Lycan Legacy (A Soulmark Series Book 5), page 19
Winter: Happy new year! How are you? Anything new or exciting happen while I've been away?
To my relief, three little dots appear on June’s side of the screen immediately.
June: Happy NY!
June: <
Her image loads after a swift double tap of my thumb, and June in her outfit from last night, a pretty blue A-line dress, smiles back at me.
June: Have you talked with your parents recently by chance?
Dread hits me hard as my fingers stall over the keypad.
June: They're acting weird. And all of a sudden my parents won't let Toby come over.
June: I don't know what's changed.
June: :(
Winter: I spoke with my mother a few days ago. She was in a mood...
Winter: You know how she can get sometimes. Just keep your head down and don't complain.
June: Okay
June: I guess now isn't the time for you to work your magic with them, huh?
Winter: Sorry, Junebird. I'll do my best from over here to smooth things over.
June: Thx! You're the best!
June: BTW how's Atticus and the new pack?
Such a simple question and yet my body warms at the thought... before going cold. Whatever goodwill and connects I've built with the pack are sure to go up in flames when they learn of my deceit.
Winter: They're wonderful.
June: Good!!!!
My phone rings, interrupting our conversation. Mother. My thumb hovers over the green button, every muscle in my body tightening as I waver. At the last moment, I hit ignore, pressing the red phone icon with more force than necessary. It's incredible how the tension immediately slips from my body.
I’ll deal with her later.
June: I've got to go. Mom and I are having lunch with Aunt Lydia. I promise to act like a saint. I’ll TTYL.
Winter: Love you!
I toss my phone to the other side of the bed and release a groan. No. No. No. What more do my parents want from me? I’ll do as they asked and bring them the information sought. But why bring June into this?
Laughter reaches my ears from downstairs. When it sounds again, interrupting my train of thought, I rise from the bed. A short trip to the bathroom later and I set off downstairs toward the source of the noise.
“Good morning,” I say as I take in the scene.
Atticus at the stove, making breakfast. Lucy is at the table, coffee in hand and a smug smile on her lips. There is also a vase of flowers.
“Morning,” Atticus responds. He flips whatever concoction he’s making in the skillet then turns down the heat before walking toward me.
I meet his approach halfway, sliding both arms around his neck to greet him with a kiss as if we’ve done it a hundred times before. My heart constricts with longing.
“Good morning, cousin,” Lucy says, her voice far nearer than expected. Atticus and I pull apart from our chaste kiss, only to find Lucy standing right next to us. With a muffled cough, Atticus takes a significant step back.
I offer a stiff smile in return to her greeting, but Lucy persists. She plants a kiss on either side of my cheek, then returns to her seat.
“How long have you two been up?”
They answer at the same time.
“Maybe, fifteen minutes,” Atticus says.
“Half an hour, give or take,” Lucy says.
My husband shoots Lucy a pointed look. “I believe my estimate to be more accurate,” he corrects her. Lucy doesn’t bother to rebut his statement.
Whoops, she mouths to me behind Atticus’s back.
With breakfast in hand—a ridiculously large omelet—Atticus gestures to the table. “Let’s eat,” he says.
He portions out the omelet onto all three of our plates, but his regard keeps sweeping back to the flowers in the middle of the table. As do mine.
“Wherever did you get chrysanthemums at this time of year? I thought they were an autumn flower?” Lucy asks. She cuts herself a small piece of the egg dish and eats it like some aristocrat at an extravagant dinner. Her movements are languid, yet precise, and her eyes never stray from Atticus across the table, a fact we’re all privy to.
“I know a woman with a very green thumb, as it would happen.” A small smile graces Atticus’s mouth, but he remains steadfast in looking anywhere but me. The corner of my mouth twitches upward as well.
“The fairy?” Lucy asks just before popping another piece of breakfast into her mouth.
The corner of my mouth drops as my lips chose instead to weld together. Atticus is not so perturbed by the question, but swallows his food faster, so as not to make Lucy wait for an answer.
“No,” he replies. “Someone else. I’d say who, but I want to keep my source under the radar so no one else can use her.”
He grins at Lucy then winks at me. The combination is rather devastating on my senses.
“How… cute,” Lucy states as she sets down her cutlery and leans back in her seat to observe us. “What’s on the agenda for today?”
The table grows silent, and Atticus spares me another look, this one laved in doubt. “Uh, well, unfortunately, I have to start preparing to go back to work soon. But we can show you around today.”
“That sounds simply splendid! Although I doubt it will take all day,” she says, followed by a hollow. “Goodness, how big is this town anyway?”
“Big enough to explore for the afternoon, at least,” I say as I grow wise to her motives. Lucy switches her intent regard to me. Her chocolate eyes hold not a hint of kindness to them as she cocks her head an inch to the left.
“Well then, I’ll be sure to call Knox and let him know of our plans. He’ll be so happy to get to spend time with you… and Atticus, of course. I’m sure he’ll want to know all about how you two are getting along." Lucy tosses her hair over her shoulder and rises. "I better go get ready for the day. Let's leave around one?"
“You're finished eating already?” Atticus replies.
Lucy smiles beatifically back at Atticus. "I've never been one for breakfast. I'll see you in a few hours."
Before she can retreat, Atticus speaks again. "How long do you think you and Knox will be around? I want to make sure the house stays stocked properly?” Atticus asks.
She pauses deliberately. “I assume we'll depart once we can be assured that Winter is no longer a threat.” Another false laugh tinkles from her throat. “I mean, once Winter is no longer being threatened. That’s all her parents really want.”
Lucy leaves the room, her stride confident. Once she’s out of earshot, I swivel in my seat to face Atticus.
“I’m sorry. Lucy can be a bit much."
He mirrors my position and scoots his chair closer to me as well.
“Is she always like that?” he asks. Within his eyes, I read his frustration and confusion. “She was a little too friendly this morning. She was at our wedding—she knows we're married. So what's with her attitude?”
I attempt nonchalance, feigning an act of self-grooming by picking nonexistent lint from my sleeping pants. “Lucy has always craved being the center of attention. It just so happens her favorite way of taking the spotlight is by getting under my skin, for all to see."
"That's pretty messed up."
"She is a product of her upbringing," I say, my tone light despite the topic. "Her parents always made Lucy and her sister compete for their attention and affection. It just so happens that competitiveness and need for validation bled into other aspects of her life."
"But why focus on you? Or is she like this to every she-wolf in the Blanc pack."
"She's been going after the she-wolves higher ranked than her for several years now. Ever since she fine-tuned her bite. However... this past year she has focused on me more so than ever. She said I was too weak for my position as fifth, too passive and empathetic.”
“She only says that because she doesn’t know what strengths lie in both those qualities as a beta,” he responds. His hand comes to rest on mine, the one that still fidgets and fusses with my clothing. “Winter, why are they really here?”
The question is pitched far lower than the rest of what our conversation has been. My heart skips a traitorous beat at the direct line of questioning. I wet my lips.
“They just don’t want me getting into any more trouble.”
He doesn’t believe me. I see it in the way lines creep up near the ends of his eyes and the taut line his jawline makes. “Okay.”
My sigh of relief doesn’t come until I’m able to extract myself from the table and escape to my old bedroom. Striding to my old dresser, I snatch up The Language of Flowers and thumb through the pages until I find chrysanthemum.
It means honesty.
++
Winter typically loses its luster to me come the days following the new year. Now is no exception. Though the downtown square is adorned in picturesque wreaths of pine and red ribbons, and storefronts embellish their windows with festive novelties and glittering lights, they do not enchant me as they once did.
Several people brave the frigid air to enjoy what’s left of the holiday spirit. They link arms with each other to fight the wind and snuggle into their coats and scarves with sappy smiles. I examine every person, looking for the faces and figures of my assailants.
A young man with violence in his eyes.
A lanky lackey.
Someone more beast than man.
Lucy turns into another shop. It’s the sixth we’ve been into, and I roll my eyes heavenward to keep from groaning aloud. Entering in behind her, the scent of cinnamon and mulled wine assaults my nose. It’s not unpleasant, but the intensity of the perfumed air instantly makes me sneeze. Behind me, Atticus chuckles, his body pressing lightly into my back as he herds me further inside.
Candles and homemade jewelry are displayed on small tables throughout the shop. My fingers grace the edge of a stand as I meander around. I make sure Lucy is in my sights at all times and well within hearing distance, even though Knox does his best to keep me distracted.
It’s become a dance between the four of us. Atticus uses his beta prowess to keep our environment calm and Knox in check. I not-so-subtly redirect and politely dodge Lucy’s probing questions away from Atticus. Knox trails after me and makes small talk with me every time Atticus’s back is turned. And Lucy revels in it all, pumping out question after question to garner information about the Adolphus pack and our relationship.
I’m sorely tempted to knock her over the head with one of the heftier candles, except I can’t. For as all of this dancing around is occurring, I must also act as if it’s not. As if I don’t know Lucy and Knox’s true motives. As if I’m not ultimately a part of their plot.
“I’m feeling a bit peckish,” Lucy announces, setting a necklace back on its display. “Doesn’t Zoelle own a shop of some kind? It would be so lovely to see her.”
Atticus and I share a look, and then he responds. “Sure. It’s just a few blocks over.”
And so we leave, Atticus and I walking hand in hand a couple of feet behind Knox and Lucy. They seem out of place here, even from behind. Their gait suggests arrogance more than confidence, one that comes off as intimidating if the people avoiding their path is any indication.
“Are you okay?” Atticus asks, slowing our pace even more.
I nod and glance up to see his face full of concern. For a moment, I admire the straight line of his nose and the shallow hollow of his cheeks. His brows are drawn in slightly together, the blue of his eyes clouded with worry.
“I just wish they weren’t here,” I admit, ducking my head to hide the mixture of emotions crossing my face. “It’s unnecessary,” I continue, my voice gaining some heat. “My mother just wants to make sure I’m—” I pause and glance up to Atticus. He watches me intently, and I tense at my near slip. “—that I’m doing my duty.”
I color at what I imply. My words aren’t truly false. She does wish for me to fulfill my duty but to the Blanc pack. I’m absolutely sure she will prefer my wifely duties to be catered to Knox Bernard rather than Atticus.
“Oh.” Atticus colors as well, tugging me along to catch the timer on the street post. Lucy and Knox are still ahead, but I catch Lucy throw an inquisitive glance over her shoulder at our delay. “It’s straight ahead!” Atticus calls to them.
With the excuse made, we slow our steps in unison once more. “I’m sorry—”
“You don’t have to apologize for them,” he interrupts. He squeezes my hand in reassurance and smiles softly at me. Rosy red patches begin to appear in earnest across his cheeks. “I’m sure we’ll figure out a way to get the point across.”
I return his gentle squeeze with one of my own, laughing at the way the tips of his ears begin to go red. “Come on, let’s catch up.”
We enter Baudelaire Patisserie and Café a few crucial seconds behind Knox and Lucy. They are already calling an obnoxious amount of attention to themselves with Lucy’s loud greeting to Zoelle. The witch looks startled at the focus, but upon seeing us, her shoulders sag in relief.
She excuses herself from a customer after finishing their order and heads our way.
“Just take a seat anywhere. I’ll be with you—oh!” Zoelle goes wide-eyed as Lucy plants two exaggerated kisses on either side of her face.
“It’s so wonderful to see you! Please, finish up what you were doing. We’ll just be over here,” Lucy prattles on with her patented sickly sweet smile in place. There’s no choice but to follow the overexuberant brunette to the table of her choice. I realize the error of our delay as we take our seats. Knox and Lucy place themselves at opposite ends of the table, forcing Atticus and me to do the same.
“Hi,” Zoelle says. She’s slightly out of breath but wears a beaming smile as she looks down at us. “This is a nice surprise. Can I get you guys anything? Coffee or a pastry?”
We list off our orders, and Zoelle pops off to put them in before returning.
“How have you been feeling?” Atticus asks, wrapping his arm around her waist and tugging her in to give a sort-of hug. Zoelle laughs and rubs his back affectionately.
“I’ve been better. My morning sickness is only just starting to go away,” Zoelle replies.
“Oh, yes,” Lucy chimes in, leaning closer to Atticus to address Zoelle. “I heard about the good news at the party. Congratulations. Your pack seems very excited by the news.”
Zoelle smiles brighter. “We’re lucky to have such a support system behind us,” she admits, her hand going to her lower abdomen fondly.
“So,” Lucy drawls in a cheerful tone, “tell me everything. When are you due? How long has everyone known? Are you the only one expecting in the pack?”
The smile on Zoelle’s face doesn’t falter, her excitement superseding what I know to be obvious—Lucy is fishing for information again.
“July ninth. We just started to tell people because we wanted to wait until the end of the first trimester. Just in case,” she explains, moving out of the way as one of her employees comes around and places our orders in front of us. “I’m not aware of any others being pregnant, but I think it would be nice. That way I can go through this with someone else.”
Lucy lets out a false laugh that dims Zoelle’s smile a touch, and Knox speaks next.
“Do you know if your child will be a witch or lycan?” he wonders aloud. “I’ve never met a lycan and witch who’ve produced a child, or heard many stories about such a pairing. Your situation is quite… unique, if you don’t mind me saying.”
Zoelle takes a step back, effectively stepping out of Atticus’s embrace. She levels a sharp smile at Knox, and a second later a tingling sensation ripples across the back of my neck.
“We are unique, but that’s the beauty of the soulmark. It doesn’t discriminate. We like to think of our union as an example to the rest of the supernatural community,” she continues, her head held high. “There’s no reason why cross-unions like ours shouldn’t be the norm.”
Knox takes a long sip of his coffee, his eyes drilling into Zoelle as Lucy lets out another laugh. “That’s an interesting take on it,” he finally says with an equally cutting smile. “I’ll have to share it with my alphas.”
“You do that,” she says, the magical energy palpable in the room, or at least within our vicinity. My nose twitches uncomfortably, but I hold back the urge to sneeze. “Enjoy.”
“Well, isn’t she something. She has quite the spark, doesn’t she?” Lucy comments before sipping her drink as her gaze flits between Atticus and me. “So, when can we expect little ones from you?”
My tea never reaches my throat. Lucy’s well-timed question hits just as the aromatic chamomile passes my lips, only to be spat back in the delicate teacup. Atticus fairs little better, his jaw dropping.
“We’re not in any rush,” he says, looking to me in panic. Knowing the history of our betrothal, most people of the pack held back asking the question, their tact reaching far beyond Lucy’s morals.
“Exactly,” I chime in. “We don’t have any plans for that. What’s going on with you and Jeffrey Terreur? When is he going to propose? You’ve been together for what feels like ages.”
A flush creeps up Lucy’s face at my question. Her relationship to Jeffrey Terreur is known throughout the Blanc pack as one of convevience, though her parents vie for it to be more. His rank in the pack is high, and his wallet bigger than most. To secure a match with him—despite his many flaws—would be seen as the catch of the season.
Yet at my innocent questions, all vestiges of her niceties drop. Her pretty features draw taut as she attempts to keep some remnants of her facade up while looking elsewhere.
“Anything’s possible,” Knox remarks as he leans back in his chair. He gives little care to the scent of Lucy’s embarrassment. Crossing his arms over his muscular chest, he scans the cafe with little interest until his eyes alight upon me. “Aren’t you going to ask after my love life, Winter?”
