Lycan Legacy (A Soulmark Series Book 5), page 10
"Coming," I call back, only half as loud.
I walk confidently over, pasting a smile onto my face as I meet the tight-knit circle at the fireplace. Atticus makes room for me to stand by his side, and my eyes widen as I spy the ecstatic faces of those around me.
"What is it? What did I miss?"
Zoelle gives a little laugh, her head ducking in modest excitement. I follow the genial movement with my eyes and further down to naturally rest on Xander's possessive hand around Zoelle's middle. Her dark hands are tucked protectively under his, and before their announcement can be made, I know precisely what news I missed.
"You're—"
"Pregnant."
The group gives another cheer and several exclamations of joy as the news is delivered to me.
"Congratulations!" I step forward and pull both into hugs. "How? When?"
Ryatt barks a laugh. "We all know how," he jokes.
"I'm just about to hit twelve weeks," Zoelle tells me. "But, before the big New Year party, we wanted to let all of you know." A trill of "awws" chase after her reasoning.
"What about your wedding?" Quinn asks. "Will you postpone, or are you still planning for a spring wedding?"
The alpha pair share pleased expressions, a visible manifestation of their love passing between them through the joy in their eyes and broad smiles.
"We're moving the wedding up," Xander tells the group, his eyes never leaving his fiancée.
Excited chatter envelops our group, with questions and comments chiming from every direction. But inside of me turbulent emotions rage. Happiness. Jealousy. Heartache. I push them all down and keep my smile present through it all, just as I was raised to.
++
We stay far later than I like. I'm not used to extended family and friend gatherings, where drinks and conversation delve long into the night. I do the best I can to stay involved in the discussions around me, but the hands of the clock climb ever forward, and my input lessens dramatically.
After a time, Atticus takes notice of my growing silence first. He makes our excuses to go, and we say our goodbyes. Nothing would make me happier than to make our ride home in silence, but Atticus is bizarrely awake. Perhaps because he stopped drinking well over an hour ago, whereas I maintained a full glass most of the evening to keep my somber thoughts at bay.
Without a glass in hand, I turn tired eyes out the window.
The winter wonderland before me does little to please me now, nor does Atticus's attempt at small talk.
"I think it will be great," he finishes, completing some explanation or story I have entirely missed. I hum accordingly, my eyes never straying from their pointless observation of the scenery.
The slow pumping panic I attempt to curb for the remainder of our evening is creeping back into my body. Like a snake, it winds and winds around each dip and swell of my body and compresses me from all around. Breathing becomes a laborious task again, try as I might to keep it under wraps.
How did I end up in such a Catch-22?
How can I keep the people I care about safe and my relationships intact?
Where does my happiness fit into the equation—or is it a pointless endeavor?
"I'm not going to lie, I really hope they consider me to be the godfather," Atticus announces, his happy gaze turning my way and drawing my attention.
I offer half a smile. "You'd be great."
The enthusiasm on Atticus's face ebbs at my tempered response. "Are you okay?"
"I'm just tired." I allow my gaze to drift back to the snowscape as I shove my acute sensitivities aside. Atticus quiets, and we finish the ride in the worst kind of silence.
When we arrive home, I release a thankful sigh, feeling some of my worry truly wash away as I set foot into the house. I toe my shoes off at the front door, scooting over a step for Atticus to do the same.
"Good night," I murmur, stepping up onto the first step of the stairway.
"Winter, wait." Knuckles rap against my arm, and I turn wide-eyed at the touch. "Are you sure you're all right? I didn't say something wrong, did I?"
My head twists from side to side. "No, of course not. I'm just tired, Atticus. I'm not really used to parties going on that late with family."
He frowns at my response and his lips pursed. "Sometimes I think we were better at talking when all we had were our letters."
Atticus attempts to make the delivery lighthearted, but the touch of melancholy in his voice resonates regardless. My teeth bite down on my lower lip as I contemplate the right response.
"I suppose so," I mumble back, unable to think up anything better in my current state of mind. "Our little messages were always sweet. I suppose it didn't hurt either that all of our letters were monitored and reviewed by our parents to be the perfect response."
The tension that once rode on Atticus's features breaks away as he stares at me in... shock?
"What is it?" I ask. "What did I say?"
"How much of your letters to me were written by your parents, Winter?"
I wind my arms around my middle and shift back against the railing. "I wrote all of the letters, Atticus. My parents just... they just made sure we were making the right impression."
"You didn't have to do anything like that," he argues back. Atticus joins me on the first step. "We're soulmarks. We're meant for each other. There isn't anything you can say or do to make me think ill of you."
I whiten at his words. "Don't put me on a pedestal, Atticus," I warn. "Nobody is perfect, especially not me. And for that matter, no relationship is perfect either. Besides, our relationship isn't just about the soulmark. It's about strengthening the ties between both of our packs through our marriage."
"I see." His words are delivered in a low rumble. A conflict steeps behind his lovely blue eyes—I see it, and my heart cracks when it fades away into quiet disappointment. "Thank you for clearing that up for me. I'll let you go to bed. Good night, Winter."
Atticus steps forward, the warmth of his body reaching mine and causing my breath to catch in my throat. He leans down deliberately slow, and I watch his descent until I can no longer. My lashes flutter closed as his breath skirts across my lips, and then the touch of his kiss lands on my cheek. It lingers and then leaves all too soon.
"Good night," I whisper back, dropping my chin toward my chest as he steps back and walks away upstairs.
Inside the comfort of my bedroom, my fingers dig into my updo to begin the odious process of ridding my hair of the dozen bobby pins that keep it in place. The pins drop onto the countertop of the vanity with subdued clinks, and as I catch my reflection in the mirror, I pause.
With my hair half down, thick chunks frame my delicate jawline, and I imagine their layered pieces as a swan's wings. The frivolous thought leaves my head almost as soon as it comes, my mother's lessons chiding in my head.
Remember, Winter, no one looks kindly upon the vain.
Slate gray eyes harden at me in the mirror as her words draw me back to sobriety. I dig out the rest of my bobby pins with ruthless efficiency. My bed is calling my name, and to deny it would be a crime. I'm intent on doing just that when my phone trills my mother's dedicated ringtone.
I heavily contemplate not answering, but the idea that something could be wrong pushes me to answer.
"Mother? Is something wrong?"
"Why would anything be wrong?" I pause, blinking in a stupor for a moment too long at the perfect mixture of flippant and condescension she is able to convey. "Winter?" The sharp retort brings me back to focus.
"It's nearly midnight," I explain with mild exasperation. Mother hums, unbothered by my tone. And then my lycan hearing picks up the clinking of something against what sounds like glass. A frown tugs my forehead down and my nose up. Did I hear... ice cubes? "Are you drinking?"
The absurdity of the situation strikes me as not only odd but unheard-of. Is Mother drunk dialing me?
"It's called a nightcap, Winter. Honestly." Her reprimand would hit harder if I could take her seriously. I roll my eyes and begin to undress. The sooner I can end this call and curl up in my bed—forget the evening's twisted turn of events—the better.
"What do you need, Mother? Calling to wish me a Merry Christmas?"
Silence rings in my ear, but only for a moment. "Merry Christmas, Winter. Tell me, did you prepare a gift for your father and myself? Something in the vein of insights into a certain pack?"
My heart skips a beat. Apparently, she hasn't drank that much if her words can still cut like daggers at will.
"One moment, I'm just slipping out of my Christmas outfit."
I don't give her time to protest. Instead, I toss the phone on the bed and shimmy out of my jumpsuit. Mother's muffled voice sounds against the down comforter at my blatant stalling tactic. A smile curls my lips as her scolding dies off. I would never be able to pull off such a stunt at home in her company... but with such distance between us, the act is liberating.
For a moment, I contemplate taking the time to perform my full nightly routine to extend the wait. Don't anger her further, a younger version of myself warns. You know how she gets.
Or not.
Pajamas on my person, I retrieve the phone and sit at the edge of my bed. "I'm back. I apologize for making you wait, Mother."
For a tense moment, she keeps her tongue still, and then: "The information, Winter. What do you have to share with your father and me?"
"I celebrated the day with the alpha and his family," I strive to make my words strictly perfunctory. My effort is not met kindly.
"Yes, I'm well aware of your dalliances with that abominable sort. The miles between us dull your pulse in the Blanc pack bonds, but there is something to be said about a mother's tether to her daughter—never mind the fact that I am an alpha. You're creating new ties with the Adolphus pack, Winter... and allowing the bonds of the Blanc pack to slip away. Just what game do you think you're playing at?"
"I'm playing the game you asked me to," I reply, my heart pounding away in my chest like a hammer to an anvil. "It will be far more suspicious if after the full moon and the intimate gathering with the alpha family if I didn't strengthen my ties with them. Everything is under control—"
"And yet the only information you have for me is that." I fall quiet, swallowing down the hasty rebuttal at the tip of my tongue. Denial and "excuses" are never the route to go with my mother. I know better than to argue this way.
"I'm sorry, Mother. Please, allow me to elaborate on the night’s events."
"Don't carry on too long, Winter. It's well past midnight here at home. We require only important details. What did you learn on your little full moon run and Christmas party?"
Her patronizing tone grates at my nerves, but I say nothing. Instead, a steady stream of air breezes out of my mouth in an attempt to find my well-reserved calm and my shoulders roll forward.
"I wasn't the only new pack mate to run that night."
"Explain."
The curt response is a clear tell of her intrigue, and I waste no time giving the explanation she requires. "Two lycans from a pack in the southwest."
"They fled their previous pack?"
"No." I inch up the bed until I hit the mountain of pillows at the top. "They left with the permission of their alpha."
Mother scoffs. "Then the pack was either too small or too weak to keep them. Both, most likely. What was the name of their pack?"
"I don't know their family name," I reply, and with haste continue before Mother can cut into me. "We were told they hailed from the Santa Fe pack. Their names are Matt and Emma."
She stays quiet for some time, mulling over my words before I hear her raspy chuckle over the earpiece. "Ah, your alpha is more clever than I gave him credit for. Adding another she-wolf to his pack while accepting you so publicly. We attributed the bolster in his strength to your addition solely, though it seemed far-fetched. It makes sense now why the increase was far larger than we expected."
My head knocks back against the cushioned headboard at the casual snub she slips in at the end. "I didn't realize you could recognize his pack's strength and growth, Mother."
"Of course, we can," she scolds. "Alphas can always measure other alphas in such a way. By this ability, we can avoid territorial fights by either ceding to another pack or taking the chance to fight and defend our place. You learned this long ago, Winter. Dear God, it hasn't even been a week, and you already forget so much of what we taught you."
I pinch the bridge of my nose. "I'm sorry to disappoint, Mother."
She shushes me expectantly, dismissing my lackluster apology. "And what of the Christmas party?"
" The Elder Triad attended."
Mother sputters on whatever drink she's consuming, and a coughing fit ensues on the other end of the line. "How despicable. Tell me they didn't perform some ungodly spell for your entertainment."
I color briefly. I want to defend their ceremony and tradition, but doing so will only result in a lecture. "They performed a blessing."
A sound of disgust reaches my ears. "A blessing—unlikely! I would take a scalding hot shower if I were you, Winter, and scrub off their magic by force! Is that all they were there for? To perform their so-called blessing? You didn't garner any other useful pieces of knowledge." Mother pounces on my prolonged pause. "Well? Out with it, Winter. I don't have all night, and what you've divulged so far is hardly worthwhile—"
"They brought a fairy with them." Sorry, Luna, but it is either you or Zoelle and I can't bring an unborn child into this plot. Somehow I will find a way to protect Luna from the worst of my parents' attention and make sure she doesn't get hurt. She's been through too much already.
"A real fairy?"
"Yes, with wings and all."
"How on earth are they acquainted with a fairy? What use is she to them? Do not think of withholding information from me now, Winter. You are not the only source of information I have to rely on now when it comes to the Adolphus pack and their witches."
A hollow apprehension unfolds inside of me, Mother's power over me—even from this distance—flexing and reining me to her will. "She boosts the power of the Adolphus pack's barrier."
Silence, one far longer than the last. I shift in my seat, curling my legs under me as my free hand curls into a fist.
"Very good, Winter," Mother finally utters. "Now, tell me everything you learned about her and her relationship with the witches." The tension from my body slips away as I sink submissively back into the pillows.
"Of course, Mother."
Winter Tidings
Chapter 6
Mother's interrogation stalks me days later. Her drill sergeant questions and my robotic responses crop up in my mind whenever I find a moment of peace. It is tiresome and demoralizing to know how easy I fall prey to her authority. My only comfort resides in the remainder of the answers I gave her.
No, the fairy has no other apparent power besides enhancing the border.
A semi-truth told easily enough. Luna does not, to my knowledge, have any other apparent power besides enhancing the magical borderline. The fact that Luna can also speak with plants is trivial and unimportant.
No, the witches didn't perform a spell upon me.
They performed their blessing on everyone, perhaps even on the whole of the pack and coven.
No, the fairy isn't dangerous.
That was my last report to Mother. One I found myself repeating a dozen times until she relented her questioning and hung up. Days later I still can't decide if my response had been correct.
"Hey."
My soft greeting is almost covered by the sound of the faucet running, but Atticus turns and gives me a winning smile.
"Hi," he replies, flicking his eyes back toward the soapy dish in his hand then back to me. "How is your book going?"
"Good. It's been entertaining."
I have buried my nose in a couple of books the past few days to limit my interactions with Atticus. I am fearful of him sensing my anxiety, but I can't avoid my husband forever.
"What are you reading again?"
I hesitate, averting my eyes from the muscles bunching and flexing in his back as he finishes the dishes. "The Secret Garden."
My answer must startle Atticus, for he shoots a wide-eyed look my way, his eyebrows raised comically high. "Really?"
I nod. "I'm rereading it actually. It's—"
"One of your top five favorite books," he finishes. My lips part in surprise as I lock eyes with him, but Atticus smiles warmly back at me before I can question his knowledge. "You've told me before. In one of our letters."
I can only manage an owlish blink back at him. But then the slow beginnings of a blush treads up my cheeks as our gazes remain steadfast upon one another.
"You remembered that?" My feet pull me further into the kitchen, and though I typically enjoy letting my gaze wander the beautiful modern decor, I can't tear my eyes away from Atticus. He remembered.
Atticus's answering chuckle reverberates shamelessly down my spine.
"I have the memory of an elephant," he tells me with a wink.
Atticus turns off the water and reaches for one of the tea towels hanging on the stainless-steel range oven handle. As he dries his hands, he tosses me another charming smile. "I'm not sure if I've ever met anyone who reads as much as you. Although, Irina was a bookworm as a kid."
Thank goodness, a topic I can speak on that doesn't make me hesitate.
"Books are worlds all their own," I explain. "I've traveled great distances under the sea with Captain Nemo and courted danger in the opera." Atticus makes his way toward me leisurely, his smile turning serene. When he doesn't respond immediately, I ramble on. "I've probably read every Nora Roberts romance book too."
He stops his approach and leans with casual grace against the edge of the kitchen counter. "Is that so?"
I go to explain further but catch the teasing glint in his eye. The corner of his mouth twitches. "It is. She's a brilliant writer."
