by Noah Harris
“Dylan...” Blake said, gentle but firm. Dylan’s hands stilled as Blake laid a hand on his arm. He tilted his head just far enough to look up at the alpha sitting next to him, and his breath caught in his throat.
Blake was regarding him with a mixed expression, and for once, he openly wore it on his face, everything out in the open for Dylan to read. He let it all show and left Dylan to pick apart the pieces. His worry. His anger. His anxiety. His sorrow. His hurt. His hurt was layered on top of every other feeling, coloring his emotions and tugging at the frayed edges of his control. He was hurt that Dylan hadn’t listened to him, hurt that Dylan was putting himself in danger.
Dylan could feel the echoes of it seeping through their bond as Blake opened up to him. The alpha’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, exhaling slowly to steady himself as he let his vulnerability show.
Dylan watched him closely, doing his best to keep his face blank. He knew it was a wasted effort, a lost cause. Blake was always able to read him.
He ached for Blake. He felt guilty above all else, but that was nothing new. Just another emotion added to the pile that weighed down his heart. Guilt for never being home. Guilt for missing so much of Lily’s childhood. Guilt for leaving her alone again. Guilt for going on this mission instead of staying safe. Guilt for making Blake look like he was right this time.
Still, guilt and regret were two different things.
He met Blake’s gaze, hazel to blue, a clash of wills and frustrations and ache. He kept his lips pursed shut. He knew what Blake wanted him to say, but he also knew he couldn’t, and wouldn’t, lie to his mate. So, instead, he said nothing.
Blake was the one to break the silence, doing so with a sigh that hissed out through his teeth. “I wish you would have stayed home,” he said, his voice confused, raw, vulnerable, sad, and angry all at once.
He wished Dylan would have stayed home.
He didn’t say that Dylan should have stayed home.
And that made all the difference. It was an admission, albeit a subtle one. It was Blake no longer insisting that he knew what was best for Dylan, and that he could control him. It was merely him stating what he wished, not what should have happened. Dylan knew that turn of phrase was deliberate. Everything Blake said was deliberate, the truth hiding in plain sight within his choice of words.
It made something warm and tender flicker in the depths of his chest.
With that statement, Blake had been the first to give ground. Not an apology. Not a break in position. But he gave Dylan a little ground in the hiatus between them. The least Dylan could do was the same.
He let his breath out through his nose, posture slumping slightly as he leaned into Blake’s touch. One hand lifted from his shoe laces, pressing protectively against the swell beneath his shirt. “I know,” the words fell from his lips in a frightening admission. He hated them. Hated that he knew they were true. He should have stayed home. He should have stayed at the Shadow Pack compound. But that didn’t mean he would.
Blake’s fingers curled slightly, his grip on Dylan’s arm tightening just a fraction. When he lifted his gaze to Blake’s again, the man was pursing his lips, brows pinched. “Is there any way I can convince you to stay here? To wait until the mission is done?” He sounded afraid. Of the answer or of overstepping his bounds? Perhaps both.
Dylan offered him a small, watery smile. “No.”
“Not even if it was for me?” It was a plea, and they both knew it. The closest Blake’s pride would let him get to begging. Dylan knew it and recognized it for what it was: a last ditch attempt. One that, judging from his expression and his tone, he knew had little hope of succeeding.
Dylan put his hand on Blake’s, squeezing it gently and prying it off his arm to weave their fingers together. “No.”
He lifted Blake’s hand and pressed his lips gently to his mate’s wrist, right above the small scent glands that lurked beneath his skin. He kept his lips there, closing his eyes as he breathed in deeply, savoring Blake’s musky, clean, earthy scent. He could taste it on his tongue, and it reminded him of home. Grounded him. Kept him steadfast in his resolve. Made him feel protected and safe.
He opened his eyes then, pinning Blake with his gaze. Blake was watching him closely, a fondness lurking beneath the shadows of melancholy. “I can’t,” Dylan’s lips moved against Blake’s skin, words whispered in confidence, quiet and raw, but honest. “I have to do this for me.” He squeezed Blake’s hand. “Please understand.” His voice edged closer to desperation. It was the closest he would get to begging, and he knew Blake would understand that. “I have to do this. I have to prove to myself that I’m not useless. I may not be the best father. No,” He said, cutting off Blake as he opened his mouth to protest. “I know I’m not the best father. You are. I’m not home as much as I should be. I know that. But I’m...restless. I can’t stay at home. I never have been able to. That’s why I joined the SEALs to begin with.
“I don’t like being pregnant,” he said, his soft voice turning bitter with self loathing. “I hate what it does to my body. I hate being treated like I’m fragile. I hate being useless. Don’t get me wrong. I love our family. I love having kids with you. I don’t regret them and I don’t resent them. I just...I’m not the best, Blake.” His voice cracked, but he cleared his throat and kept going, lowering his gaze to the ground just outside their tent. “I’m not the best at being a father. I try, but I’m not. I’m too restless. But this, missions, saving people, helping people. This is what I’m good at. This is what I can do. I refuse to stand by and be useless while people I care about are in trouble. If I stayed home...I would feel even more useless. I would be good for nothing. I can’t go down that road, Blake. I can’t. This is the one thing that I know I can do, without question, without doubts. This is what I’m trained for. What I’ve lived my life for. This is who I am. Don’t—“ His voice choked as the words got stuck on the lump in his throat. He swallowed hard, licking his lips as he turned pleading eyes back to Blake’s. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, a whisper. “Don’t take this away from me.”
Blake watched him for a long time. Dylan felt those blue eyes rake across his face, look deeply past his own and into his very being. He let his own walls fall, letting Blake take what he might through their bond. They were both still, hair drifting lazily with the breeze as he waited for Blake’s reaction. He tried not to fidget under his mate’s penetrating gaze.
Then, finally, Blake sighed. It was a deep sigh, one that ripped every last breath from his lungs. It was a sigh that made him slump forward, his entire body resonating defeat. He pulled his hand from Dylan’s grasp only to wrap it around his shoulders, pulling him to his side. Dylan went willingly, leaning into his mate and burying his face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent greedily.
Blake’s hand squeezed his shoulder, his face turning to rest his cheek atop Dylan’s head, nose nuzzling in his hair. “You’re lucky this stubbornness is part of the reason I fell for you,” he grumbled, amusement dry and wry.
Dylan felt his lips quirk into the barest of smiles. “I know.”
“You’re also lucky I love you, and that I hate seeing that beautiful spark of fire in your eyes dim.”
“I know.”
“You’re lucky I can’t deny you anything. I never have, and I don’t think I ever will.”
Dylan choked back a watery laugh. “I know.”
Blake sighed again, the tail end of it trailing off into a frustrated groan. He turned slightly, arms wrapping around Dylan to tug him into his lap. He wrapped around him, and Dylan kept his face hidden in his mate’s neck, letting his scent wrap around him like another layer of protection. “If you were anyone else,” Blake mumbled against his hair, fingers brushing lovingly against the swell of his stomach. “I might actually worry, I’d be concerned for our child.”
“You are worried,” Dylan pointed out flatly.
Blake snorted a short laugh. “More worried, then. Despite ho
w much I don’t like this and despite how on edge I’m going to be until both of you are far, far out of harm’s way, I know you will take care of yourself and our unborn child. I trust you, Dylan.” His voice softened. “I never meant to imply otherwise.”
“I know,” Dylan said, fingers curling into Blake’s shirt. “Thank you.”
His only response was to press his lips to Dylan’s temple, hands running up beneath the hem of his shirt to slide along his back soothingly.
They stayed like that for a while, in silence, both of them content to simply bask in each other’s presence. Their bond was open, walls left crumbled, and affection and warmth radiated between them, bouncing back and forth and leaving Dylan feeling lighter than he had in days. His limbs tingled with it, a warm fire burning in his chest.
They were far from perfect, and this argument was far from being over. He knew there would be more arguments in the future, and he knew his own emotions on the subject wouldn’t dissipate. They were both stubborn, and they both felt too strongly about this to let it go completely.
But for now, in this moment, they were fine.
They sat and listened to the camp come to life around them. It had been a late night, and everyone had slept fitfully, restlessly awaiting the morning. As such, there were no alarms set, therefore, no designated time to be up. Shifters and witches alike spent extra time in their tents this morning, mulling over the plan and preparing themselves for what lay ahead. Gathering their thoughts in private before they had to face the day.
Quiet voices drifted past them, their words indistinguishable. No one seemed willing to speak above a whisper. He could smell the smoke from the fire and breakfast cooking. It made his stomach rumble, but he was reluctant to leave Blake’s arms and no one came to get them.
Arulean’s scent still lingered but was no longer overpowering. When Dylan searched for him, he couldn’t feel his aura anywhere around camp. He felt a distant pulsing further out, and knew that the man had taken time for himself, away from the others. He was smart enough to know that his presence at the moment made all of them anxious, and that they all had things that needed to be done. Dylan, of all people, also understood that Arulean needed time to himself.
Unfortunately, they couldn’t stay in their small bubble of peaceful privacy forever. They had jobs to do, and in Arulean’s absence, it was unspoken that Blake was running the show.
Both sighed, and they disentangled themselves, exchanging hesitant, almost shy looks as they peeled away from each other to finish dressing. Blake stood first, pushing himself to his feet and stretching his arms over his head while twisting his back this way and that to work out the creaks. Dylan took a moment just to marvel at him. To admire the shape of his alpha, how the fitted black clothes hugged his body, giving him an air of mystery and seriousness. His gaze lingered on the strip of skin revealed when his shirt rode up, showing peeks of the V around his hip bones and well defined abs.
“My eyes are up here,” Blake said, voice light and teasing. Dylan’s eyes snapped up to Blake’s, heat flooding his cheeks. Blake’s arms fell to his sides as he chuckled, holding out a hand for Dylan to take before pulling him to his feet. “I forget sometimes how beautiful you are when you get all blushy,” he said softly, an arm snaking around Dylan’s waist to pull him close. He leaned in, breath drifting across Dylan’s lips. “It’s adorable.”
“I’m not blushy,” Dylan protested, ignoring how breathless he sounded.
Blake’s grin widened, eyes dancing with amusement. “The pink of your cheeks says otherwise, darlin’.” Blake leaned in to kiss him softly. It was gentle and chaste, a slow slide of lips that was deliciously delicate. Dylan leaned in, giving himself over to it, and when Blake pulled away, he was weak at the knees. “Let’s get going,” he said, already stepping away, “we’ve got work to do.”
Dylan nodded, expression hardening instantly. His muscles coiled at the mention of their mission, body reacting and preparing as he seamlessly slotted back into the mindset of a soldier. “Lead the way.”
Blake went to the main tent while Dylan went to get them both food. After their conversation, Dylan was no longer worried about Blake cutting him out of the planning process while he wasn’t there, which relieved his urge to hover around him constantly. He knew Blake wasn’t happy about it, but at least he had accepted that there was no stopping him now. And honestly, that was all Dylan wanted.
He brought his mate food, and they exchanged small smiles as he handed over the plate. Blake’s expression hardened as he regained his focus, lips pursed into a thin line as he made last-minute adjustments on devices and checked the satellite maps on his computer.
After they ate, Dylan let him be. Some of the witches and others were there to go over the final plans and learn how to work the devices, but Dylan decided he didn’t need to be there. Instead he went to where the other shifters were stretching and pacing, preparing themselves physically and mentally for the task ahead. They eyed him warily as he joined them, uncertain about his limits, but he ignored them and eventually, they relaxed.
As the hours ticked by, the sun shifting slowly but steadily across the sky, Dylan found his gaze drifting toward the distant horizon, in the direction of Thoric’s compound. Apprehension was starting to gnaw at his patience, and there was a buzz of energy beneath his skin. It was the build up of adrenaline before a mission, the crackle of anticipation. It was something he was familiar with and something he thrived on.
Despite his physical disadvantage, Dylan was in his element, and he felt stronger than ever.
11
“Is everyone in position?” Blake asked, voice filtering through the earpiece Dylan wore.
“Roger.”
“Copy.”
“All clear.”
“We’re here.”
“In place.”
Everyone had an earpiece, but only the group leaders responded in order to keep things quick and simple. Arulean too, had an earpiece, but he kept quiet.
“Any sign of detection?” Blake’s voice came again.
“No.”
“Nope.”
“Negatory.”
“Not yet.”
“No.”
“Good. Stay alert, teams. They no doubt think we’re up to something, but as long as the witches can’t detect us, we should have the upper hand,” he said, and the line fell into silence.
Dylan’s fingers absently fiddling with the pendent around his neck. Each of them had one, except for Arulean. They were charms created by the witches to keep all of them hidden from magical detection.
Dylan hadn’t been surprised to find that the coven had created a magical barrier around the compound. He was, however, pleasantly surprised to hear that the witches on their side had already thought of countermeasures. Since they were originally of the same coven and very familiar with their magic in particular, they were able to easily craft charms to counter the coven’s specific detection spells. They also had an added charm for hiding their scents, to keep them hidden from the few shifters Thoric had working for him.
It certainly made sneaking up on the compound easier, but while it had been working so far, Dylan was still cautious. Experience taught him to always be alert and ready for anything.
They had all moved into position an hour ago, leaving ahead of Arulean to make sure they were in place in various strategic positions around the compound. Blake had downloaded a satellite map of the area and everyone had gone over it time and time again so they each knew exactly where they should go. Hopefully, as far as Thoric was concerned, they weren’t there at all. They were ghosts along the edge of his territory.
Now all they had to do was wait for Arulean to make his appearance.
The compound itself wasn’t unlike Lyphnia’s had been. As such it was a far more up-to-date design than Arulean’s. It was built like a modern day mansion: fancy and decorative on the outside, with a perfectly manicured lawn. It looked pristine to the untrained eye.
Dylan, however, could see the modern day security measures that had been put in place: cameras, bars on the windows, specks of technology here and there that made the building look more like a fancy prison or fortress than anything anyone would actually live in. Adalaide had informed them that there were spells woven everywhere, too. He couldn’t see them, of course, but he took her word for it. He could feel the energy of the place humming through the air itself, causing his hackles to rise and his hair to stand on end.
Blake’s team was positioned near a back entrance. They had snuck from the surrounding forest, across the lawn, to hide among the shrubs and hedges of the compound’s garden. Their goal was one of the back doors, a small one, no doubt made for servants to come and go without disturbing the main house. While the other teams were stationed all around for reconnaissance, backup, and distractions, Blake’s team was the one who would be actually infiltrating the compound and retrieving Rajiah and Remi.
Dylan hadn’t been happy about that, but he also hadn’t been surprised. He didn’t say anything, though. Not that it had fooled Blake. When they had kissed goodbye, it had been slow and deep, desperate for contact as they pressed against each other. Dylan had mumbled a firm, “be careful,” against his lips. To which Blake had just smirked and pressed his hand flat to Dylan’s lower back, leaning in to mumble, “I always am.”
Blake’s team was made up of of himself and five others. Adalaide had insisted on going with him, and no one had objected. Of the seven witches with them, she was the most powerful, and if they were diving into the heart of their old coven, he wanted one of their old leaders on his side. Especially if they came into contact with her brother.
The rest of his team also consisted of his favorite fox shifters, Lux and Viv, who were both light on their feet, fast, and had good ears. Perfect for sneaking around enemy territory. He also had two other witches with him. One was a big man with dark skin and even darker, intricate tattoos along his arms and crawling up his neck. His name was Malcolm, and his face was always set with a serious expression, hard and sharp, but his gaze over his fellow witches was protective and fiercely loyal. Cynthia made up the last member of his party.