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CONNOR

T he trip back to Fairlane is a bleak one and it passes in a kind of dark blur. Part of that is because I’m driving at night but part of it is because I’m so fucking depressed. The Wolf inside me howls mournfully and insists that we’re leaving our mate behind. We have to go back –we have to go get her!

I try to shut him up but it’s not easy. How can I explain such a complicated problem to the most simple and straightforward part of myself? I can’t—the Wolf is miserable, even more miserable than me, if that’s possible.

I can’t help thinking of my time with Sunny —running through the few precious days and nights I spent with her over and over in my mind. How could I fuck it up so badly? Why didn’t I tell her right away that I wasn’t Kane ? I should have explained everything right from the start. Hell , I should have explained it in my very first letter.

But it’s too late now—it’s all too late. She’s gone and there’s no getting her back— I’m fucking sure of that.

When I finally get back to the mansion, I just sit in the driveway for a while. This is my family home—a beautiful Georgian Revival style set on top of a hill with rolling parklands all around. There’s a stable on the grounds—my mom and my sister both loved riding—as well as an Olympic sized swimming pool, a tennis court, a movie theater, and a two-lane bowling alley. It’s opulent…but empty— I have no one to share it with.

At last I get out of the truck. I fumble with my keys before remembering that we had just changed the locks to face ID scanners before I went to prison. I look into the camera for a long time and from several different angles before the lock finally clicks open. Yeah , I know I look different. I didn’t have the scar on my face the last time I was here. Or the scars on my heart.

Inside everything feels musty and unused, even though I know that Branson has maids comes in once a week to air the place out. All I see are ghosts—ghosts of my Mom and Dad and of my little sister, Bethany . They’re all gone now— I have the place to myself, only I don’t want it.

I wander through the empty halls until I finally find my bedroom. It looks the same way it did before I left for prison. I used to lay on the thin, dirty mattress in my cell and dream of the huge California King -sized bed in the middle of this room. It has a luxurious memory foam topped mattress and it’s covered in a designer dark green and brown comforter with gold trim—the epitome of comfort and quiet luxury.

I’m looking at my bed but not seeing it. Instead , I’m thinking of Sunny’s bed with its cheerful patchwork quilt made by her Nan . I think of holding her in it, caressing her and spooning her small, curvy body, kissing her, making her come…

I make myself stop picturing the past. I’ll never hold her again.

I look at the bed once more. Right now, I couldn’t care less where I sleep. I feel like my heart has been torn out and I don’t give a fuck if I even wake up the next morning.

I’ve been driving for hours and I need a shower. But if I take one, I’ll wash the last of Sunny’s scent off my skin— I can’t fucking bear to do that.

I fall into bed, dirty and miserable, and try to get some sleep. But every time I close my eyes I see her—her beautiful face and big, gorgeous eyes, her sweet, kissable mouth and the freckles on the bridge of her nose. I keep remembering how kind she was—and how she could get bossy in that adorable way of hers.

I wish I could hold her in my arms just one more time. I wish I could explain what really happened and apologize for fucking up her life, but I’m afraid she won’t want any contact with me at all now. Hell , she doesn’t even know who I am! She just knows me as some guy who impersonated her brother.

I need to let her go—to leave her alone. But I’m almost sure she really is a Repressed Omega . I need to let her know what’s going to start happening to her—she’s going to have a Heat Cycle and her breasts are going to fill with nectar. Hell , she’s going to need to be bred—her desire for male seed, both in her pussy and in her mouth, is going to be insatiable.

Sunny needs to know what’s heading her way like a freight train barreling down the tracks she’s tied to.

But why would she believe anything I say now? I’m a liar and a cheat and a murderer to her. I can’t believe that fucking Charles even dug up my charge! Though I’m sure he didn’t get into the details of who I killed and why. I had a fucking good reason for what I did.

I can’t just send her a letter explaining she has Werewolf blood in her. She’s been raised as a human—she’ll think I’m crazy. Hell , she probably already thinks that. Who else but a crazy person would pretend to be someone else’s brother for two long years? She’ll probably rip up anything I send her or delete any emails or texts. She’s not going to want to hear from me again at all.

My brain goes on like that, all fucking night. I swear I don’t get a wink of sleep. By the time I call Branson and ask him to come over the next day, I feel more exhausted than I ever have in my life. Even my first day of prison wasn’t this hard—and believe me, it was fucking rough .

My fatigue and misery must show on my face because Branson takes one glance at me and looks extremely concerned.

“Mr. Lowell … Connor . What happened?” he asks. “ If you don’t mind me saying so, you look terrible . Did something go amiss with your errand?”

“You could say that,” I say grimly. “ The whole situation went straight to Hell , Branson .”

“Ah, I see.” He comes into the mansion’s study and sits down in one of the leather wingback chairs. All around us are shelves full of leather-bound books. This was my father’s favorite room in the house when he was still alive.

I sit across from him, looking into the empty fireplace but seeing nothing but Sunny’s face.

“Would you care to discuss it, Sir ?” Branson asks. “ You know your business will be kept in strictest confidence. Sometimes one just needs to talk.”

Branson is right— I do need to talk. I tell him everything. How I started writing to Sunny in the first place…how I only meant to stop by Singing Rock for an hour or two and how an hour stretched into a day and a night and the rest of the time I was there.

“I fell in love with her, Branson ,” I admit heavily. “ But I fucked it all up. Her fucking boyfriend found out my real identity and came and told her. She kicked me out—can’t say that I blame her.”

“I see.” Branson is quiet for a long time and I don’t rush his thoughts. I’m too busy staring into the fireplace and wishing I could see Sunny , just one more time.

“So you say that you think she might be a Repressed Omega ?” he asks at last. Branson isn’t a Were —he’s pure human. But my father trusted him implicitly, so he knows all our family secrets as well as our history as Weres .

“Yes, I think she really could be,” I say. “ If I’m right, her first Heat Cycle is on the way and she’s going to need to be bred.”

“That could be an opportunity for you, Sir ,” Branson points out. “ If she reaches a certain point where her, er, need outweighs her aversion, you might be able to reason with her then.”

“There’s no reasoning with a Were bitch in heat, Branson ,” I say flatly. “ There’s nothing but fucking—breeding. And I don’t want to do that to her without explaining what happened first.”

“But you fear she won’t want to speak to you or read any letters or emails you send?” he asks.

I shake my head.

“Sunny doesn’t like liars. She hates me now for what I did and I don’t really blame her. She’s sweet, but she can hold a grudge. I don’t think she’ll forgive me.”

“Well, it seems to me that all we can do is watch the situation and keep an eye on her to see if she starts exhibiting outward signs of having Were blood,” Branson says.

“That’s what I was trying to do.” I rake a hand through my hair. “ I was waiting to see if her breasts filled with nectar. If they did, I was going to explain everything to her—not just the Were part but also the fact that I wasn’t really her brother.”

“I can put a tail on her,” Branson offers. “ Someone to keep an eye and see if she’s showing any signs. Perhaps another Were , who can smell it if her scent changes?”

“That’s a good idea.” I nod slowly. “ But make sure it’s a female Were ,” I add darkly. “ I can’t fucking stand the idea of some other male breeding her.”

“I can do that,” Branson says. “ I’ll have someone go there immediately. If she does go into—what do you call it? ‘ Breeding Fever ’—then I’ll have you informed at once. You can decide what to do from there.”

“Thank you, Branson .” I sigh tiredly. “ I guess that’s the best we can do for now. Of course, she still might turn out to be human, but I doubt it— I think she has Were blood for sure.”

“We’ll soon see,” Branson murmurs. “ The full moon isn’t that far off.”

“I know.” I shake my head. “ God , I should have told her earlier. But I wanted to wait until I could Shift and prove it to her so she didn’t think I was crazy.”

“Hindsight, as they say, Sir , is twenty-twenty.” Branson rises and places a comforting hand on my shoulder. “ Take courage—this too shall pass. I do believe it will work out in the end.”

I wish I had his confidence. But at least talking to him has put my mind slightly more at ease.

“Thanks, Branson ,” I tell him.

But what should I do if Sunny suddenly goes into Breeding Fever ? Should I bring her here to my mansion and breed her myself? The Moon Goddess knows I want to, but would she ever trust me again after that?

I just don’t know— I don’t know anything. I guess I’ll have to play this situation as it goes and just hope for the best.

In the meantime, there’s nothing to do but wait.