Page 23

23

MAGNOLIA

T he walk back to my family’s house feels strange, like I’m stepping into a place I no longer fully belong. Everything looks the same—the golden light of the setting sun spilling over the yard, the soft creak of the porch steps—but I feel different. Changed. I left the den yesterday with a plan, certain of what I wanted to do. But I didn’t plan for everything that’s happened since.

I didn’t plan for Colt.

And I didn’t plan to mark him.

I can still feel him, even now—his tension, his stress, and beneath it all, his need to be close to me. It tugs at something primal in me, making me want to turn around and run back to him. But instead, I steel myself and push open the front door, knowing that what waits for me inside is going to be even harder to face.

The scent of fresh bread and chamomile greets me as I step into the kitchen, warm and familiar. My mom stands at the counter, kneading dough with her usual steady, practiced rhythm. She looks up when she hears the door, and her eyes meet mine. There’s no yelling, no sharp words—just the weight of her gaze, heavy with worry.

She says nothing.

And that’s how I know she’s upset. Really upset.

I clear my throat, stepping further into the room. The sound of my boots on the wood floor feels too loud in the quiet. “Hi, Mom,” I start, keeping my voice soft. “I’m sorry if I worried you. I didn’t mean to?—”

“You didn’t mean to,” she echoes, her tone quiet but firm. Her hands keep working the dough. “You didn’t mean to leave without telling anyone where you were going? You didn’t mean to spend the night outside the den without so much as a word?”

I wince. “I left a note,” I say, though the words feel weak even as they leave my mouth.

She exhales, her hands pausing on the dough. “Magnolia,” she says, her voice carrying more weight than volume. “You’ve never been reckless before. Never. Why now?”

I hesitate, my chest tightening under the pressure of her gaze. “It wasn’t reckless,” I say carefully. “I knew what I was doing.”

Her lips press into a thin line. “Did you?” she asks, her eyes searching mine. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you went off with a man we barely know into a world that’s anything but safe.”

I square my shoulders and hold her gaze, even though every instinct in me wants to look away. “It wasn’t reckless,” I say again. “I was with Colt. He’s not?—”

“Not what, Magnolia?” she interrupts. “Not dangerous? Not a risk? You don’t even know him. You think a man like that just shows up at a den like ours for no reason?”

My jaw clenches. “He’s been helping us,” I argue. “He’s fixing the projector, he came to the classroom to help out, he hasn’t done anything to?—”

“Helping with a few odd jobs doesn’t mean he’s trustworthy,” she snaps, her hands gripping the edge of the counter now instead of the dough. “You don’t know what men like him are capable of. What they’ll take if you let them.”

Her voice cracks just slightly, and it stops me short. I blink at her, thrown by the raw edge of emotion in her words. “Mom,” I start carefully, “I’m not a kid. I can take care of myself.”

Her expression hardens, her mouth pressing into a thin line. “You don’t understand,” she says quietly. She shakes her head, her eyes narrowing as they meet mine again. “You don’t understand the danger out there. The kind of men who’d see someone like you and think they have the right to?—”

She cuts herself off, turning back to the counter like she can’t bear to look at me. Her hands tremble as she picks up the dough again, kneading it with a force that has nothing to do with baking.

“Someone like me?” I echo, my voice rising despite myself. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She whirls around to face me, her eyes blazing. “It means you’re an omega, Magnolia,” she says, her voice tight and trembling with barely contained emotion. “Do you have any idea what that means out there? Do you know what they’ll do to take you? To claim you?”

I take a step back, her words hitting me like a punch to the gut.

My mom’s chest rises and falls like she’s run a marathon, her hands gripping the counter so tightly her knuckles are ashen. I can see her trying to keep it together, to wrestle back whatever emotion is threatening to spill over, but it’s like watching someone struggle to hold a door shut against a storm.

She turns away from me abruptly, her back stiff as she faces the counter again. “I can’t…I can’t do this right now,” she mutters, her voice barely above a whisper. Her hands move mechanically, pressing the dough into the counter as if she can knead her feelings into submission. “Bruce, talk to her.”

I didn’t even know he was down here, but I look over to see my dad standing in the doorway to the front hall, his arms crossed over his chest. His expression is guarded, but there’s a softness in his eyes that’s missing from my mom’s glare.

“Maggie,” he says gently. He pulls out a chair from the kitchen table and sits down, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. “Let’s talk.”

It’s not a command, but it’s not quite a request either. There’s a quiet authority to it, the kind that doesn’t need to be loud to make itself known. I take a seat, my shoulders stiff.

“You’re not a kid anymore,” my dad says. “You’ve lived through things most people couldn’t imagine. You’ve taken care of your siblings, this pack…you’ve done more than your fair share. We know that.”

My throat tightens. “Then why—why does it feel like you don’t trust me?” I ask. “Why does it feel like no matter what I do, I’m still just?—”

“You’re not,” he interrupts gently, his tone firm but not harsh. “You’re not just anything, Magnolia. You’re our daughter. And that means it’s our job to worry about you. To protect you.”

I open my mouth to respond, but he holds up a hand to stop me. “Let me finish,” he says. “Your mom’s scared. We both are. Because we’ve seen what happens when people like Colt show up and take an interest in someone like you.”

“Someone like me,” I echo bitterly, the words tasting sour on my tongue. “You keep saying that like it’s some kind of curse.”

“It’s not a curse,” my dad says firmly, his eyes meeting mine. “It’s who you are. It’s part of you, and it’s a beautiful thing. But it also makes you a target.”

I shake my head, frustration bubbling up inside me. “Colt isn’t like that,” I insist. “He’s not some predator waiting to pounce, Dad. He—he cares about me.”

Bruce’s gaze softens, but there’s still a hint of doubt in his expression. “I hope you’re right,” he says quietly. “But you have to understand where we’re coming from. Your mom and I—when you were little, we almost lost you.”

I blink at him, caught off guard. “What are you talking about?”

He glances at my mom, but she doesn’t turn around. Her shoulders are rigid, her head bowed as she stares down at the dough. After a long moment, he looks back at me. “There was an alpha,” he says. “Years ago, when we were still stuck in the Heavenly Host compound. He came through, looking for omegas. Your mom was with you working outside the walls…and he caught your scent.”

My stomach twists, cold dread creeping over me. “What…what happened?” I whisper.

“He tried to take you,” my dad says simply–but I can tell he’s working hard to keep it together. My head spins, heart racing. I have no memory of any of this. “Said you belonged to him. Said it didn’t matter that you were just a little girl. He didn’t care about any of that. He just wanted you.”

I feel like the ground has been pulled out from under me. “What—how—” The words stick in my throat, my mind racing.

“We fought him off,” Bruce says, his tone hardening. “The pack came together, and we got you back inside, and the Angels…they didn’t like that kind of thing anyway. But it still…we’ve worried about you ever since. Being betas ourselves, we don’t know what it’s like.”

I glance at my mom, her silence suddenly making more sense. She’s not just angry—she’s terrified. And it’s not just about me leaving.

It’s about what I represent.

What I could lose.

“I didn’t know,” I say.

My dad nods. “We didn’t want you to,” he says. “We wanted you to grow up feeling safe. Feeling like you had a place here. But you’re not a kid anymore, Magnolia. And the world out there hasn’t changed. It’s still dangerous. And your mom and I—we’re just trying to protect you.”

“I can protect myself,” I say, though the words feel hollow. “And Colt…he wouldn’t let anything happen to me.”

Mom makes scoffs and finally turns from the counter. “You keep saying that like you know him, Magnolia,” she says, her voice shaking with controlled frustration. “Like you’ve known him your whole life. But you don’t. You’ve known him for a few weeks. That’s not enough time to trust anyone. Not out there.”

Her words make my chest tighten, anger flaring up beneath my ribs. “It is,” I snap. “It’s enough because he’s my?—”

I stop myself too late, the words hanging in the air like a live wire. Dad straightens in his chair, his brow furrowing, and Mom’s face hardens, her hands still trembling at her sides.

“He’s your what?” she demands.

I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks, my heart pounding in my chest. There’s no going back now. “He’s my mate,” I blurt, the words tumbling out before I can think better of it. “I marked him last night. And he’s…he’s mine.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

I feel like an idiot–blurting it out like that, when I was going to try to make them think I was so mature. And yet, here I am, essentially saying “I licked it, so it’s mine.” I don’t even know why the words came out like that; it was impulsive, like some strange creature was talking through me.

My wolf…a beast my parents can never understand.

Mom stares at me like I’ve just slapped her, her face pale and drawn. “You…what?” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

“I marked him,” I repeat, forcing myself to meet her gaze even though it feels like my heart is going to beat out of my chest. “It wasn’t…” I trail off. I can’t tell them it was an accident. “He didn’t mark me, though. He wants to give it time.”

Dad leans back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he processes my words. “Magnolia,” he says slowly, his tone measured but tense. “Do you even know what that means? What you’ve done?”

“I know exactly what it means,” I snap, my voice rising. “It means that he’s mine. That we’re connected. It’s not something I can just undo, and I don’t want to.”

Mom presses a hand to her forehead, shaking her head slowly. “You don’t understand,” she says, her voice trembling. “You don’t understand what you’ve done. You’ve tied yourself to a man we know nothing about. A drifter. Someone who could leave tomorrow and never come back.”

“He’s not going anywhere,” I say firmly. “He’s staying.”

Mom’s eyes narrow, her lips pressing into a thin line as she studies me. “He’s staying?” she echoes, her voice dripping with skepticism. “And you’re just taking his word for it? Maggie, men say a lot of things when they want something.”

My jaw tightens, my frustration bubbling to the surface. “It’s not just words, Mom,” I snap, the heat in my voice surprising even me. “I don’t just believe him because he said it. I know he’s staying. I can feel it.”

Her expression hardens, her brow furrowing. “Feel it?” she asks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I swallow hard, forcing myself to keep going. “I mean…I can feel him,” I say. “His emotions. He’s worried about me, even right now. I can feel it.”

Mom’s hands drop to her sides, her expression shifting to…I don’t know. Shock, maybe. Or fear. “You can feel him,” she repeats, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” I say firmly, though my voice wavers slightly. “That’s what the mark does. It connects us. I didn’t realize it would be this intense, but…I can feel him. I know what he’s feeling.”

Dad’s eyes narrow slightly, his head tilting as he studies me. “And he can feel you?” he asks, his voice calm but probing.

I hesitate, the weight of Dad’s question pressing down on me. “I don’t know,” I admit. “He hasn’t…he hasn’t marked me. So I’m not sure if it’s the same for him.” My fingers twist together in my lap as the words hang heavy in the air, and I can’t help but feel exposed, like I’ve given them too much.

“But you want him to,” Mom says suddenly. Her eyes narrow. “Don’t you?”

My stomach twists, and heat rises to my cheeks. “That’s not what I said,” I snap, my tone defensive. But the truth of it is there, unspoken. I do want him to. I want him to feel the same pull, the same connection that’s been consuming me since last night. But there’s no way I’m admitting that. Not to them. Not now.

Mom steps closer, her hands trembling at her sides. “Magnolia, you’re playing a dangerous game,” she says, her voice low and trembling with emotion. “This isn’t some fleeting crush. This is?—”

“I know what this is,” I cut her off, my frustration boiling over. “You think I don’t understand, but I do. I know what the mark means, I know what it does. And I’m not taking this lightly. Colt isn’t just some guy to me, Mom. He’s—” I stop myself before the words can spill out, clamping my mouth shut. He’s mine, but I can’t say that. Not again.

Dad leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his expression calmer than Mom’s but no less intense. “And where does this leave you now, Maggie?” he asks quietly. “What’s your plan?”

“I’m going to see him,” I say firmly, meeting Dad’s gaze head-on. “I need to talk to him, and I need to figure this out. With him.”

Mom’s hands fly up in frustration. “So that’s it?” she snaps. “You’re just going to run back to him, like nothing we’ve said matters? Like you haven’t tied yourself to a man we don’t even know?”

“I’m not running,” I say, my voice rising to match hers. “And I’m not asking for your permission, either. I’m telling you what I’m doing.”

Her eyes flash, and I can see the anger and fear warring in her expression. “You think you’re so grown up, don’t you?” she spits, her voice shaking. “You think you’ve got it all figured out.”

“I never said that,” I fire back. “But I’m not a kid, Mom. I’m twenty-four. I can make my own decisions.”

“And bad ones, apparently,” she snaps, crossing her arms over her chest. “If you think?—”

“Enough,” Dad interrupts. His voice is firm, a note of finality in it that makes both of us pause. “Maggie, you’re right. You’re an adult. You can make your own choices. But don’t expect us not to worry. Because we will. We always will.”

I nod, my throat tight as I swallow down the lump forming there. “I know,” I say. “But I need to do this. I need to see him.”

Mom shakes her head, letting out a bitter laugh. “I guess you had to have a rebellious streak someday,” she mutters, turning back to the counter. Her hands press into the dough with renewed force, like she’s channeling all her frustration into it. “Just don’t come crying to me when it all falls apart.”

I flinch at her words but force myself to stand my ground. “It’s not going to fall apart,” I say firmly, though the knot in my chest tightens at the thought. “But even if it does…it’s my decision to make.”

She doesn’t respond, her movements mechanical as she kneads the dough, her back turned to me. Dad stands, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Be careful, Maggie,” he says. “That’s all we ask.”

“I will,” I promise. I step toward the door, glancing back at them one last time. “Goodnight.”

Mom doesn’t turn around, but Dad nods. As I step out into the cool night air, the tension in my chest eases slightly. But I know this is only the beginning. Because now, this is about so much more than me and Colt.

It’s about proving to the pack that he belongs…and that we belong together.