by Tamar Sloan
Noah’s hands slide back around my waist. “You’ll just have to stick by my side...”
Which is pretty much what we’ve done for the past four months.
I lean in a little more, pressing myself up against him. “Like this?” I breathe.
Noah’s breath hitches a little. I love it when he does that, like this is just as heart-stirring for him as it is for me. His strong arms tighten around me, pulling me flush up against him. “I was thinking more like this.”
I don’t answer as words, thoughts evaporate. Internally combusted by the heat that just spiked through my whole system. Because those chiseled lips are tilting down, heading south. Coming closer to mine.
My breath is caught in my throat as every cell waits, reaching, stretching toward him. The anticipation suspending my ability to breathe. But I don’t care; I don’t need oxygen right now.
I need Noah.
“Okay, peeps, let’s roll out.”
The anticipation train comes to a screeching halt as we both stop. Neither of us turns our head; we already know Tara is skipping toward us, Mitch probably not far behind. Noah’s forehead comes down to rest on mine, those lips close, but not close enough, and no longer about to come through on their promise.
“She’s small. I’d only have to dig a little hole.” Noah growls.
“You can’t kill your mate-in-law. I’m pretty sure she knows how to reincarnate.”
Noah takes my hand as we turn toward Tara. “Probably,” he mumbles
“Oh, I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.” Innocent hazel eyes blink at us.
“I’m still tempted.” He growls ever so quietly.
Tara gives him a cheeky grin, most likely having heard everything we’ve said. Unperturbed, she holds out her hand to Mitch, and once he takes it, walks past us toward the trees across the back lawn. As she strides with purpose and a little hop, I realize she’s headed toward a gap between the trees. An opening that I soon realize is a small track, one that disappears into the pine forest. I look at Noah in question, but he gives me nothing other than an enigmatic grin.
I look back to the track, wondering where it leads. Surprises make me nervous. And when you’re dating a guy who’s only half-human, I’ve learnt surprises can really rock your world.
In no time at all we’re swallowed by the trees; tightly packed trunks and tangled branches create a barricade of green and brown on either side of us. The silent walls watch us as we walk, each in our respective pair, to who-knows-where. It’s only a minute or so when the trees begin to space out, their pine arms no longer crammed into each other, fingers of light piercing the gloom. Tara races around behind me and puts her hands over my eyes.
“Can you see?”
With my sight blacked out, the smell of acrylic paint tingles my nose. “I can certainly tell you’ve been painting this morning.”
A bright, excited giggle tinkles over my ears. Tara is practically hopping behind me.
A few more cautious steps forward, my hand firmly clinging to Noah’s, and Tara pulls me to a stop. So, this is what a horse feels like being led.
She whips her hands away and leaps to stand beside me. “Ta da!”
I squint through the bright light to see a clearing in the pines. Lush green stretches in a natural circle, light dancing across the emerald carpet, the never-ending rows of pines surrounding it. I turn to my left to see a dirt track zigzagging down to a wider dirt road. The road to the Phelans’ house.
“What do you think?” Tara hops from foot to foot; beside her Mitch beams a proud grin. It’s like they’ve just shown me the eighth wonder of Jacksonville. Which they planted themselves.
“It’s…lovely.”
Noah leans over, whispering. “Correct response.”
I turn to him, wondering what I’m looking at. He wraps his arms around me, his chin resting on my shoulder. “This is where Mitch and Tara are going to build their house.”
Tara rolls her eyes. “Obviously.”
My stunned lips twitch. “Obviously,” I whisper back.
Tara skips, practically cartwheels to the center of the clearing. “Our house will be Mitch’s first big project as part of his apprenticeship.”
“Mitch is going to help build it?”
Mitch crosses his arms, I think to keep down his swelling chest. “Uh huh.”
Tara takes several steps forward. “Front door here.” Then a few to the side. “Dining area here.” She frowns for a moment, tapping her lips in thought. “Kitchen next door and master bedroom over there.”
Mitch’s arms drop to his sides, and he walks over to stand beside her. “Ah, we discussed the master bedroom. It’s going over there, to make the most of the view.”
A window there would certainly frame to majestic mountains that loom in the distance, dusted with what’s left of the winter snow.
“But what about the nursery?”
I expect Mitch to blanch at the talk of kids like any almost-eighteen-year-old guy would. But he wraps his arms around Tara and spins her ninety degrees. He points over her shoulder. “Right there.”
Tara’s eyes widen, and she smiles a gentle smile. “Oh, yes. That’s perfect.”
The two quickly lose themselves in their plans, their dreams. They step one way, then another, talking to no one but each other.
I turn in Noah’s arms, my own going around his neck. “This is a great idea; they’ll be close to your parents.”
“My parents subdivided their block to allow some land for both of us. My mom’s ultimate plan to keep us close to the nest.”
So, Noah has a parcel of land nearby, too. Just waiting for him to bond and settle down. I turn in his arms again, my back against his front, taking my quiet face with me. “That’s a wonderful idea.”
“Yeah, it is,” says Noah, his own voice a little quiet.
I wait to see if he’ll say more. Something. Anything. But Noah seems just as lost in thought as I am. In the still, warm body behind me, I can feel a jumble of emotions, all too conflicted and confused, still too new for me to disentangle.
It sparks my own internal war. Curiosity encourages me to ask. Fear keeps me quiet.
We stand and watch as Tara and Mitch plot out bedrooms and bathrooms, backyards and front gardens, dining areas and living areas. Feelings, hard and tight, twist within me. A wrench of envy. A spasm of hope. A brief, fleeting impulse to turn around, maybe speak up.
But blanketing them all, like these feelings are bigger than me, is the wishing. And the wanting. My heart desperately searching for some indication, just a little sign this could be possible with Noah.
The impossible feat of an Alpha heir choosing a human.
Choosing me.
But nothing happens. Noah remains still, almost like he’s waiting, too. The breeze moves around us, and in the shadow of the trees, I shiver a little. Noah’s arms tighten, and I sink into the comfort of his warmth.
Maybe I should say something? I’m formulating some light-hearted question about his own piece of paradise in the pines, hoping to test these uncertain waters, when Noah’s arms loosen, and he turns to look over his shoulder.
“Noah.” I see what Noah heard before I did. Adam, Noah’s father, is walking toward us. He seems to slow as he gets closer, but I tell myself I’m being paranoid.
“Ah, Eden, lovely to see you again.”
“You too, Adam.”
“What’s up, Dad?”
“I need to talk to you about something.”
“Yeah?”
Adam shuffles, “Ah, something private.”
I flush crimson. “No problem Mr. Phelan. I was going soon anyway. I’ve got a pile of books waiting to be summarized.”
“You don’t have to go, Eden.” Noah is frowning at his dad.
“Eden, I’ve told you to call me Adam. Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you off.”
I force a smile. “Not at all. Unfortunately, memorizing how DNA replicates doesn’t happen unless you’re readin
g the textbook.”
“You sure?” Noah says.
I nod, the smile starting to hurt.
“See you next time, Eden.”
“Sure, Adam.”
Noah sighs, “I’ll walk you to your car.”
Noah takes my hand and leads me back to the little track in the woods. I wave to Tara and Mitch, but they’re lost in their planning.
Noah’s lips are tight as we walk back through the pines. A gentle breeze ruffles his dark blond hair, and I wouldn’t mind my fingers doing the same.
He looks at me and catches me staring. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s fine. I understand.” The truth that I’m human is never far away. I opt for a change of subject. “It’s great to see him up and about again.”
“Yeah, Were healing kicked in. The physiotherapist is touting him as the poster boy for her patented exercise regime.”
“He’ll be dancing with the wolves in no time.”
Noah chuckles. “Dad wants to strangle her.” The atmosphere warms a little, or maybe it’s because we are out in the open with the spring sun overhead as we approach my car.
At the car, I turn to Noah. Summer eyes catch mine, tripping my breath, trapping my heart.
His hand comes up, tracing across my cheek, fingers moving into my hair, his palm cupping my cheek. A tender, captivating gesture that holds me just where I am. Not that I’m going anywhere.
“Now, let’s do a little quantum physics and rewind time…”
Is it only an hour I’ve been waiting for this kiss?
We don’t pause this time; we don’t need to build the anticipation. I’m bursting with the feeling.
Those hot, soft lips are on mine in an instant.
Heating me. Melting me. I press all of me against all of him as Noah’s hands band around my waist, securing the tight embrace. I’m all hot and heavy, all burning and bright, happily combusting and evaporating. Someone groans; maybe we both do. The hoarse, hungry sound just fans the flames.
Desire and passion detonate, my ability to think collapses. My hands go to his hair, pulling those heavenly lips closer, anchoring him to me. Trying to brand him as mine, so he can never leave.
Noah is the first to pull away. I pretend I’m okay with this.
I disentangle my fingers, then arms, but my heart doesn’t want to let go. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Noah grins. “You can bet on it.”
I climb into my car, my pulse pounding, my breath a little too quick. Kissing Noah is an exercise in losing control then grappling to regain it. A passion that gets so hot, so quick, can be hard to rein in.
As I head down the dirt road that leads to the Phelan house, I slow when I see a dusty intersection I’d never noticed before. The driveway that leads into the trees, that I now know opens to a grassy clearing, a clearing that will soon be filled with a house, two bonded Weres, and their bright future. It’s a happily ever after that Mitch and Tara deserve.
I bite my lip as I wonder where the second driveway is. I don’t see it as I head toward the highway, meaning it must be past Adam and Beth’s house. I realize Noah never suggested he show me. That I didn’t ask to see.
I know why I didn’t.
Which leaves me wondering why Noah never offered. I accelerate again as I desperately try to ignore the images my mind is painting as inevitable.
Images of endings rather than ever-afters.
3
Noah
“Well, that was rude.” I cross my arms, going for the ticked-off-Alpha-heir look.
“We need to talk, son.”
“After everything we’ve been through, there’s little Eden can’t hear, Dad.”
Dad is shaking his head. “She’s human, Noah.”
“She’s far more than that, Dad.”
“She’s not Were.”
I consider telling him, for all of a nanosecond. But I know what he would want me to do, and I’ve already decided. Eden deserves the right to choose.
I take a deep, deep breath. “I know that. But she’s the girl I love. And she’s done far more for our pack than some Weres have.”
Dad’s arms fall to his side. “And I’ll always be grateful. But you’re the Alpha heir Noah.”
My hand twitches, wanting to go to my tattoo. I shove it in my pocket and say nothing. I can’t.
“Your decisions will always affect your pack. And you’ve already learned that can mean some tough choices.”
He has no idea.
“And things are happening.”
Finally, something I can respond to. “What things?”
“The Channons want an Alpha.”
“I guess that was inevitable. Every pack needs an Alpha.” Particularly the Channons.
“Well, Kurt didn’t leave a direct heir.” Meaning a male heir. “It looks like it’s leaving things a little contentious.”
“Oh?”
Tara and Mitch come to stand beside us, and Dad quickly fills them in on the phone call he just received.
Tara doesn’t look surprised. “They’ve been unsettled. Weres need a leader, a direction.”
“Seth has put himself forward as a candidate.”
I frown, struggling to put a face to the name.
“He’s the guy who got hot and bothered that night at Riley’s.”
The scene that night rises in my mind, two young males, drunk and fierce. My dad, the Alpha, stepping in before things got out of hand. And dangerous. They’d been acting like the Precepts were optional.
I remember Seth, the brown haired, angry young man.
“Oh.”
“Seth can’t be Alpha.” Tara’s little body is hard, determined.
Dad nods. “I agree.”
Silence settles around us as we consider the issue.
I look to Mitch, who nods. We both turn to Tara.
She freezes, hazel eyes jumping from Mitch to me, then back to Mitch. The two newly bonded hold each other’s gaze. They must reach a consensus, because Tara squares her shoulders. Mitch moves over to grasp her hand.
With the two of them standing there, hand in hand, Tara speaks. “I’ll do it. I’m the firstborn.”
Dad nods. “Very well, the Channons will vote within the week.”
With the mood ruined and Eden gone, we head back to the house. Dad strides up ahead, massive shoulders tense. Stash, his chocolate Labrador sidekick, comes barreling through the trees, leaping and wagging without a care in his doggy world. Tara walks with Mitch, her head down, shoulders hunched. I walk alone, wishing and wondering.
I wouldn’t mind going for a run.
Dad enters the house, calling out to Mum. Tara says she has some phone calls to make before following shortly behind. Our sensitive Were noses pick up the scent of dinner. I think it’s chicken, but it’s hard to tell over the charcoal.
“Charcoal chicken?” Mitch suggests.
I chuckle; thank goodness for the twin bond. “Wanna sit outside for a bit? Let Mom finish dinner.”
And psych ourselves up for crunchy, cauterized poultry. We have quite a bit to digest as it is.
Mitch and I sit on the thinking chair, staring out at the pine trees. I wonder if all those years ago when Mitch enthusiastically nailed this bench together he realized what it would become — Dad’s place for contemplation. Or that it would start a little legacy of Phelan thinkers.
That Mitch would one day use it himself.
Stash sits between our feet, either needing to think himself or not ready to face the smell of the kitchen.
“So…” I know some people hate the unifying concept of twins. And believe me, being called ‘the twins’ got old some days, but on the whole, I love being a twin. I love the bond, the trust, the spare set of everything across the hall…the redundant need to complete your sentences.
“Yeah.”
Silence settles between us just like Stash has.
Stuff t
he twin bond, some things need to be said aloud. “But you never wanted to be Alpha.”
“Technically, I’m not.”
I snort. “We both know that’s splitting Were hairs. The Alpha mate has all the responsibilities the Alpha does.”
Mitch pauses, his fingers scratching his collarbone. “It was the Phelan Alpha I never wanted.”
Wow, I’m glad Dad’s not here to hear that one. “Right.”
Mitch’s hand drops, bringing his shoulders down with it. “Yeah. So much baggage came with it. The expectation of being a cop, what it represented.” His blue eyes catch mine. “It was you that was always meant to be the Phelan Alpha.”
“But the Channon Alpha?” I don’t need to point out the obvious. Alpha or not, Mitch is a Phelan.
Those shoulders drop another inch. “There’s no rule about who the Alpha mate must be. And Tara needs me.” With eyes straight ahead, Mitch delivers the punch line. “And it’s way too dangerous for Seth to take the helm.”
“True dat, bro.”
Mitch’s lips quirk, lifting when his shoulders won’t. “Thanks, homey.” Hopeful eyes turn to me. “You gonna be there?”
I rub my lip, wondering how we can make that happen. “Well, I’m the one who banished Kurt, so I think I get to see what happens next.”
It will certainly make a statement, my presence there. But there’s another reason for gatecrashing the Channon vote. Weres are the keepers of great strength and a whole lot of responsibility. The Channon pack seems unsettled, and what Kurt was fighting for makes me nervous. Being there means I get to see where this goes.
Mitch nods, rubbing his own finger across his bottom lip. “That makes sense.”
I wonder if the twin bond is working its magic and he knows what I’m thinking. I don’t want to voice something that is nothing but a weird heebie-jeebie feeling, but he doesn’t say anything else.
Possibly because he’s put his hand up to lead them.
I slap his knee as I push myself up, and for some reason the gesture makes me feel way older than the seven minutes I have on Mitch. “Well, let’s go find out when the big night is.”
