Page 18

If I block out the part of my brain that remembers everything, I can almost pretend like I’m living in a different reality. One where Dorian accepts me as his mate. One in which I’m living with him, and my family is over to visit, and it’s for no other reason than because they love me, and we like to be around one another.

The glow from the fireplace is lovely, casting warm light across the room, and steam rises up from the dishes of bulgogi beef and rice I’ve prepared. Little bowls line the middle of the table with flash-pickled cucumbers, kimchi I ordered premade from the store, and japchae.

Except I can’t block out that part of my brain, and it reminds me again that none of that is real. That my parents, sitting opposite Dorian and me, turned me away at my lowest point. Closed their eyes when I snuck out that night, never asked after me, even after they surely must have known I was in Grayhide territory.

My brother sits on our other side, looking down at his plate. Of course, he looks different. Older, but still the same. Same hair as me, still messily sitting on top of his head like he’s just run his hand through it.

The brother who joined in on my bullying, who taunted me, left mean notes in my locker, constantly whispered about my body, and acted like we weren’t siblings in school.

And Dorian. Who has been nothing but kind to me since I came back into his life, but still doesn’t want me as his mate. Dorian, who is gripping his fork so tightly his knuckles are white, and I worry he might bend the metal with the force of his hold.

“This is just wonderful,” Mom says, covering her mouth with her hand and laughing gently, the twinkling sound of it just what I remember. “When did you learn to cook like this, Kir?”

The words come out before I can think about them, “Oh, I learned after I left. I was actually cooking for the Grayhide alpha leader, to make money.”

Silence falls over the room, and I realize that by bringing up the past, I’ve shattered the happy family illusion for everyone else, too.

“Sorry,” when I say the word, it comes out somewhere halfway between a laugh and a whisper.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Dorian snaps, and I feel his gaze flicking up to my cheek, where the faintest memory of the bruise still brushes my skin. Every time he sees it, I watch the corners of his eyes go angry.

“Well,” Dad says, wincing, his gaze flicking between Dorian and me. “We’re very aware of the fact that our daughter played a part that day. When the alpha leader— your grandfather—died.”

Dorian is stiff enough beside me that I’m surprised the fork in his hand is still in one piece. Breathing deeply, purposefully, he sets the fork on the table, and when I glance to the side, I realize that it is, indeed, slightly bent.

“I will only talk about this once tonight,” Dorian says, voice low, dangerous. It sends a chill down my back. “Kira was a child when that happened. A child being denied the truth about her gift. This pack failed her—you failed her as parents. Had she been cared for properly, that day never would have happened.”

Silence falls again, and this time, my parents look guilty, sick, slightly bottled. A flash of satisfaction rolls through me at the knowledge that even if they think differently, they won’t dare say it to Dorian’s face. And they wouldn’t voice it to anyone else, either, or risk betraying their alpha leader.

“I’m sorry,” my dad says, also setting down his fork, fixing his gaze first on me, then on Dorian. “You’re talking about her gift? Do you mean—”

“Her gift is very real,” Dorian snaps. “How much Kira chooses to share of it with you is her own decision now.”

“I’m sorry,” this time, it’s my mom setting her utensils down, and for some reason, though it’s silly, I’m slightly offended that it’s so easy for everyone to stop eating. I finally nailed the perfect balance between sweet and savory with this bulgogi, and I’m not sure they appreciate that.

She goes on, “Are you—Dorian, what exactly are your intentions with my daughter?”

He practically growls, “Bold of you to call her that, considering you turned her away when she came to you for help.”

Dad looks genuinely confused, turning to Mom, and I wonder if she didn’t even tell him I showed up that night.

“ You rejected her as your mate,” my mother says back, matter-of-factly, and Emin sucks in a surprised breath of air beside me.

“ Mom ,” he admonishes.

There are a million reasons for Emin to stop her, to be shocked that she did it. First, because speaking to the alpha leader at all requires a certain level of respect, which she certainly wasn’t showing. Second, because mating is deeply personal and private, the fact that moment between us was public had to do with the fact that Dorian had just lost his grandfather.

Mate rejections always—almost always—happen privately. They’re not very common—why would someone want to reject their mate?—but when they do happen, it’s not normally public knowledge.

I’m so surprised by her behavior, and so worried about what Dorian might do, that my hand flies out, grabbing the cuff of his sleeve, as though I’d be able to hold him back should he decide to treat my mother the way Jarred treated me.

Instead of pushing me away or lunging for my mother, Dorian twists his hand around until his fingers slip between mine. He squeezes once as he speaks, voice so low it’s close to hell.

What is happening ? Is Dorian holding my hand because he’s my alpha leader, defending me? As moral support?

Or for some other reason?

“Get out,” he says, breathing quickly through his nose, his eyes resolutely on my parents. “I will give you ten seconds to get the fuck out of my home.”

My mother, stupidly, looks like she might protest, but Dad is on his feet, grabbing her by the back of the shirt and dragging her away. Her dessert sits, untouched, on the bar behind the dining table. Emin stands as the front door slams, his gaze darting down to where Dorian holds my hand.

Then, his eyes land on me. Dorian’s directive wasn’t toward Emin, but it’s obvious from the anger radiating out from him that he wants to be alone.

That he wants to be alone with me .

“Kira,” Emin says quickly, swallowing and rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. “I thought I’d have more time to make a whole speech about this, but Mom fucked that up, so—”

Dorian makes a noise like get on with it that only his best friend would understand.

“I’m sorry for being such a massive dick when we were teenagers. I think I let Mom and Dad get to me, but I should have had your back. And for that, I’m so fucking sorry. I hope, with time, you can come to forgive me.”

My hand slips out of Dorian’s as I stand, choked to tears, and wrap my arms around my brother. The emotions bubbling inside me are familiar to me, intense and amplified from the heat, but they are mine nonetheless, and I squeeze them all into my brother.

Maybe I should make him work for it. Maybe I should take more time to be angry. But I have to admit that I grieved over him a long time ago, and had lost all hope of getting my brother back. It feels like a miracle.

“Thank you,” I whisper, and he wraps his arms around me, holding me tightly for a moment before letting me go, his eyes flitting from me to Dorian, and back again.

Then Emin grabs my hand, squeezes it, and turns, walking out the door. I follow him, smiling when he waves from his car, gets in, and starts to reverse out of the driveway.

The moment he’s gone, there’s the strangest shift in the air, like something firmly locking into place. I think of Dorian, defending me again and again. Being angry at the people who have hurt me most.

He’s not the same man I knew. Somehow, he’s grown into someone new, someone kind and even-tempered. A good alpha leader. A good man.

“Kira?”

When I turn around to face him, my back against the front door, he’s standing in the hall, the stairs rising up to the top landing behind him. He’s staring at me, pupils blown wide, and just the sight of him fills me with hot, desperate wanting.

Warmth pools between my legs, slick. Need pulses low in my belly.

I realize, with a start, that my heat has begun.

“Dor—” I try to say his name, to say anything coherent, but it’s difficult through the roar of lust in my body. All I can think about is him, his hands, his arms lifting me, getting him inside me to fulfill this ancient, aching sense of emptiness.

But before I can move toward him, ask him to put me out of this misery, he turns on his heels, takes the stairs two at a time, and closes his bedroom door behind him.