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“Went swimming,” I explain, instinctively stepping in front of my mate. My stance is casual, my hands loose at my sides, but there’s no denying it’s a protective gesture.
My mother dips her chin in a subservient motion, or as close to one as an alpha is willing to lower themselves to. It’s a weird dynamic between us. I’m her son, but she is a guest on my land. Our wolves circle each other while we attempt to navigate whatever is between us. Spending more than ten years apart has changed us both.
Sensing the tension in the room, Callie places her hand against my back, her cool fingers soothing against my heated skin. Her emotions regarding my mother are complicated and tend to burn brightly in her presence. I sense her gut reaction to defend me and lash out at her for abandoning me, but also hope that her return will help me heal. I’ve wanted my mother back for so long, so she wants that for me.
Wanting to know why my mother waited for us, but also knowing that I’ll be on edge with my need to protect my mate, I murmur over my shoulder, “Go take your shower. I’ll be up shortly.”
She’s conflicted about leaving us alone, her need to protect me as strong as mine is to protect her. I doubt my mother would physically harm me, but words are powerful weapons that can hurt without intending to.
I turn around and kiss her forehead. “I’ll be fine.”
“Better be,” she states, giving my mother a significant look that has a sharp bite of warning. After giving my hand a gentle squeeze, she shuffles out of the room still dressed in my flannel and blanket.
When the sound of the door to my mate’s suite closes, my mother comments, “I don’t think she likes me very much.”
“She worries about me,” I answer, softening the harder truth that Callie blames my mother as much as the alpha for what happened to me.
“Mijo, I would never hurt you,” she insists, appearing offended at the mere suggestion that I’m not safe alone with her. “I love you.”
“Already have,” I counter quietly, folding my arms and leaning against the doorframe. The memory of being eight years old and waking up to a letter on my bedside, promising she’d come back, is an old wound that was only recently beginning to heal with Callie’s help. Now, it’s fresh and bleeding.
Despite it being the truth, I almost want to take the words back when I see the pain in my mother’s eyes. She looks down at the open album on her lap, running her fingers along old pictures that I don’t recognize. “Is that why you didn’t want to spend your birthday with me?”
I’m surprised and ashamed, because it didn’t occur to me to spend it with her. After all this time of wanting her back, I forgot her completely when it came time to make plans. This was the first time in a long time where I got to choose what to do. My birthday was usually a collection of challenges where I had to prove myself worthy of the pack that didn’t want me. At the time, it was easier to do them than defy the alpha, my younger self hoping that maybe if I did well enough that I’d earn my way back in. It’s only recently that I considered he was testing me for something else—my potential to be the next alpha.
My mother flips over a few pages until there’s a picture of me on my fifth birthday, my face covered in ice cream cake as I grin at the camera. She smiles sadly down at my younger self. Before she left, we had traditions of our own—the main one being we spent the whole day together, just the two of us. There was a party for everyone later, but the day of was ours.
I wait too long to say something, and she seems to take it as confirmation of her suspicions. My mother is in her mid-forties, but the weight of grief and regret seems to age her at that moment. She closes the album and rises slowly to her feet. Holding out the leather book with well-worn edges, she states, “You are more than what your father made you. When you want to know more, come find me.”
Taking the album from her hand, I move out of the doorway to allow her to pass. She hesitates next to me, her blue eyes bright with emotion. I don’t hate her, it would probably be easier if I did, but for so long, she was my future, my promise of a better life.
“Thank you,” I say, leaning down to kiss her cheek.
Her entire expression softens, a smile full of hope gracing her lips. “Feliz cumpleaños, Mijo. I never forgot you in all the years we were apart. Not once.”
When she leaves, I slump into the chair she left and stare down at what is apparently my human history that isn’t derived from the man that tortured me most of my life. It’s bizarre to think of myself outside of my wolf—a lineage of people who have no idea shifters like me exist beyond myths and legends. Even knowing my mother was human, it never occurred to me to think of myself as half human, and that it came with the potential of more family—ones who didn’t hate me for what I represented and the power I now hold.
I sit here much longer than I intended, and I’m brought back to myself with Callie’s arrival. Dressed in another one of my flannels, she pads over to me. I place the album on a nearby side table so she has room to sit in my lap.
“Are you okay?” she asks softly, cuddling up to me with her legs hanging over the arm of the chair.
I hug her and kiss the top of her wet hair. “Yes, reina. I’m okay.”
There are questions bubbling inside her, but she also senses that I’m tired. Conversations with my mother are a draining experience, so instead of giving into her curiosity, she suggests, “Want to carry me to bed?” Quickly, she adds, “For sleeping. We need sleep. Big day of breaking down walls and such tomorrow.”
Chuckling, I tuck my arms around her back and under her knees, and then I stand up. She wraps her arms around my neck and leans her head against my chest. I take comfort in the fact that we’re finishing our evening like we started it, with me carrying her off to be alone together. No matter what happens with my mother, or what I learn about the other side of my history, I always have her and the guys. They are my home, my pack, my family. As long as I have them, nothing else matters.
Chapter 6
Callie
It’s an unseasonably warm afternoon that I fear has more to do with me than Mother Nature. At least the storms I call on when I’m upset match the local climate, but this newer development of sudden record highs is making news. Fortunately, it’s being attributed to climate change and not an overexcited, teenage, super witch. It’s so embarrassing, but totally not my fault. I blame the guys. Surely it’s a safety hazard to be shirtless when tearing down walls with sledgehammers. Connor is the only one who’s made the connection, flashing me heated looks with knowing smiles, while everyone else assumes I’m doing it on purpose to make it easier to work on the alpha house. I’m certainly not going to correct them.
Not knowing anything about construction, and with my magic more likely to tear down the whole building than a single wall, I’ve been put on water duty, ferrying cold bottles to thirsty members of the pack. It’s not the most important job, but it’s earned me some goodwill among those who still aren’t thrilled their alpha is mated to a witch. It’s been a challenging dichotomy. The wolves who feel the call want me around all the time because it eases something inside them they don’t fully understand, while the turned wolves, at best, see me as an outsider who has wormed her way into an influential position within the pack. Regardless of how they personally feel about me, I am pack. This has led to some tension when the natural-born wolves of Connor’s mother’s pack have shown confused interest. They are loyal to their alpha, but the call is stronger. I don’t exactly know what to do about it, so I’ve pretty much sequestered myself in the alpha house when visiting pack lands. Less exposure, less chances of the two packs turning on each other to lay claim to me. Honestly, I don’t know how my ancestors managed it.
My concerns over the two packs fade into the background when I walk from the kitchen—a soft cooler filled with bottled waters hanging from a strap across my chest—and find Connor, Kaleb, Donovan, and Nolan standing around a makeshift table covered in blueprints in the great room. Connor is pointing at different areas on one of the blueprints, and Kaleb is asking questions while Donovan and Nolan listen. Sweat glistens over their exposed torsos, droplets following the lines of their sculpted muscles, and smudges of dirt cling to their damp skin, attesting to the work they’ve done so far. Today appears to be a good day for Nolan, although he still appears tired around the eyes. Overall, it’s a view of very attractive male flesh, and I can’t seem to keep myself from staring. I’m not the only one. Others stutter in their steps as they enter the room before being hustled off by Sam. She seems to be the only one unaffected, busier with keeping dozens of people focused and on track than ogling.
To say I’m hot and bothered is an understatement, especially after what Connor and I got up to in the pond the night before. The experience awakened something inside me, or more accurately, turned my reservations into a heated curiosity. My fingers tingle with knowledge and a desire to be bolder with the others. There’s also a streak of possessiveness, and I have to fight myself to keep from walking over and claiming them in front of the onlookers. I want to run my hands over their bare skin and kiss them until we’re breathless, because they are mine, and it’s only my privilege to do so. It’s a powerful feeling that’s probably unhealthy for so many reasons, but especially since, technically, Kaleb isn’t mine. At least not yet. It’s unbelievably frustrating. I’ve seen into the man’s soul, and it only made me want him more.
