by Anya Byrne
It worked up to the point when he reached the house. He absently noted that the Lone Wolf Pack had finished the new structure they'd been building, which was a good thing given all the people who would probably seek refuge here. Leaving his car in the driveway, he headed toward the door and knocked.
A tall, muscular Alpha came to greet him. His smile was dishonest, and Braendan disliked him instantly. "Hello," the man said. "Can I help you?"
"Indeed," Braendan replied, suppressing his distaste. "My name is Braendan O'Gradaigh. Could I speak to the Alpha of this pack?"
"You are," the werewolf answered, narrowing his eyes as he scanned Braendan from head to toe. "I'm Saul Simmons."
Braendan did his best to summon his long-forgotten lessons in courtly manners. "Greetings, Alpha," he offered. "I am here on behalf on Queen Maeven of the Sidhe. She explained that there have been some unsettling events around Willow Cove and that you were interested in checking on the wards."
"Ah," Saul replied. "I see. Well, we appreciate your help."
Braendan couldn't tell if that was the case or not, since for all he knew Saul had expected Maeven to come herself. Either way, Saul seemed to relax at his words and stepped back, gesturing for Braendan to come in. "It has indeed been a problematic time," he added. "I was currently in the middle of talking to a new member of the pack who was involved in the matter. If you'd rather check on the wards sooner, I'd be happy to ask my brother to escort you."
Braendan opened his mouth to mention that he would in fact prefer to handle the situation posthaste, since the peculiar energy had him on the edge. He never got the chance. That very same sensation swamped him once again, and he pushed past the Alpha, following his instinct and his magic.
The moment he stepped into the room, he pinpointed the source of his predicament. There was a young man sitting tensely on the couch. His blond hair curled around his pale face, and his blue eyes were very wide as he struggled to take in deep breaths. The human next to him seemed too close, far too close.
For the first time in his long life, Braendan snapped. His magic angrily burst out of him, shoving the human out of the way. There was a curse from behind Braendan, and the werewolf Alpha pounced on him, sending them both crashing to the ground.
Something ugly rose inside Braendan. The man might be a powerful shifter—but he was a shifter and just that. Braendan was one of the oldest Sidhe alive. It would be obscenely easy to squash him, to snuff out the flame of his life. If he didn't, it was only because of the young man still seated there, trembling on the couch. He instinctively wanted to protect the beautiful stranger, but at the same time, he couldn't let the man see Braendan that way.
Still, the Alpha werewolf was challenging him, and Braendan would have probably done something stupid, or at least violent, had Mathias not intervened. Strong arms separated them, pushing the werewolf Alpha away and holding Braendan back before he could lash out.
"Uncle Braendan, what are you doing? What's happening here?"
Mathias's presence helped anchor him. Braendan had always liked Maeven's grandson, despite the fact that the man was a half-breed. He'd been happy—if jealous—to hear Mathias had finally found his mate. He'd known better than to hope Mathias's luck could extend to him, and yet... It seemed it had.
"I... I just..."
He looked toward the couch, only to see the young man was gone. In shock, Braendan spluttered, "Where did he go?"
"He ran away when you hit the ground," the man who'd been looming over the beautiful stranger said. He didn't seem affected by Braendan's attack, and Braendan guessed Mathias had managed to absorb the spell before it could do any damage. "And thank God he did. Care to explain why a Sidhe envoy decided to attack us?"
Braendan didn't have a real reply to that. He just knew he'd probably made the worst mistake in his life and had chased his mate off. He'd had one chance, and he'd squandered it. He'd failed the already frightened young man who could have been his other half. What in the world was he supposed to do now?
****
Shannon loved his pack. Well, he loved his papa and his daddy most—but his uncles came close, and especially his grandparents. Uncle Jessie always smelled so nice, and Uncle Finn reminded him a lot of his daddy. Grandpa Dean liked to toss him in the air, much to Shannon's glee and his papa's distress. He also liked the little ones, even if they tended to draw his uncles' attention from him. He was generous. He didn't mind sharing—and his papa and his daddy always loved him best, so he was content.
But what Shannon loved most about his pack was that they also loved other people. Their kindness always made him feel like he was enveloped in a big fuzzy blanket. It was comfortable, and Shannon wanted to roll into it forever.
Of course, there were times when the blanket grew stifling and itchy and unbearable—and those times were when Shannon needed to intervene. It had taken him quite a lot of effort to figure it out, but he'd finally narrowed it down to one basic idea—pain.
As far as Shannon could tell, the frustrating sensation could come in different forms. There was that time when his daddy had dropped a big metal something on his leg and had said a loud word, which had made his papa slap his head. It had passed quickly, and Shannon's parents had done their weird kissing thing, and Shannon hadn't been forced to intervene.
A more distressing incident was right before the little ones had appeared. Uncle Jessie had started to make weird noises and Shannon had grown alarmed, because he wanted to help his favorite person other than his parents. But his daddy had taken him away and hadn't allowed him anywhere near no matter how much he'd cried. Shannon had annoyingly fallen asleep, and by the time he'd woken up, it was over, and the little ones were there. Uncle Jessie was okay, so Shannon was content and he decided he liked the little ones. He'd also figured out that the little ones could likely be useful in the future in Shannon's quest to make the pain go away.
But there were times when the pain was stubborn and didn't vanish just like that and that was when Shannon stepped in. His papa and his daddy allowed him to do it—because they were clever like that. It had started to happen more often since more people had begun to appear, and so Shannon had a good feel of when he was needed and when he wasn't.
That day, Shannon was in his papa's arms, dozing off. He'd been a bit restless lately, because he'd just felt something was wrong. But papa was warm and he felt familiar, and the blanket of his love was always the most comfortable, so Shannon allowed himself to be content.
And then, the pain struck. Shannon woke up and started to cry, already knowing that he needed to intervene.
His papa tried to shush him, but it didn't work. Shannon refused to let it work. In the end, his papa accepted Shannon's plan and headed out. Perhaps his papa knew about the pain too, because he didn't need Shannon to tell him where to go. Shannon stopped crying, but only because he knew his papa had understood what he wanted and he wasn't going to let Shannon down. His papa didn't always like Shannon's desire to fix things, but after some effort from Shannon's part, he had accepted it.
The moment they reached the source of the problem, Shannon knew he had a lot of work to do. Everyone was very angry and there was screaming and a lot of snarling. Shannon even recognized his daddy's fury, which upset him, because his daddy should never be angry. When his daddy was angry, bad things were happening—and Shannon hated bad things.
And then there was the new person, and his pain was deep and old. Shannon had sensed something similar before, when Uncle Matt had first visited. Shannon had helped, and then his uncle's mate, Ward, had stepped in—and the pain was gone—and he'd been content.
Shannon suspected things wouldn't be so easy this time around, but he was nothing if not determined. If there was one thing his daddy and his papa had taught him, it was that he always needed to keep trying. Even his daddy who was so big and strong didn't always get things right, but he didn't give up either—so Shannon would follow his example.
****
; Braendan would have liked to say he managed to gather his wits long enough to clarify the situation with the Alpha, but he didn't. He was still in shock and mentally berating himself for the fact that he'd chased his mate off because of misplaced protectiveness. He was also still reeling from the realization that he actually had a mate. For someone like him, it wasn't an easy thought to process.
He was ashamed of himself, ashamed that he'd allowed his own bitterness to make him unable to read his mate's energy. But as the centuries passed, he'd been forced to accept he most likely would never have a mate, and he'd cut himself off from the part of him that yearned for it. He still had moments of weakness—how could he not?—but he actively tried to never remember Sidhe were supposed to have a perfect match.
Braendan almost burst into hysterical laughter at the realization that fate had screwed him over once again. Finally granting him a mate, then leaving him so poorly prepared for it? It was very cruel, indeed.
But no, he had no one to blame but himself for this debacle. He'd been the one to lose control, and his choices were his own. He needed to accept that and preferably start thinking about a solution. He couldn't say he was happy with the man who'd been leaning so close to his mate, but he shouldn't have allowed it to get to him to that extent. Thinking clearly, there had never been a real threat in the stranger's stance. If Braendan had taken the time to figure out the situation, they most likely wouldn't be in this predicament. Would his mate even be willing to look at him after what he'd witnessed? It was doubtful, at best.
The Alpha didn't appreciate being ignored, because he suddenly lunged toward Braendan. On instinct, Braendan side-stepped him and lifted his hands to point out he was harmless. "Perhaps we should start over, Alpha. I get the feeling this is a misunderstanding."
"I highly doubt that." The werewolf snarled. "Who are you really, and what do you want here?"
Mathias stepped in to curb the Alpha's suspicions. "Saul, I assure you this man is exactly who he says he is. He's my grandmother's cousin, greatly respected amongst my kin. There has to be some sort of explanation."
"It'd better be a very good one," Saul snapped at him, "or my father will quite likely eviscerate him."
Before Braendan could point out that would never happen—or come up with something in his defense—another man stepped into the room. He had a baby in his arms, probably one year old, or a little younger.
"Everyone, please stop," he said, his voice filled with authority despite the fact that he couldn't have been less threatening if he tried.
Saul paled and quickly made his way to the new arrival's side. "Gav, what is it? What are you doing here?"
So this was the Alpha's mate, Gavin. Braendan had heard a lot about him, and he had to admit he was not disappointed. He also didn't understand why Gavin had come here, in an obviously conflictual situation.
Before he could figure it out, the baby in Gavin's arms flailed his little hands, drawing Saul's attention to him. "Da!" he cooed. "Dada."
Saul sighed heavily. "Oh. Shan, pup... I'd really like it if you just stayed out of this one."
Despite himself, Braendan was quite interested in this new development. He approached the couple and nodded politely at the Alpha's mate. "Greetings. I apologize for the... incident. I take it this is your son? He's quite beautiful."
"Thank you." Gavin's smile was tight, but his eyes shone with pride as he spoke of his baby. "His name is Shannon, Shan for short, and he's a little tyrant. You're going to have to hold him."
Indeed, as if to confirm Gavin's words, Shannon reached out to Braendan, babbling incomprehensibly in the unique language of babies all across the planet. Braendan could do nothing but comply, not that it was any hardship.
The child was truly adorable. He had Alpha Simmons's gray eyes, but the softness of his features reminded Braendan more of Gavin. Tiny hands curled around the material of Braendan's shirt, and suddenly, an unfamiliar magic was tentatively reaching out for his own.
The power was strong, warm, open, pure and welcoming. Glimpsing it for a single moment reminded Braendan of easier times, when he'd spent hours after hours simply staring at the fluffy clouds and marveling at the forms they took.
It was only long-term experience and his deep knowledge of magic that made him pull away. He recoiled from the comforting energy and quickly returned the child to his birth father.
"You should have told me your son was an empath," he said, his anger burning bright through him. "How can you randomly hand your child to a stranger when you know the kind of power he holds?"
Gavin cradled his son close, and Braendan refused to feel guilty as Shannon's deep gray eyes pleadingly fixed on him. Mathias was already trying to do some damage control after his outburst. "Uncle Braendan, please mind your words. Shannon is a very special boy."
"Believe me, I noticed," Braendan replied bitterly. He knew he was being rude, but he'd seen more than one young Sidhe lose control of their magic, and it was never pleasant. Empaths in particular always had trouble, and Braendan hated the thought that this adorable boy could suffer purely because of his instinctive desire to help.
Predictably, Gavin was furious. "Don't you dare think you can come here and tell me how to raise my child. Shannon might be young, but he has his own mind. Do you truly think keeping him from following his heart would be better? I would protect him if I could, but that's not an option."
Braendan suppressed the urge to wince. Obviously he should have been more tactful in his observations. "An empath shouldn't be using his or her power until they have strong shields," he tried again in an attempt to make his concerns clear. "He is a remarkable child, and I don't mean to criticize you, but your Shannon shouldn't have to see the heart of someone as old as me."
Silence fell over the room, heavy with the weight of Braendan's confession. The members of the Lone Wolf Pack had some experience with old Sidhe because of their closeness to Mathias, so they could draw their own conclusions.
Shannon, on the other hand, didn't seem inclined to let things go. He huffed and wiggled in his birth father's arms, scrunching up his little nose as if he was displeased. Braendan considered approaching the boy to point out he had not meant any harm in his rejection, but before he could do so, a wave of power burst from the child.
It wasn't directed at Braendan. Indeed, he only felt it because he was so close and so well attuned to magic in general. Shannon most likely wasn't very sure how to use his considerable abilities, but he seemed clever and he had apparently learned quite enough on his own.
He didn't try to reach out to Braendan again, obviously respecting Braendan's choice. However, he didn't have to.
A different and now familiar energy reentered Braendan's field of awareness. Braendan froze, his breath catching as he wondered how in the world the child had read him so well.
And then, his dilemma faded to the back of his mind as his mate stepped into view. He was still pale, but he was here—and Braendan had another chance. Thank you, Shannon.
****
Myles didn't know what made him go back to the room. It had been more than clear to him that he was not wanted there, and that he'd managed to mess up something that should have been effortless even for someone like him.
He didn't think he could brave the fury and loathing in his mate's eyes again, but nonetheless, he came back. Yes, it had hurt to realize that his other half saw him as worthless and pathetic as everyone else did, but that didn't mean he could give up so easily.
It was a wave of unidentifiable warmth that made him settle on that resolve. It reminded him of Mathias's magic, but at the same time, was very different from the Sidhe's power. And maybe it should have scared Myles, but instead, he embraced it, and he saw the truth. A mate was something worth fighting for. He couldn't run forever. This time around, he needed to face his fears.
And so, Myles retraced his steps. All eyes turned to him when he stepped into the room. "Myles," the Alpha greeted him slowly. "Are you all right?"
/>
"I'm fine," Myles replied, studiously looking only at the werewolf. Had he thought the big man was scary? That was nothing compared to forcing himself to face his mate's disgust for a second time.
"You don't look fine." Mathias scowled, making his way to Myles's side. "Maybe you should go back to your room. We can finish our conversation later."
Myles hesitated. It would be easy to take this opportunity and retreat. His mate hadn't said anything yet, so Myles had no idea what the man thought or wanted. But wasn't that why he was here—to find out? The warm power briefly buzzed at the back of his mind, reminding him that he could do this and that it would be worth it.
"Actually," he heard himself say, "I was hoping you'd introduce me to your new guest."
It was rude, since he wasn't really a part of the Lone Wolf Pack, and this was obviously Lone Wolf Pack business. Mathias looked surprised, confused, and a little wary, but he didn't tell him to leave again.
It was just as well, because Myles's mate finally stepped forward. "Hello, little one. My name is Braendan O'Gradaigh. I apologize for the earlier incident. I'm afraid I lost my temper. I didn't mean to scare you."
There was no trace of the earlier distaste in his deep forest-green eyes. Instead, Myles thought he detected a hint of wary hope, and it made something similar—shy and small—spark in his chest.
He extended his hand and smiled softly. "It's okay. These things happen. I'm Myles."
When their hands touched, that spark flared into something brighter, like magic. Even if Myles had experienced such power before, it still seemed unique. For the first time in forever, he felt safe, like was finally where he was supposed to be.
Braendan's warm but tentative expression cracked into something raw, painful, but so full of emotion that it hurt.
Warm arms enveloped Myles in a tight embrace, and Myles squeezed back just as tightly, understanding that they both needed it. He buried his nose in Braendan's long blond hair and inhaled, finding comfort in his mate's spicy, untamed scent. Braendan smelled like pine leaves, resin, wildflowers, and something else that was purely him. He reminded Myles of the forests that had sheltered him when his pack had decided he wasn't good enough. Unlike the wild, though, his mate would never lash out to hurt him. His mate wanted him, and had been searching for him all this time. Somehow, Myles could feel it, deep inside that part of him that had always hoped he would one day find someone to love.