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Week Seven

M y drugar took the work crews at her house about as well as I could have expected. Pup and the other two troublemakers helped, of course, but I’m fairly certain allowing her purple haired Guardian to design our costumes for the Masquerade was both a punishment for us and a concession to her friend’s new partners. Tilly was so worried that the only loyal friend she’d ever had was going to abandon her—I had to stop the softer idiots from spilling the beans about her status multiple times.

Finding out her bestie has been lying to her for over a decade will not fix Jolene’s trust issues.

In fact, I know she’s going to take the tar out of all of us when she’s finally able to learn the truth. If I could spare her the feelings of betrayal, I would, but I don’t know any djinn to make a wish nor would I seek a time traveler. Both options are messy and fraught with problems because it’s the easy way out. We’re all going to accept our part in hurting her—whether or not we meant to—and look hard at ourselves so we can admit we did wrong without blaming it on anyone else.

Humans aren’t alone in their foibles; they’re just shit at owning them.

Tilly was making peace with her jealousy of Julia and her crew slowly and it’s rather impressive. She doesn’t trust them yet, and she’s made it abundantly clear, but she apologized for being rude on the outing to the city. After that, she hasn’t blinked a lash at them joining us for dinner or her friend announcing they had to go out of town for a little while. I was so impressed that I made certain she knew how proud we all were that night.

Fuck. Thinking about last weekend was a mistake—now I’m hard as hell and we have to put on costumes.

“Having trouble, Teddy?” The mischievous grin on the pup’s face tells me he knows, and I chuckle as he and the doc bringing in the costume boxes from the spare bedroom.

Jolene’s friend insisted we wait until the day of the event to open them. Despite all the protests about sizing, our girl waved us off. Her faith in her friend’s talent is absolute and she wouldn’t be swayed to even let us peek.

Christ, I hope she was right.

When Wolfie hands me mine, I grab his arm, tugging him in to kiss the top of his head and ruffle his hair fondly. His shy smile and the light flush make my situation worse, a fact that the birdman doesn’t miss. I flip him off and he returns it with a wink. The pup’s blush only gets pinker, so I add, “Good boy. You’ll get your reward later.”

I’ve come to terms with the fact that Tilly’s first boyfriend in town wormed his way in and I’m no less a sucker for the Fae than her or Prez. Beside his utter perfection as a submissive, Wolfie calms every member of the household without using his powers, and he takes care of us without batting a lash. The doc swears he’s not a service sub, but I have my doubts.

Since we moved in, he’s reorganized every single space in the house to make sure everyone has their shit. The kitchen is now his domain, and he cooks like a fucking chef most nights, making certain to wrap up plates for anyone that’s late. There’s a piece of furniture in the hall—fuck if I know what it’s called, but he finagled it out of Zelda—where he lines up everyone’s bags, keys, and sundry items for the next morning so no one forgets anything.

Jolene thinks after his adoptive dad died, they forced our pup to become the primary caretaker in the house. Poor Aurelia Fletcher lost her marbles slowly, and Wolfie was only in middle school when it happened, so that makes sense. He must have had to make sure they paid the bills, food was cooked, and everything he needed was laid out just in case she had a bad day. The night Tilly went out with Seer last week for their BFF makeup session before she went out of town, the guys and I got drunk enough to share secrets, so I know he blames himself for having to commit Aurelia when he left for college.

If you ask me, she’s better off there, even if he had to do it because of his oath to the Society. Caring for someone with that many mental health issues is beyond even the strongest supes.

“Too scared to open yours, Boone?” Prez taunts. He’s got a dress shirt, boxers, socks, and a tie—and nothing else. It’s not ridiculous, per se, but it doesn’t tell me a thing about what I’m going to find in my box.

I rake a hand through my hair, noting that the pup hasn’t opened his yet, either. “ Fine .” I tear off the tight ribbon holding it closed and when I toss the lid aside, my jaw drops. “Is she fucking serious ? I’m going to kill that Jameson drinking rave fairy!”

Faint giggles emanate from the bathroom where Tilly shut herself away to get ready. Growling under my breath, I struggle to contain the black and red I know has to be taking over my eyes as I pull each piece of the ensemble out and lay them on the bed. There’s a black corset, thigh-high fishnet stockings, black briefs, a fucking garter belt , pearls, and black fingerless gloves. I don’t have the slightest fucking clue how to get into this, much less what I’m supposed to be. When I lift the platform heels out of the box, a dark snarl emanates from my chest.

“You’re going to need a lot of help,” Doyle snarks, leaning against the doorframe. “I don’t envy the person who gets stuck with that duty.”

Of fucking course, he’d show up right now.

“Don’t worry, Boone. I’m sure Lucy will help you get sorted.” Hamilton winks at me as he hands Haggerty a garment bag and a box.

Pup nods, grinning broadly as he ducks into the bathroom to borrow… something from my drugar . Doyle saunters over, unzipping his bag to reveal a costume that looks much more normal than mine. Between him and Hamilton, I’m sensing the Irish pixie is teaching me a lesson.

Excellent fucking timing.

I flop onto the bed, throwing an arm over my face as I contemplate the blowback I’m going to get for wearing this shit in public. I don’t give a rat’s ass that it’s women’s clothing, but lingerie will make Margaret and Pop lose the fucking plot. The it-crowd can get fucked—I stumbled into an annoying, yet perfect support system of my own. Tilly’s ability to shrug off their insults while tossing sharp comebacks of her own is impressive, but the others truly do not give a fuck and make no bones about it. That’s probably why our paths rarely crossed before our girl brought us together; I was still pretending I fit into that viper’s nest out of familiarity.

Wolfie comes out with a bucket full of shit that makes my ass clench. The others laugh when I gape at him, and I snarl in warning, “I may not be used to this shit, but I’m working on it. Give me some goddamned credit.”

“He’s not wrong,” Prez muses. “In a few short weeks, our growly hound has redeemed himself from bullydom, join a family rather than be a rich bachelor asshole, learn new things about his sexuality…”

“Stopped wearing all that sodding alpha male horseshit clothing!” Doyle winks at me as he tugs on his costume.

My eyes narrow. “What the fiddling shit was wrong with my wardrobe? It cost a fortune!”

The pup plops down on the bed next to me, still emanating the radiant glow that seems to permeate his being. “You went from popped collar douchebag to hot, nerdy Henry Cavill pretty easily, Teddy.”

I blink. I did?

“Be amazed that we replaced your Tommy with Tom Ford while you get ready, Boone,” Prez says. He walks over to the bar Wolfie set up on yet another specific piece of furniture he added to the house—a cherry wood bar cart with Baccarat and bottles of everyone’s favorite liquor. He pours a Blanton’s for me, a Jameson for Doyle, a Macallan for himself, and an absinthe for our favorite submissive before handing them out. “Get naked so Lucy can help you get ready.”

Suddenly, I’m very worried.

* * *

I will never again make a snide remark about how long it takes women to get dressed as long as I live.

Between the shaving, plucking, primping, shading, lining, and shadowing, it took damned near an hour for Pup to finish my look. It’s a startling change, and I’m still getting comfortable with it—though I’d die before I let anyone outside of my family know it. Our girl was busy in the en suite for nearly as long, but once I was finished, Haggerty brought up a very sensitive subject.

Mating is an expectation in the elite circles and the emerged supes in this crowd do not have the suppression spell to prevent them from seeing marks.

It made both docs get very edgy, and the Irish asshole reveled gleefully as they fretted about. Finally, I had to step in and bark at them all. “Someone tell me what the problem is so I can strategize fixing it!”

Hamilton sighed. The pup curled into the armchair, and the git who started it simply smirked. I glared at them until the spectacled doc gave in. “Lucy and I have an unfinished bond. You and Magpie have one finished bond at least. No one will expect it of the dick over there, but it’s going to draw a lot of attention when we show up as we are. It might also cause other unattached supes to feel as though they can… shoot their shot.”

No. Fucking.Way.

“Are you telling me that because your inner pigeon hasn’t finished his job and our pup is half-naked, a bunch of bitches or assholes are going to see that an invite to…”

The gold dust covered Fae flushed pink under his golden tan and he muttered, “It’s okay. I’m used to idiots like Agatha being inappropriate. I can handle it. Prez knows I can.”

Before I could stop myself, flames danced in my eyes and I lost my grip on the fog for a brief second. “The hell you will.”

“This is what I was looking for!” Doyle clapped his hands , looking like a kid in a candy store. “It’s delicious!”

“Stop. Causing. Chaos.” I gritted out. “You’ve made your point; we don’t want incidents we can’t explain to Tilly.”

Prez walked over to Wolfie, holding his hand out. When the vet took it, he led him over to me and tilted his head. “We’ll have to do something about it, Boone. Even if it’s only a match to Magpie for the moment, we can make certain no one touches what’s ours.”

My hound liked the sound of that—fuck, all three of the inner beasts did. In fact… it aroused considerations for later.

“Pup, is this what you want?” I looked into his eyes as Hamilton flanked him from behind. Consent is key in a relationship like our family’s, and I wanted to make absolutely sure my slight fog slip wasn’t influencing his decision making.

His lush mouth curved into a smile as he nodded, whispering softly. “Oh, I’m sure. When Sugarplum emerges, our whole family will match. But I especially want to belong to the three of you.”

Shit, shit, shit… hold it back, Boone. You don’t have time to do what you want right now.

“That’s my darling boy,” Prez said before he winked at me. In a blink, his face morphed and the cry of his caladrius echoed in my mind when he leaned in to mark the left side of Wolfie’s neck.

How did he do that?

I let the hound out, burying my face in the opposite side of Wolfie’s neck. He made a whimpering sound as we both sealed the marks as best we could. Mate marks without the magic that swirls around during primal sexual encounters are painful, but the Pup took the brand well. I’m sure Hamilton’s wasn’t a picnic, either, but when I lifted my head, I gave our new mate an apologetic smile.

“Don’t worry, Teddy,” he murmured. “I have a fairly high tolerance for pain.”

My eyes darkened, and Hamilton lifted his head. “Story for later, mate-in-law. Lucy should go check on our girl.”

“Yes, I should.” The adorable golden Fae wiggled his way to the bathroom purposefully, and I sighed.

“Fuck me, I think I have two brats now.”

Haggerty laughed, tossing back his drink. “Our girl is teaching him, Boone. You’ll have to watch it.”

The sound of the music changing brings me back into the present.

We’re standing in the receiving line to get into the Whistler’s Hollow Junior League Halloween Masquerade. Tilly is a nervous wreck—the last time she was in this place, she was humiliated. Hamilton, Pup, Haggerty and I are crowded around her, ignoring the odd looks people are giving our costumes. The alumni line is long, but all the glammed up Southern Princesses and their escorts ahead of us seem so bland and beige in comparison to our motley crew.

I’m not sure how I never saw that before.

When we finally reach the edge of the stairs, I grin as I wait for the announcer to call our names. It’s going to damned near start a riot and I can feel Doyle’s excitement as he rubs his palms together. That asshole enjoys mischief far more than anyone I’ve ever met before, and he doesn’t give a fuck about what the consequences are.

“Miss Jolene Athena Whitley, class of 2007. She is escorted by…” The announcer’s pause is heavy before he continues. “… she is escorted by Mr. Edgar Olivier Boone III, Mr. Wolfgang Lucien Fletcher, Mr. Presley Hemingway Hamilton, and Mr. Doyle Aloysius Haggerty.”

Tilly straightens, lifting her chin to a regal level as I take one arm and Pup takes the other. Doyle and Presley walk behind us as we descend the stairs with every eye in the room watching. I feel her hands shaking, but her expression doesn’t change as gasps and whispers echo through the atrium. When we reach the bottom, I think we’ve made it without incident, but unfortunately, I’m wrong.

“ Edgar Oliver Boone III! What in the name of Zeus are you wearing?!!”

Enter my mother to ruin the evening as usual.

“I’m Dr Frankenfurter, Mother; don’t be ridiculous,” I reply, waving my gloved hand dismissively.

My drugar bristles at the reproach in my parents’ gaze, and I can feel the others move closer. Her Guardian and the rest of her harem appear out of the crowd, fanning out behind us. I don’t want anyone to lose control and fuck up Tilly’s world view, so I nod at the others to keep them in a holding pattern.

“You are humiliating us,” my mother hisses.

Before I can reply, Wolfie lets go of our girl’s arm, stepping up to the Senator and my mother. His gaze is icy as he crosses his arms over his naked chest, staring them down in a power play I never would have expected from him.

Is this the fabled mother’s side?

“Fletcher, this is none of your concern, but your mother would have fits if she saw this nonsense.” My father’s words don’t back the pup down—instead, he seems to get angrier.

“Aurelia has fits regardless of what I’m wearing—she’s in an asylum, Senator. Thank you for drawing attention to that,” he snaps. The temperature drops a few degrees in the room and I frown. “However, she’d never treat me the way you’re treating your son in public. The tone and words you just used would horrify her, and your intolerance should horrify everyone else.”

“Pup…” I start as the room continues to get colder as ice radiates from the vet.

“He’s right,” Tilly says as she steps forward. “Edgar is ten times the man today than he was when we were younger, and he’s infinitely more of a man than you, Senator.”

My pop is too flabbergasted at her gall to speak, so my mother cuts in. “You don’t want to make this choice, son.”

“Mother, the choice has already been made,” I say with a fangy smirk. My eyes drift to the marks on Jolene’s neck then to the fresh ones on the pup. “More than once.”

To his credit, the pup bats his lashes at her and the rest of our crew glare at her, daring her to breach her oath to say something in front of Tilly. Seer is kind enough to distract my mother, flexing the power of her heritage to shield our group from the strangled shrieks Margaret is emitting.

When it’s clear she’s not going to shut up, Tilly’s Guardian looks my parents in the eye as she says, “Perhaps ye might reconsider your position, Missus. Insulting my mates innit the best plan, ye see. I won’t hesitate to defend my girl and her men. I doubt the higher ups would forgive us if this devolves into something… less friendly.”

Her words finally get my father’s attention and though he stiffens, he gets my mom to shut up.

“Mother, this is my family. I have plenty of money and influence, even if you threaten to cut me off. You don’t have a card to play. Back off and let the debutantes have their stage back. We’re supposed to be the adults in the room.”

Hamilton and Haggerty join us on the front line, the latter grinning like a goddamned sociopath. I have a feeling my parents are going to meet with some very random, very irritating problems in the near future. Seer looks at our girl and jerks her head at the bar, making my drugar laugh. Tilly lets go of my arm, taking her friend’s instead and after a scathing remark about taking out the trash, they walk off together.

My parents continue to give us nasty looks and as predicted, Doyle saunters up. “ éna ádeio skévos kánei ton pio dynató ícho, étsi ósoi échoun ti ligóteri effy?a eínai oi megalyteroi bampádes ? 1 .”

I arch a brow. I wouldn’t have expected Plato, but that dude is like a fucking pinata—stuffed full of mystery prizes you don’t see until it breaks open.

1 ? An empty vessel makes the loudest sound, so they that have the least wit are the greatest babblers.