted my hand and touched his cheek. His eyes flickered at my touch, and he leaned his face into my hand. With a watery smile, I whispered, “Thank you.”
He covered my hand with his and turned his head, brushing a kiss against my palm. I felt the sensitive shock of it through my hand and wrist and all the way up my arm. My breathing hitched, and he glanced up at me, his eyes suddenly very dark, irises ringed with gold. His nostrils flared, and he stood up so abruptly I flinched. He strode around the other si
de of the table and stood facing out the window, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. I chewed my lip nervously, wondering if I’d done something wrong.
He half-turned his head and said over his shoulder, “It’s not your fault.”
I didn’t know if he was talking about my biological mother’s undoubted death, or about his odd behaviour, so I just nodded, knowing he could see my reflection in the glass.
He sighed. “Maybe you should go to bed. You’ve had a rough day.”
I nodded again, but I didn’t move, staring at his back. After a moment, I asked, resigned, “You’re not leaving, are you?”
Without turning around, he shook his head. I shifted in my seat and caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window, his mouth curled in a wry smile. “No. Not until I’m certain that Charm of yours works. I’ll stay here tonight, just in case.”
He motioned vaguely toward the sofa, and I pursed my lips. Carefully, I slid out of my chair and rounded the table to stand behind him. I reached out and brushed his hands, still folded behind his back, with my fingertips. He tensed.
Licking my dry lips, I said shyly, “You don’t have to sleep on the sofa, you know. You could…sleep in my bed…” I blushed as I said it, knowing how it sounded.
I heard his breath catch in his throat, and he spun away from my touch quickly, putting his back against the wall. He groaned, throwing up a hand over his eyes. Startled, I stepped back. A shudder ran through him, and I opened my mouth to ask what was wrong, but he spoke first.“God, Tilly, you shouldn’t say things like that,” his voice was rough, and he clenched his fist over his eyes.
“Why not?” I asked quietly, watching the muscles cording tightly along his forearm. He shook his head, pressing his lips together. I stepped forward, closer to him, and he stopped shaking his head. “Why not?” I pressed again.
