‘Your aunt cannot have children. Like so many of those with the talent of spirit-talking, she is unable to procreate.’
Paul frowned. ‘She never said.’ But before he could feel sorry for her, he said, ‘But even if that’s true, she could still bind witches from other packs to ours to keep our coven going. It’s been done before.’
‘Not lightly done, as well you know. And other packs will not want to gift their coven members to Pack McVale when it is in danger of starting the Curse. If the pack is to survive, your line must survive. That means you must survive. There is no other choice.’
‘Choice. There’s the word of the moment. Even my weak, supposedly powerless mother got to choose what was best for her.’
‘Your mother had to leave you all. I don’t think it was much of a choice.’
He jerked around to stare at her. ‘Not from where I stand. She got all the choice. She could have stayed but she chose to leave.’ He sighed and dug his hands a little deeper into the sand, looking down, knowing he was being a whingeing fuck-head, but unable to stop. He was so tired. So sick and tired of it all. ‘That’s all I want. To have a choice that is mine. To know that Fate doesn’t have its hand up my butt making my mouth and limbs move like some great big cosmic joke.’
‘You are not a cosmic joke.’
He snorted, lifted the sand and let it drift through his fingers.
She put her hand on his shoulder—power spiked through him, making him go rigid with it, the sand in his hand sparking and turning to glass as the warlock lightning sprang into being on his fingertips. Despite the dangerous flare of power, she didn’t let go as she usually would do. She did not even seem worried by the fact she was overloading him with power the human body and mind was not ready to accept. Was she angry with him? What had he said to make her so angry? ‘Arianrhod?’ he said through a clenched jaw, managing to turn his head towards her. There was no expression other than a sad expectation on her features. ‘It’s too much,’ he managed.
She shook her head. ‘No. It’s not. You can deal with it. You can deal with so much more. You are not weak. You are strong. But you are right. You should not be doing this alone.’ And so saying, she channelled even more power into him through her hand. He shuddered and cried out, the power firing through his synapses, sparking through his veins, firing his lungs. Oh fuck. Was she trying to burn him to death? To make him explode? He knew his body wasn’t exactly here, but he was pretty bloody certain if he exploded here, he would explode in reality.
‘What … have … I … done?’
‘Nothing. That is the problem.’
‘What more can I do?’ he yelled, his fury overtaking the pain she was causing, taking some of the power and feeding it back into her. She hissed—with pleasure or pain, he couldn’t quite tell.
‘That’s it. See? You have so much more control than you think you do. You do not need my help.’
‘Control? I don’t have any control at all.’
‘You do. But I don’t need to show you. She will.’
Then he was thrust out of the dream-plane and he was falling.
Chapter 3
Paul spun around. Was he still falling? His eyesight was fuzzy but there was something in front of him. He grabbed a hold of it.
‘Ouch. Steady on, Paul.’
‘Ivy?’ He blinked to clear his vision. Her lovely face hovered over him, straight brows creased. ‘What are you doing here? What happened?’
‘Steady. Sit back down. There. Better.’
She lowered him back to the ground, soft grass tickling the bare part of his leg. ‘Why are you here?’
She let go of his shoulders when he was sitting steady and sat beside him, close, but not close enough to touch. He missed her touch. It always soothed the sharp stabbing and burning pain that so often ran through his body—a symptom of his power and his visions. ‘I followed you. I’ve been sitting guard, waiting for you to wake up.’
He shook his head slowly, closing his eyes, trying to make sense of her words. ‘Why were you sitting guard?’ He opened his eyes and looked around. ‘What happened?’
She sighed and picked at a blade of grass, stripping it as she spoke. ‘You had a vision. Earlier. Those dicks you call guards—’
He snorted a laugh. ‘One of those dicks is your brother.’
‘Still a dick.’ She picked a little daisy and began to pluck its petals. Her wavy chestnut hair was pulled into a high ponytail, bits of it curling around her face and highlighting the arch of her neck. Unlike her peers, she barely wore any make-up, just a hint of something that highlighted her long eyelashes and a touch of frosted pink on her lips. She didn’t need anything else. Her skin always held enough of a healthy glow, it didn’t need make-up. She was so lovely.
She looked up at him, the topaz and green flecks in her hazel eyes glowing in the late afternoon light. He should look away, should actually leave like he usually did when he found himself alone with her, but he just couldn’t make himself do it right now.
‘… anyway, surprise-surprise,’ she was saying, ‘but they didn’t think to go and get Iris when you came out of the vision unsteadily and instead let you take off.’
He raised his brows. He didn’t remember the vision right now, only that thinking of it left a nasty taste in the back of his throat. It must have been a bad one. The ones he couldn’t remember afterwards always were. And they were the worst ones to go back into later to figure out. Horrors slowly unfolding. One he didn’t want to try to figure out now. Not with her by his side. She shouldn’t be tainted by the darkness of his visions. She was too good. Too pure. A bright light that didn’t need his darkness marring the gift of her.
He plucked at a daisy, mirroring her actions as he turned his thoughts back to her complaints about his guard. ‘I told them I don’t want them running to Iris every time I have a bad vision.’
‘Maybe not, but they should have helped you, not stood around like dumb idiots when you took off.’
He frowned. ‘Hang on. If I lost my guard, how come you found me?’
She looked down at the daisy she was plucking, her ponytail flipping down to cover the side of her face. ‘I know you come here when you need some down time. I just guessed this was where you’d be.’
‘Oh.’ She’d guessed but his guard hadn’t. How had she known? Why did she know? ‘Have you been following me?’
She ducked her head down further, but he still saw the blush that crept up her neck. ‘Not following. Not like stalker following anyway. Just … making sure you are okay. You feel so … sad. And alone. More than my wolf likes.’
‘Your wolf worries about me?’ His breath began to burn a little in his chest.
She glanced up at him, her glorious eyes spearing into him for a breathtaking moment before she ducked her head again, hoop earrings jangling against her neck, her t-shirt slipping further off her shoulder.
He swallowed hard. He shouldn’t look. She was Stellan’s sister. And she wasn’t meant for him.
Thankfully she didn’t see his struggle, her attention back on the daisy she was shredding, then in a voice he had to lean in to hear, said, ‘My wolf has to know you’re okay, okay?’
‘Really?’
‘Of course. She’s a maternal wolf.’
‘Yes. Of course.’
She didn’t look up at him, her gaze firmly fixed on her hands.
His followed her gaze, watching as she pinched a hole in a daisy stem and pulled another one through. She had such beautiful hands. They weren’t perfect princess hands—no, it was obvious she did hard work with those hands, working the vines and in the orchards when she wasn’t helping in the kitchens or studying, part of the workforce that had made the McVale vineyards into the success they were today. Her nails were short, her thumb nail on her right hand bitten down, the skin there a little red-raw. She always chewed it when she was thinking deeply—which she did mostly when she was studying. He smiled as she lifted her hand and bit at her fingernail now. He wondered
what she was thinking.
His gaze roamed over her, taking advantage of the fact she was studiously not looking at him.
Her long, tanned legs were crossed in front of her, her shorts showing off the length of her legs, the roundness of her hips.
His mouth went dry. Hell. He loved the curves of her. He’d had no idea how much until sitting here now with her, so close they were almost touching. He wanted to tell her so that she wouldn’t be so self-conscious about those curves anymore, would stop wearing the oversized t-shirts and baggy pants she liked to wear so much, crossing her arms over her body to hide her generous breasts.
Although, she wasn’t wearing baggy pants today, just those short-shorts. They weren’t hers he realised—they must be Siobhan’s. The Were-soldier in training was always strutting around in clothing that was too tight and too short, hair too big, too many necklaces and bracelets on and make-up too brightly coloured, lecturing Ivy on her dress sense. Why Ivy chose today of all days to listen to her, he had no idea, but by the Goddess, it was driving him crazy, seeing that expanse of long tanned leg so close.
She hadn’t furthered their conversation as to why she had come to find him. He would have left it there—should have left it there given the forbidden nature of his feelings for her—except some demon inside him made him say, ‘What about you? The part of you that isn’t wolf? Does it worry about me too?’
Her fingers stilled and he didn’t think she was going to answer, but then she said, ‘I like to know you’re okay too. As a friend,’ she said in a hurry. ‘Like I worry about all of my friends.’
Friends? He’d done his best to ensure they weren’t even that. Not easy to do given she was a maternal Were whose job it was to make certain everyone was cared for. And not easy to do when, despite his best efforts, he could never make himself fully disengage when others were around. He loved listening to her; often found himself drawn to her when they were in a group together, listening as she spoke to her friends about her hopes and dreams, her plans to finish her Bachelor in early childhood education and go on to do her Masters and eventually a doctorate. She was so smart; he knew she’d do it. And ambitious in that gentle way of hers which he found so appealing. He’d heard her talk over with Siobhan her hopes and dreams for starting a cross-pack early childhood centre to promote connection and understanding between the packs. He was fascinated in the idea. Wanted to talk through it with her. But of course, he couldn’t. Even when she tried to engage with him, speaking to him in a way that made him feel welcomed and a part of everything in a way nobody else did, he had forced himself to walk away. He was surprised she didn’t hate him or talk of him with disdain like she talked of her brother and his friends.
Maybe it was because he used to treat her like a friend—or his friend’s kid-sister. He wished he could go back to those days when she’d been Stellan’s baby sister and nothing more. But she’d been more than that ever since she’d graduated from school two years ago. He’d been unable to take his eyes off her in her flowing yellow dress, the crimson cap and gown bringing out the gold in her skin, the topaz in her eyes, her smile so wide and alive it stole his breath.
He swallowed hard thinking of it now.
Kind Ivy.
Beautiful Ivy.
Sexy Ivy.
Goddess, how he wanted her. He’d wanted her for so long, it was an ache inside. But it was no good. He was meant for another.
He tried, he tried so hard to think of his duty to the pack, to her, but he couldn’t. Not with her sitting so close. Not with her telling him she wanted to make certain he was okay and looking at him with those eyes that said it was more than friendship she wanted fro—
His thoughts crashed to a halt. Wait. What? He looked at her, begging her in his mind to look up at him.
She did.
Their eyes clashed.
Passion. Longing. Aching need.
For him. She felt that for him.
How could he have missed something so monumental?
Memories of her crowded through his mind: Ivy laughing after winning a race with her best friends, her eyes lit up, her generous mouth open wide and uninhibited as her laughter sang to the sun, her glorious chestnut curls a riot around her heart-shaped face, the laughter stopping as her gaze met and clung to his; Ivy pulling herself out of the water at the beach, her toned curves and olive skin glowing golden in the sun, her hair slicked back, eyes pools of bliss as she stood, arms out, and enjoyed the warm breeze and the sun until she’d spun to see him and the others sitting there, her gaze meeting his before she’d blushed, grabbed a towel and run off; Ivy looking more at home than anyone had a right to be in his aunt’s kitchen, cooking her famous zucchini bread—Goddess, he loved her zucchini bread!—and offering him a piece, telling him she’d cooked it just for him; Ivy sitting at a desk, nibbling at her nail, brow furrowed in deep thought as she read the text book before her, seemingly lost in her studies until she’d suddenly looked up at him with what he now recognised as a look of confused want and longing in her eyes.
A longing that went beyond sexual attraction. Went beyond the link of the pack bond. Went beyond the ties of friendship.
‘Ivy?’
Her eyes widened. There was a tug as something pulled tight inside him, a click of realisation falling into place.
She made a sound, an oof of surprised recognition. ‘Are you sure? It’s not what they want. You can deny it.’
He nodded. ‘I know. I’ve been trying. But I can’t. Not anymore.’
‘Neither can I.’
‘Then yes?’
She smiled at him—the sun came out with her smile and it was blinding.
He held his hand out. She took it in hers. He tugged.
Then she was on his lap and they were kissing and he never wanted to come up for air. His hand was on her breast, her nipple pebbling against his palm. He rubbed his hand up and down and she moaned into his mouth, the sound vibrating down to his stomach, making his cock jerk, his balls tighten. He was afraid of spilling before getting her close to where he was, but as she cupped his face and pulled away to look into his eyes, he knew he would never do anything but make certain her life was bliss.
He ran his hands up her spine, pulling her closer as she pulled him closer. He dug his fingers into her hair, gently pulling it free from the ponytail, the soft silk of it twining around his fingers, his wrists.
His top tore—she had used her claws. He’d done that to her, brought her so close to the edge that she couldn’t hold back her wolf. He shouted his exhilaration up to the sky, feeling like a god, but she pulled his head down and took his mouth with hers.
The taste of her. It was like nectar, sweet and spicy all at once and something for which he’d never get his fill.
He tumbled back and her thick silky hair swung over his face, tickling his cheeks. He laughed. She laughed. So much joy. He had no idea there would be so much joy.
She sat up, took off her t-shirt, her high breasts encased in fine white cotton with little flowers printed on it. So beautiful. So Ivy.
She blushed under his gaze, but it was a good kind of blush, not self-conscious, but full of a sense of herself, her worth, and how she was so god-damned sexy to him, with him.
He reached for the button on her shorts—
The earth began to spin around and around and around.
No. No. Not now. But he couldn’t stop it. The vision flew towards him with earth-shattering force.
He heard her calling out, calling his name, but he couldn’t answer, instead saw Ivy standing with him before the pack, their Alpha declaring them mates, equal expressions of joy and concern crowded around them; he saw Ivy racing before him to their car, shouting at him that he had to hurry because she wanted to start their honeymoon right now then she was in the front seat of that car, her eyes wide as she cried out to him to watch out then they were rolling and rolling and the car exploded and they were gone.
The vision flipped.
They wer
e now on a boat; a storm came up suddenly. The boat capsized, catching them in the rigging and they both drowned.
It flipped again to show them in the kitchen. There was a faulty appliance. He got electrocuted and as he died, Ivy fell next to him, as dead as her mate.
Over and over again, images after images of possible futures before them and in every one, they ended up dead.
Ivy was dead.
His mate was dead.
How could this be happening?
‘Paul!"
He jolted upright, clutching his head, yelling, ‘No. No. No.’
Ivy was dead.
Because he’d completed the mating bond, he’d caused her death. Over and over. He shoved into the visions, looked at the path, looked at ways to change the path that led to death, but there were none. Not one. If she mated to him, she would die.
He snapped out of the vision, scrambled to his feet, shaking his head. No, not just his head. His whole body was shaking. ‘No. Not going to happen. I’m not going to do it. You can’t make me.’
‘Paul?’ She stood, her hands outstretched, the hurt in her eyes a dagger in his heart. ‘What’s wrong? Tell me what’s wrong?’
He couldn’t tell her. Except, he couldn’t stand the way her face was crumbling, the hurt he could feel inside her through the tenuous link of the mating bond—a bond that he had to stop in its tracks if he could. He put up a block, clamping down on those tenuous threads, attempting to crush them with his magic. But it was too late. They’d already gone too far.
‘Ivy … I …’ Goddess, he didn’t want to cause her pain—which he would do if he stopped the mating in its tracks. It was too much. Too much. ‘Goddess, please, help me.’
‘You do not need me to help you.’ Arianrhod’s voice echoed through his mind reminding him of what she’d just said to him in the vision place.
He kept backing away from Ivy. She didn’t move towards him, but her hand was stretched out and he could feel her pain and confusion pounding into him through the mating bond despite his efforts to block it with his powers. ‘Make it all go away,’ he shouted at the Goddess.
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