Lycan Legacy (A Soulmark Series Book 5), page 22
“Atticus—”
“I know we’ve talked about taking things slow… but haven’t we waited long enough? It’s been twenty years of letters. And over the past few days, we’ve learned each other even more intimately.”
He steps up right behind me, his hands gripping my hips. His bare chest and waist cover my back entirely.
“Just think of the ways we can know each other through the sealing,” Atticus murmurs in my ear, urging me back against the wall of his chest. “We can be everything together, Winter.”
For a moment, I savor it. Savor his scent filling my nose. Savor the strength of his body behind me. Supporting me, as usual. I tip my head back, eyes closed as a new face enters my vision. One of a young, beautiful girl, all alone with no one looking out for her happiness.
My eyes open and Juniper’s face vanishes. “No.”
Witches Know Best
Chapter 13
I’m an expert at avoidance. I’ve had practice all my life. Whether it be slipping unnoticed into vacant rooms to escape the sycophants panting after my parents' approval, or my parents themselves and the obligations they wish to press down onto my shoulders.
I even put my avoidance skills into practice with Atticus our first few days together. Uncertain how to act and proceed via my parents' wishes while navigating the obligations of wife and soulmark.
I don’t expect to be on the receiving end of such avoidance, or it to come from Atticus.
Even if I rightfully deserve it.
By surrendering to his kisses and touch, I'd strung him along. I gave him false hope, when I knew the future between us looked dimmer as the days passed.
Yet, the strange pull of the soulmark grows as we linger in each other's presence. As if it knows its other half is in the vicinity and yearns to be reunited. The longer we are together, the more the pull grows.
To put it frankly, I am royally fucked.
The week that follows Lucy's drunken reveal and my rejection of the soulmark is hellish at best, especially with Atticus back to work and Lucy butting her nose into everything I do.
“What are we having for lunch, cousin?”
My eye roll receives no reprimand from the cabinet I stare into. Its contents seem to stare back at me with equal disdain.
“I’m having soup—”
“Do be a dear and make me a bowl as well. Oh, do you know what would go lovely with the soup? A baguette, or perhaps just something to dunk into it.”
The cabinet door sounds angry as I shut it with more force than necessary. “I said I’m having soup. One can isn’t enough for two.”
“Then grab another,” she retorts, a scoff following her reply. “Honestly, Winter. Is this how you treat all of your guests?”
“I’d hardly call you a guest,” I grumble beneath my breath. “More like a parasitic prison guard.”
I spy her set down her magazine on the kitchen table. Her eyes narrow lazily on my figure as I stroll about the kitchen. “I’m here to protect you. We mustn’t let anything dire happen to the Blanc princess, now can we? What will your mother say when she hears about your abhorrent manners? Surely she taught you better.”
I set down the can of soup, my shoulders carrying the weight of my tension as I stride back to the cabinet and take out another can of soup. Check-ins from my parents have been nonexistent with Lucy present. All calls are directed to her, a fact she makes a point of sharing every instance. My calls and texts to June, I think with worry, have gone unanswered.
“Don’t you think you should get rid of these flowers?” Lucy muses as I prepare our lunch.
“No.”
Not yet. I can’t bear the thought of getting rid of them without new flowers to replace them. However, seeing as Atticus is still avoiding me at all costs, the promise of a fresh bouquet seems slim to none.
“They’re dying.” A pointed sniff is made in their general direction. Lucy raises her eyebrows at me, leaning back in her chair and picking up her magazine once more. “And they’re starting to smell.”
“They’re staying,” I say, my voice underlined in steel.
“Touchy,” Lucy comments, drawing out the word to nettle me. It works far better than it should. I turn my back to the brunette, focusing on the trivial task of stirring the soup. “You’re in quite the mood this morning, cousin. It isn’t because you’re no longer sharing your husband’s bed, is it?”
My motions cease, though my grip on the wooden spoon tightens considerably. The gentle sound of splintering reaches my ears. “That’s none of your business.”
“Your mother would say otherwise.”
I turn in a flash, the wooden spoon still in hand dripping creamy red on the kitchen floor. “And if my mother told you to jump off a cliff, would you?”
A flash of gold streaks through her gaze. “Of course. Would you?” My hesitation is all the answer she needs. She sends me a shark-like smile. “Why, Winter, don’t tell me you would falter in the face of your true alphas. Your true pack. After all, my aunt tells me the Blanc pack bonds still hold you to a degree, even if you continue to make ties with this pack—as unworthy as they are.”
“You're ridiculous,” I tell her neatly, making sure no expression crosses my face as she taunts me. I’ve already played too heavily into her hand and allowed my emotions to be riled. Every day her taunts come. Every day I lash back but not today.
“I'm honest,” she croons back. At my unimpressed look, she continues on, but I note the little vein near her temple gives a throb at my nonchalance. “For being the daughter of an alpha pair and the last of her family name—the oldest in lycankind—you sorely lack the esteem and poise of your position.”
I take my time to reply, knowing how my aloofness always succeeds in getting under her skin. I wipe the floor of the small mess I’ve made and tend to the soup once more. It’s cooked quickly, but I draw out the process of preparing our bowls.
“Careful, cousin,” I finally respond as I set her food in front of her and sit down with my own. “One could argue your words as a challenge for rank. Though what you hope to gain challenging a beta not of your own pack, I cannot comprehend.”
My eyes bleed gold as I make my remark, and my wolf swiftly rises to my call. Nobody but Lucy can bring out the wolf so quickly, though I have done my best to leash it this past week in response to her goading.
“Yes, one could. Couldn’t they?”
We stand on the edge of a new line, our eyes shimmering golden at one another in anticipation of the fall.
There are three ways in which to move rank within a pack—marriage, insisting one’s will upon the other in a show of strength, or by the fist, forcing your challenger to submit in a fight.
It is no secret in the Blanc pack that my mother had a heavy hand in my ascension into the top tier of the pack order.
That does not mean females don’t try to unseat me. Countless times, I was lured into secluded areas with witnesses at the ready to crow of my defeat. On almost all occasions, my challengers wished to challenge by the fist. But being the challenged, it was my choice… and my choice was by strength of will.
As it happens, enduring my parents’ treatment strengthened me. It makes me wonder what my wolf and I could be capable of unhindered.
Lucy’s gaze flickers to my necklace. She breaks our standoff and the unofficial prod at my strength of will.
Her jaw ticks.
“You should never have been given that necklace,” she informs me. Her golden eyes narrow upon it.
My fingers graze the moonstone resting against my breastbone. The necklace will be worn by no other than me, a voice whispers in my mind.
“The necklace is for those who carry the Blanc blood only. Whom else would it go to?”
“Aunt Adele isn’t of the Blanc bloodline, and yet she wore it,” Lucy snaps back, her ire growing as she folds her arms over her chest.
“The necklace was a gift passed from my father, who is of the blood, to my mother as a wedding gift. She wore it only on ceremonial occasions. Where it lays now is its rightful place.”
She works her jaw in a slow grind, glaring at me with profound detestation. A small part of me relishes in it, as our infamous rivalry comes to a head again. A more substantial portion anguishes at the pettiness.
This is not the person I wish to be.
“God, you’re insufferable, you know that?” she spits.
I hum my acknowledgment and eat my soup. Lucy does the same with a sneer present on her face. I fight the urge to shake my head in disappointment. My attitude toward Lucy lies somewhere between pity and anger, and now the favor tipped in the balance of the former, as it usually ended up doing.
“I’m only stating what we both know already. Why you insist on being confrontational is beyond me,” I say at last. The response is one I know will temper her ire, somewhat, at least.
Lucy far prefers my scorn over my pity.
“You’re not even pack,” she continues on, the heat of her anger still present in her voice. “Not really. Your mother might insist that Blanc bonds still hold you, but I see the way you act with them. I see how you are with him, even if you are fighting now. You don’t even realize it,” she seethes. “You don’t see, but I do. The way you act is disgusting.”
“And what is it you think you see?” I ask and begin to clean up, even though my soup remains half eaten.
“Oh, it’s not just what I see. It’s what I feel. Whatever ties you keep with your mother are quite possibly the only ones that keep you tied to the Blanc pack anymore. Haven’t you noticed? The bond between us is nearly nonexistent, cousin.”
Her words are like the slow drag of a blade down my flesh. A stir of panic swirls low in my belly as I reach for Lucy through the bonds of the Blanc pack. My heart dares to speed its pace. She’s right. What once was ingrained so firmly inside me now feels like a shadow of its former self.
“I’d wager a guess all your fucking around with this pack has torn the tether of the Blanc pack bonds from their place. Don’t worry, I haven’t told your mother the extent of your betrayal,” she says, her voice cool as silk. “Not yet, anyway.”
“I’m doing as she asks—”
“Are you? Is that what you call all this sitting around doing nothing all day? You call me the prison guard, cousin. But it’s you who won’t let me out of your sights. What exactly are you afraid of, hmm?”
I set to drying the pot, my hands rubbing its surface with hard, insistent strokes. “We don’t have a car,” I say. “With Atticus at work, there’s no one to take us any place, even if we wanted to.”
“Oh, please,” she taunts. “You know as well as I that you can easily call one of your new pack mates and they’d come running to aid their beta. Must I remind you of the consequences should you fail to complete your task? Or does Juniper’s fate mean so little to you?”
I tense, unprepared to receive such a direct blow. Swallowing, I set the pot on the counter and shake my head. “I—”
“Do you think I want to be here?” she demands, rising from her chair with her palms pressed flat against the table. “Do you think I want to watch you make moon eyes at each other? To pine over each other? It’s pathetic, Winter.”
A traitorous flush creeps onto my cheeks. “We don’t make moon eyes at each other.”
Lucy’s lips press into a thin line. Then, in a shocking move, she grabs the vase of dying chrysanthemums and thrusts them into the nearby trash can. I watch her violent movements in stunned silence, unable to say a word of protest or block her rash decision by physical means.
“What the hell are you doing!” I finally deign to cry, striding over to where she hovers breathlessly over the trash can. Its lid closes over the pruned petals of the chrysanthemums in mocking softness. “I told you I don’t want to get rid of them.”
“Do you want to know the real reason Knox went back?” she asks, her frame trembling with emotion as her eyes glaze over with tears. “Because he got the brilliant idea after our conversation at the cafe to help Juniper secure a better betrothal. Of course, his younger brother, Daniel, will be devastated to lose out on our pretty little cousin, but Knox will set him straight. After all, who can deny what a fine match Juniper and Jeffrey Terreur make?”
Another direct hit. I careen back a step in shock and confusion. Lucy’s brown eyes follow with sick satisfaction. “But… but you and Jeffrey—”
“Not anymore, cousin. Why I would have expected Juniper to have delivered the good news of her betrothal contract to you herself already. I wonder why she hasn’t confided in you yet?”
I swallow the stone in my throat with difficulty and fight for some semblance of calm. It’s little use. A few tears escape Lucy’s determined glare, and she hastily wipes them away. This time, it is she who turns her back to me, heading straight for the hallway to make her exit.
“He’s in his sixties, Lucy,” I manage to choke out, still dumbstruck with horror. “She’s barely of age as it is.”
Lucy stops in the kitchen doorway, her hand gripping the frame with white knuckles. “Juniper understands and accepts the expectations of her family. Perhaps you should take notes from our young cousin?” And with her parting shot delivered in the most serene of voices, she walks away.
++
With my world so neatly put on its end, I can think of nothing better to do than flee as well. In the bare essentials of what I need to trek outside, I find my feet guiding me into the center of town rather than the forest where I would typically take refuge. The chance of encountering a pack mate, or several, for that matter, sours the place of my most wanted retreat.
The chance of running into a Wselfwulf anywhere makes me ill.
And yet, despite these fears, I’ve inadvertently directed my feet in the direction of Zoelle's patisserie and cafe.
I’m standing before the cafe cheerfully decorated windows before I know it. My walk is a blur in my mind, but my ears and nose ache with the stinging cold of the journey. I rake my eyes over the window paint, seeing past the swirls and shapes to the figures that patron her space.
There aren’t too many inside—only three to be exact, a couple and a lone woman who sits at the table nearest the window. Her ambivalent gaze falls upon me, clearly questioning my odd stature before the store. And then I see Zoelle, or rather, she sees me.
A smile lights up her face, and she motions for me to come inside. I hesitate, but in the end, I shuffle inside.
Warm, sugary concoctions and flavored coffee perfume the air heavily. A deeper inhalation reveals the fragrance of dark chocolates and loaves of bread. It’s a comfort, and one the patrons seem to bask in.
“This is a surprise,” Zoelle greets, pulling me into a hug. “Did you walk here? Where’s your hat and scarf? Did your cousin leave?”
Her questions are entirely innocent, but my response falls short. Zoelle’s regard sharpens on the way my brows draw lightly together, and finally I find my reply.
“Can I sit over there?” I point in the general direction of the back tables, and Zoelle nods.
“Let me take your coat. You go sit, and I’ll grab us some coffee, or would you prefer tea?”
“Tea would be great.” I shrug off my coat, handing it to her with a small smile and brushing my windswept hair back. I long for a hair tie or some headband to rule over the mess it has become, but all I've taken is my coat and phone. Not even my wallet made the trip.
I cringe internally as I sit. Zoelle is already back behind the counter fixing up our drinks. Every now and then her hand strays to her abdomen, a fond smile appearing on her lips as she does so. A pain strikes my heart, one induced by jealousy. I steer my gaze away to dampen it before she returns.
“So, what brings you around?” Zoelle asks and wipes her hands on her little black apron before taking a seat across from me.
“I just needed to get out of the house,” I say, combing my fingers through the end of my snowy hair.
“Bored out of your mind?” she asks jokingly. The corner of my lips tilts downward as I sink back into my seat.
“More like annoyed out of my mind.”
Zoelle’s dark caramel eyes spy at me through lowered lashes, her hands busy pouring the ceramic teapot’s contents into our cups. “I take it your cousin is still around.” I rub my eyes, inhaling deeply and relaxing at the familiar scent of chamomile. “Honey?” she asks.
“No, thank you.”
We lapse into a peaceful silence, but I’m quite aware of Zoelle’s subtle regard. I can’t find the energy to care, letting the warmth of the tea seep into my veins and warm my chilled hands.
“Penny for your thoughts?” she muses aloud.
My teeth dig in to the tip of my tongue as I search for an excuse to give. “I just feel….”
The fragmented words of my panic attack earlier this week surfaces. Lost isn’t quite what I feel anymore. Trapped is far more accurate. The only way I know to potentially save June means harming Luna, and the fairy has been through so much already. “Tired,” I say with a resigned sigh.
Tired of fighting my parents.
Tired of walking the sword's edge.
So damn tired.
“I can’t imagine how strange this whole situation must be for you, even knowing you and Atticus have been acquainted for so long. One day your pen pals. The next, you’re married,” she states.
“Strange somehow doesn’t do it justice,” I murmur. “Surreal might be better.”
“Surreal it is,” she agrees and reaches out with her teacup to clink against mine. I smile weakly back at her attempt to break me from my stagnation. “Have you and Atticus—” Zoelle makes a vague gesture with her hands, her cheeks turning pink.
I sputter around my tea, setting my cup on the table between us to busy my hands. “That’s a bit personal, don’t you think?”
She lets out a nervous laugh. “Sorry, I think I might spend a little too much time with Quinn. She’s very… personal.” Our cheeks redden in unison. “It’s just, Atticus has come over a few times to chat with Xander and Ryatt. But not about the Wselfwulfs.”
