Devan blanked out his twitchy feet and tingling skin and refocussed on the paperwork he’d retrieved from her room. He’d already made up his mind to make it the first and last time he entered her space, but the raw grief in Zio’s liquid gaze had poured concrete on that decision. As long as he was here, Emma’s room would remain hers. He’d sleep on the damn couch.
And sleep was something he could no longer ignore. Days of fatigue caught up with him. He sent Dash a message to let him know he was safely ensconced with the wolf pack, then set Emma’s diligently kept paperwork aside for the morning.
He kicked his boots off and stretched out on the couch. Emma’s scent was everywhere, but light, barely detectable, as though it had been sprinkled through the house like fairy dust a long time ago. Zio’s scent was more potent, and confusing. The addictive musk Devan had chased through the club was still there, but there were extra layers now, as though the earthy wolf scent had absorbed Zio’s disgust at discovering Devan wasn’t one of them and used it as a shield.
He doesn’t like me.
It was the last thought to cross Devan’s mind before he fell asleep.
Chapter Seven
Devan woke to darkness and a distinct absence of fresh scent—it was early, pre-dawn, and Zio had yet to return.
It felt wrong to be in Zio’s home without him, and the idea that he’d driven him out was unsettling. Once again, the beast within Devan called to him to shift, to break free and run with the sun as it rose, but aside from not wanting to invade Zio’s space any more than he already had, he hadn’t discussed shifting with Varian.
Maybe today.
Stretching, Devan stood from the couch and surveyed his surroundings with more interest than he had the night before, when his focus had been solely on the young wolf he was destined to share a home with for who-the-gods-knew how long. Zio’s presence had disturbed every instinct Devan possessed, and he could hardly fathom that he’d managed to sleep in a place he’d yet to pace out and assess.
No wonder you’re no soldier.
But Zio was a soldier, and that frightened Devan. The young wolf was volatile and teeming with emotions that had no place on the battlefield. He was a ticking time bomb unless he found a way to let loose some of that rage.
Devan could think of many ways he could facilitate that, but none of them fell under the remit of a healer, and he could’ve done without the hot flash rioting through him as his imagination bolted the stable. Focus. His gaze fell on the paperwork stacked on the coffee table, but that could wait. First, he needed to take stock of his new home.
He left Emma’s room alone and inspected the bathroom. It was clean and tidy but smelt of bleach rather than Zio. Same with the kitchen. The fridge and cupboards were pretty much bare, and wolf scents were faint.
The living room had the three-seater couch Devan had slept on, a TV, and a Bluetooth speaker. Photo albums were stacked beneath the coffee table, but Devan left them alone. Shifter families didn’t always follow human customs, but logic told him he had no business nosing around in things like that.
Zio’s bedroom was at the back of the bungalow. The door was closed. Devan hovered outside, curiosity and the still bright craving for that scent making his hands twitch. He wanted to slip inside and get a glimpse of the man who’d affected him so deeply, but at the same time, the reality that Zio would know Devan had been in his room the moment he came home kept Devan rooted to the spot.
He breathed in and out, filling his lungs with Zio’s scent, testing his reaction to it. Heat simmered in his veins. His heart skipped a beat, and the pull to shift and track Zio down was strong, but for what? For sex? Something else? Were his healing instincts connecting with his new pack already? After all, Zio was unhappy. Grieving for his best friend. It made sense that Devan would want to help him.
Devan retreated from Zio’s bedroom door and drifted to the kitchen, mulling over the theory that gave him a get-out clause for his current obsession with his surly housemate. It was . . . plausible, but it didn’t explain what had happened in the club. How Zio’s scent had overwhelmed him, robbing him of any coherent thought but want want want. But perhaps the two weren’t connected. Perhaps Devan’s shifter instincts had reached out to the only other shifter present, drawing them together to protect them at a time when they’d both craved the same thing, leaving the fact that Devan was still drawn to Zio now irrelevant.
The hypothesis was about as farfetched as most humans believed supernatural science to be, but it suited Devan. Gave him a reason to throw caution to the wind and give in to the craving deep in his bones. He took a step towards the back door, but a knock sounded from the front of the house, pulling him back to the present.
Cursing, he darted through the bungalow to open the front door. Gale’s scent reached him long before he got there, and Devan found himself disappointed, though for what reason, he had no idea. It wasn’t as though Zio would knock before he entered his own home.
“Morning,” Gale said. “Varian sent me to invite you for breakfast at his house. He always cooks on a Saturday.”
“That’s quite domestic considering you’re at war.”
Gale shrugged. “We like to welcome visitors when we have them. Makes life easier for everyone. Besides, this is our home. Our families are here.”
Devan didn’t have a family to speak of outside of the healer commune, where shifters kept to themselves. Dash often invited him for meals when Luca was away, but those instances had grown rarer in recent years. Keeping the peace kept Devan’s alphas busy, and it had been a while since he hadn’t eaten alone. “Sounds good to me.”
He stepped out of the bungalow and locked the door behind him. Gale had retreated to the end of the path. Devan joined him, and they fell into step together as they walked towards Varian’s house. “Seeing as I’ve interacted more with you than anyone else, can I take it that you’re my pack contact?”
“I guess so.”
“Wouldn’t it make more sense for it to be Zio? Considering he’s a beta too and I live with him?”
Gale’s lips twitched, as though he wanted to grin but had thought better of it at the last second. “You’d think, but Zio’s . . . distracted at the moment. Maybe when you’ve been here a while and you know each other better.”
“He didn’t come home last night.” Devan regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth.
But if Gale thought the statement was out of place, it didn’t show. “He rarely stays still for long,” he said. “He’s nicer than he’d ever let you see, though.”
Devan believed that. He couldn’t recall much about the Zio he’d stumbled across in the club, at least, not visually. But despite the scent-fuelled urgency that captivated them both so entirely, in the fleeting moments before perspective had come crashing down, there had been a softness to his touch. A gentleness that haunted Devan perhaps more than anything. Devan’s instincts were having a riot right now, and Zio was a mess. But of one thing Devan was inexplicably certain: Zio was worth everything. He was worth this.
The realisation jarred Devan, but they were upon Varian’s house before his reaction could manifest. The smell of bacon and sausages reached him, and his stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten in days.
Gale laughed. “My wife said you looked hungry.”
“Your wife?”
“Yes. She has a gift that allows her to see me even when I’m not with her. Her visions aren’t always clear, but she caught a glimpse of you when we picked you up yesterday.”
Devan had been around enough gifted shifters not to be particularly alarmed by the notion of being watched without his knowledge. “Is your wife a soldier?”
“Yes. Intelligence, though. Not combat. Varian tries to keep mated pairs apart in the field.”
“Makes sense. I can’t imagine what it must be like for her, being able to see you in danger and not being able to help you.”
“You’ll know one day, when you find your mate.”
“If I find my mate. My kind aren’t as drawn to others as you wolves. Many of us exist alone for as long as we choose to live.”
“That’s sad.”
“Is it? Or is it just different?”
Gale stopped walking. “You talk like her.”
“Like who?”
“Emma. She said things like that all the time.”
“Did you listen?”
“Of course. Everyone listened to Emma.”
Devan reached out without thought and closed his hand around Gale’s arm. He was the first wolf he’d ever touched that wasn’t Zio, and he steeled himself in case that had been the true cause of everything that had happened in the club, that he reacted that way to all wolves. But all he felt was a faint warmth that signalled a potential pack bond Gale was almost certainly not aware of yet. You care about these people already.
He couldn’t deny it, even to himself. “I’m sorry you lost her.”
Gale nodded. “So am I.”
They resumed their slow amble towards Varian’s front door. Gale let them in, and a dozen wolf scents bombarded Devan as they made their way through the house. He dissected them all, searching for Zio, but he knew before they reached the dining room that he wasn’t there.
Gale directed him to a seat in the middle of the battered table. “Guys, this is Devan. He’s gonna be with us for the foreseeable future as our healer. Make him welcome.”
Gale’s voice carried a hint of beta authority. Eight wolves met his gaze and communicated their ascent before they turned to look at Devan.
Devan met their curiosity head-on. Four of the wolves he’d met already when Gale had picked him up—Track, Xan, Kate, and Ishmail. He presumed them to be Gale’s unit. The other four wolves eyed him with open suspicion. Yeah. Definitely Zio’s crew.
Varian entered the room as Devan’s thought completed. He caught Devan’s eye and nodded. “You are correct.”
“Thought so.”
“Thought what?” The wolf nearest him asked. “We don’t do secretive shit here.”
“It’s not secretive to keep your own thoughts to yourself,” Varian said. “Devan didn’t ask me to invade his mind and answer a question he had not asked aloud.”
Devan leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. “I’ve got nothing to hide, though. Varian caught me speculating if the four of you scowling at me belonged to Zio’s unit. His reaction to me was much the same.”
A murmur went around the room, half-amused, half-defensive. Varian’s expression was inscrutable, but Devan was used to that from alphas. And he’d given up worrying if Varian knew about his club encounter with Zio. The less he thought about it, the better.
The conversation—such as it was—moved on.
Varian’s mate, Tomas, brought breakfast to the table and chided Zio’s unit to help him cut bread and slice fruit. He was, apparently, a quiet man, but Devan could tell his relationships with the pack were strong.
He added extra bacon to the plate of the only woman in the room—Kate, from Gale’s unit, and glanced around the room. “No Zio again? He’ll waste away if he doesn’t come home to eat.”
“He’ll hunt if he needs to,” Varian said. “The boy can’t be tamed, you know that.”
“I know that he’s been running those woods every night since he came back from the city. Is he doing okay?”
Tomas directed his question around the table.
Devan kept his head down, devouring the first meal he’d had in days, but he couldn’t help listening, hanging on every word spoken and straining his senses to catch those that weren’t. Zio’s crew were reticent at first. But Tomas pressed, and the wolf beside Devan—Bomber—eventually cracked.
“He’s tired,” he said. “But he won’t rest, and I don’t think that’s gonna change until he gets used to having another, uh, healer in the pack.”
“And in his place,” another member of Zio’s unit added. “No offence, mate.”
Devan glanced up. “None taken. It’s an adjustment for me to live among wolves too. I’m sure we’ll get there in time.”
Gale’s half of the room nodded, tentative smiles warming their faces.
Zio’s unit remained aloof, but Devan could live with that. Knowing they had their beta’s back was worth every scowl.
Chapter Eight
Zio could avoid many things, but squad meetings weren’t one of them. Three days after Devan arrived, Varian tracked him down in the woods.
“It’s time to come home, Zio. We need you now.”
It was a request Zio couldn’t deny, even if he’d wanted to.
He shifted back to his human form and glanced down at his filthy skin. Cuts and grazes from his latest rampage through the trees were already healing, and the spectacle of his skin knitting together put Devan on his mind. Some good your great escape has done you, eh?
Zio found the clothes he’d stashed a few days ago and padded through the undergrowth until he came to the clearing behind the bungalow. Devan’s scent increased in potency with every step, and resentment simmered in Zio’s veins. Of all the healers in the entire world, the freaky cat king had to send this one. Gods’ sakes, I’d rather screw a southern wolf than a fucking Shadow Clan.
The thought left a bitter taste in Zio’s mouth. Southern wolves were his sworn enemy. Shadow Clan were allies, even if he’d never met one before Devan. Even if he knew nothing about them other than the fact that Devan had cast a spell on him he couldn’t shake. I—
Stop it. It was the booze, remember?
Zio remembered.
He let himself into the bungalow. Devan wasn’t home, but there were traces of him everywhere—his bag by the couch, spare clothes folded by the coffee table. Scent tracks on every surface, in every room except Zio’s.
There was food in the fridge.
Bemused, Zio gazed at the groceries stacked away, and his mouth watered. He hadn’t hunted in the forest. Hadn’t been hungry enough to bother. But he was famished now, and somehow the fridge was stocked with every single thing he felt like eating. Devan had forgotten nothing, even though he’d had no way of knowing in the first place that Zio had a childish penchant for fruit yoghurt desserts and cheese slices. That mass-produced ham and mushroom pizzas from the township store were his favourite thing to eat in the entire world.
Zio claimed a strawberry yoghurt and a spoon. He ate it in two bites, dropped the pot and the spoon in the sink, and trudged to the bathroom. A hot shower rinsed mud and grass stains from his skin, but it didn’t seem to matter how many times he soaped his body, he didn’t feel clean. His brain itched, and his wolf grumbled, eager to ditch the real world again and run free. But Zio wasn’t free. He was a soldier, and his pack was at war. Get it together.
Half an hour later, he made the pack meeting with a minute to spare. Varian’s dining table was devoid of the tea and snacks Tomas supplied them with for regular business, and maps of southern England covered every available surface. Yes. Adrenaline surged in Zio’s blood. This was what he needed—a return to the reason he continued to exist. To put an end to the southern packs, once and for all.
Varian’s hand was warm on his shoulder and then on his neck. He pressed his forehead to Zio’s, his silent question clear. All right?
Zio nodded, pulse jumping. I’m good.
“Sure about that? We’ve got a lot to get through today.”
“I’m good.”
After a fleeting pause, Varian inclined his head to the left. “Take a seat then.”
Zio stepped out of his grasp and moved to sit at the table. A lungful of Devan’s scent stopped him in his tracks. Devan was at the table, sitting with Gale and Xan, heads bent as they talked, apparently oblivious to Zio’s presence.
Resentment unfurled in Zio’s gut, at Gale and Xan for welcoming a stranger so easily, at Devan for existing at all, but with Varian’s gaze drilling holes in the back of his head and his eagerness to pick up where they’d left off in the south, he swallowed it
down. Claimed his seat between Bomber and Devan and resolved to breathe through his mouth.
Devan ignored him, his body angled so he didn’t even have to look at Zio by accident.
Zio clenched his fists.
Gale laughed at something Zio had been too caught up to catch, and Zio wanted to rip his goddamn throat out.
Figuratively.
Or maybe literally, the mood he was in.
Varian called the meeting to order. “We’ve had a tough time,” he said. “And we’ve taken advantage of the lull in aggressions to recover and regroup, but that time has come to an end. Drone footage from our intelligence unit has shown enemy activity as far north as Leicester. We need to act now to protect our border.”
“How fluid is the division?” Devan asked. “It’s not a hard border, right?”
Varian shook his head. “It wasn’t until we lost London. Now we have gone back to ancient lines that existed long before this war, and so far the enemy have honoured them, though I’m not confident that they will for long.”
“By now they’ll know I’m here,” Devan said. “Dash had to inform them to hold clan treaties and also promise to send healers to them if they should find themselves in need.”
“So you’re on both sides?” Zio spat as a collective growl rumbled through his unit.
Devan spared him a glance. “I’m committed to this pack for as long as I’m needed, but that couldn’t happen without Dash giving the southern packs assurance that the clan wasn’t invested in their enemy.”
Bomber snorted. “How can you be committed to our pack and still have loyalty to your own?”
“Easily. Before I came here, I didn’t have a pack. I’m loyal to my clan. It’s different.”
“Your alpha could still pull you out at any moment,” Zio said. “Send you to the south. How can we trust you?”
Devan shrugged. “That’s up to you, but if you’re truly worried the southern packs might claim me, the simple solution would be to not kill their healers. That way Dash’s agreement with them will hold.”
Fated Hearts Page 4
