When the plane settled on the tarmac, her bitch quietened down a bit. Agitated with the shifting of gravity, sensing the turbulence in the air as the pilot descended, the beast hadn’t been content.
Now it was back on terra firma, it was another matter entirely.
The steward appeared after sounds of the runway echoed down into the body of the plane, indicating the door had been opened. “The passenger will be here in less than ten minutes, your grace. The pilot has just had word.”
She shrugged her understanding, but it was Rafe who told him, “Thank you.”
The man smiled politely then retreated to wherever his take-off and landing seat was housed.
She fidgeted in her seat for a second, discontent fueling her agitation as she pondered exactly who her grandfather would have sicced on her.
She didn’t need security but there was no point in even arguing with him. Until she could come face to face with him, whoever Louis had hired would be sticking to her like glue.
Whether she liked it or not.
She flexed the fingers of her free hand and tightened the others about Rafe’s.
“It’s all right,” he told her, his words as soothing as she hoped hers had been in the bedroom. “We’ll deal with whatever comes on board.”
His choice of phrasing was interesting. ‘Whatever’ meaning he was expecting a surprise too. A notion that was close to precognizant considering he didn’t know her grandfather’s penchant for shit-stirring.
Outside, the sound of a vehicle approaching the plane echoed in her ears. The steward nodded at us as he appeared once more, and then they waited for the new passenger to climb on board.
Her nose was filled with the bitter tang of petrol and Gods knew what else. It wasn’t pleasant and she curled her nose in distaste as it flooded the cabin.
“Remain seated,” she told her mate as she got to her feet, intending on standing in a position of dominance.
She might be short but she was powerful, and whoever was here to protect her and Rafe, they’d better realize she wasn’t about to be led around by the short and curlies just because her long-absentee grandfather was feeling guilty about having to uphold the strictures of her exile.
Rafe didn’t argue, but she could sense her words hurt him once more. The tenderness of his ego in relation to his pack ranking would take her a long time to acclimate to. But, no one was perfect, and they each had their flaws and faults. Why shouldn’t her mate?
She pursed her lips as she felt the steps decompress with the new passenger’s weight. She’d always been sensitive to pressure and vibrations, and from the stranger’s weight alone, she sensed the man was bulky. Unlike she and Rafe who were sleeker, this guy was built of muscle. And she knew it was a guy.
Over the strong traces of fuel, she could smell him.
Only when the man appeared however, the noises and odors from the tarmac disappearing as the door was closed once more, did the faint traces that had graced her senses merge into one tangible scent.
When it did, her She-Wolf ceased its endless internal pacing and froze in place.
Thalia blinked, unable to believe her eyes for a second as the play of light and shadows settled over the stranger’s face.
But he was no stranger.
She’d never seen his face before. Had no idea what he really looked like. But she’d sensed him. Knew him.
In ways he wouldn’t, couldn’t know her.
He froze too in the entryway. Wavering between the corridor and the lounge area where Thalia and Rafe were seated.
The steward was frowning at him, his hand outstretched in a beckoning motion for him to step into the cabin. The stranger ignored it, his eyes glued to Thalia’s.
Beside her, she felt Rafe shift in his seat. Because he was her priority, and the stranger wasn’t hers yet where Rafe indubitably was, she cut her glance to him.
He looked restless, his pupils pinpricks, his body humming with a tension that came from a source outside her ken.
For a second, she feared for him. His skin was pasty, but there was a dull gleam to it too. Like when a human had the flu, and though they were burning up inside, their skin was clammy and sweaty to the touch.
His nostrils were flared, and the breath soughed in and out of his mouth, sounding like ragged, sawing pants.
“Rafe?” she asked softly.
His chin swiped through the air as he turned to look from the stranger in their midst and focused on her. When their eyes met and held, she calmed her own breathing, and as a result, his calmed too as he followed her pacing.
She licked her lips, felt them twitch with gentle amusement as Rafe’s interest fell upon her mouth. For those endless seconds, she reassured her mate with her calm breathing, her warm regard.
Something was going on here, something she hadn’t expected.
Wishing Bahkir was here to help, she reached over and grabbed Rafe’s hand. She unfurled his fingers and placed it on her chest.
“This is yours,” she told him firmly, hoping he felt the solid, steady thud of her heart beneath his palm. “Always and forever.”
He blinked, the lids heavy and lazy as he relaxed. She had no idea what the hell was wrong with him, why he’d responded that way, and was simply relieved that he calmed down at all. Only when he nodded did she cut her glance from his and, keeping his hand where it was above her heart, she turned to the stranger who was still hovering in the entryway.
For a second, she realized that was in his nature.
One foot in a world that didn’t belong to him while the other foot was stuck in a world that did, and yet, was of no comfort to him.
She took him in, all six feet six inches of him. He was brawny and strong, his muscles not overdeveloped via a gym but from hard work and training of a different variety. His hair was cut short, buzz cut a few hours ago by the looks of it. It was stark and added to the craggy nature of his face which, while technically not handsome, was attractive.
His lips and eyelashes were the softest parts about him. The former was a gentle coral pink, and the almost feminine color was hardened by the faint bristles of stubble on his hard, definitely obstinate jaw. The latter topped eyes the color of the sea. Not the Pacific, not the sea in some random cove in the Seychelles—the Atlantic.
Hard, flinty, so blue in parts they bled into gray. They were ferocious, and they stirred something inside her she’d never recognized before.
Just as Rafe had inspired a sense of peace inside her, this man inspired the opposite.
A sense of strength. A sense of power.
Those long, fluttery lashes swept down to cover his flinty eyes, but she recognized the defensive gesture for what it was, and, though she hadn’t expected to greet the unwanted passenger in such a way, she smiled.
Of course, the man was no fool. Though her She-Wolf recognized that he was human, that didn’t make him an idiot, but meant his senses weren’t as strong as hers. Even Rafe’s weaker capabilities were a thousand times more advanced than the man standing before her, still hedging his bets on whether he wanted to join this world or return to the one he was on the cusp of leaving.
The imagery was so powerful she had to laugh at it. Talk about a defining moment in one’s life…
She’d spent so many years hopelessly lost. Trapped inside a pretty gilded cage. Then Bahkir arrived, and within the week, she’d found not one but two of her mates.
It didn’t seem possible, but yet, here they were.
Rafe, at her side, and her second mate standing a few feet away from her.
When Rafe sucked down a shaky breath, she turned to look at him. Seeing his pupils had dilated to more normal levels, she squeezed the hand she’d held to her chest, then stood taller.
Between the door and her, there was a wide table and the final set of bucket seats for landing. As she walked down the corridor, the man in the doorway stiffened with each step that neared him.
She cut the steward a glance, silently telling him
to back off. The man did so with a confused frown, but he bowed his head politely and disappeared.
As she approached her second mate, she knew she’d never forget this moment.
Beneath her feet, her toes sank into the plush carpet. The air was perfumed with the cloying scent of the steward’s aftershave, fuel, and then, the husky and musky notes of both her men.
The lights were dim in the cabin, comfortable. But in the outer corridor, on the walkway to the cockpit and the kitchen area, the light was sharp and bright, underscoring her mate’s steel-like buzz cut, and making the short bristles gleam like precious metal. Was he blond? Or gray? Surely, he was too young for the latter, but there were definite platinum streaks atop his head.
Beneath the background noise of the jet, the other planes outside taking off and landing, she could hear the gentle whooshing of her mates’ hearts, but more than that, their breathing.
Rafe’s was still harsh. Still deep. He was trying to get himself under control, and that he’d lost control at all raised a welter of questions she didn’t have the wherewithal to face right now.
Her second mate was calmer. He’d had himself firmly under control by the time Thalia had stepped toward him.
Considering he was security, a notion confirmed by his stance and the way he viewed the situation with a weathered eye, that didn’t surprise her.
He’d be used to worse situations than this one. Here, there was no danger to him physically. Emotionally, however? Psychologically? That was a whole different kettle of fish.
Of course, he didn’t know she wasn’t going to hurt him in either respect. But he would learn. And swiftly.
“I’m Thalia,” she whispered softly as she came to a halt, two feet from him.
Her She-Wolf keened, desperate to be closer to the male who she recognized as hers.
Controlling her took more effort than Thalia could have guessed, and the beast didn’t appreciate being corralled. Not when she wanted to leap into the air and smother the male with all that she was, and all that she would be.
The tension in her body came from wrestling with the wolf, but she knew her mate read it differently. He was still poised between this new world and his old one, and she knew her own reaction wasn’t helping her cause.
Though she knew it would irritate him to realize it, he’d scented a predator and was still deciding whether to fight or fly.
“Mikkel,” he retorted, his tone curt. Brisk.
She nodded. “Pleasure to meet you, Mikkel,” she said softly, her voice the complete opposite to his.
His eyes narrowed and his jaw flexed as he studied her, considered the nuance in her voice.
“Are you going to sit down?” she asked quietly, watching with a gentle smile as he took a look around him, only just realizing where he was standing, where he’d frozen in place. She held out a hand. “You’re very welcome here.”
He eyed her fingers like they were snakes, hissing and spitting as they sought him out. She had to wonder what the hell her grandfather had been thinking of by inviting a human to guard her. What protection could a human offer her? And was he in the dark about Lykens?
Her nostrils flared as she tried to discern traces of his scent. She could smell him, the man, but there were too many environmental notes around him that detracted from her ability to differentiate between him and who he’d been in contact with.
Which, to be fair, was probably for the best.
Considering her She-Wolf was so on edge, scenting any other Lyken, be they male or female, on his person would only set her off.
As that thought passed through her mind while she waited for him to shake her hand, she realized that the mate she’d just been dreaming of had to be her third mate.
Which meant she shouldn’t be scenting any females on Mikkel. Not unless he’d decided to screw some random person in the airport toilets.
She cleared her throat, prompting him to take her hand in his. He jolted in surprise, his gaze still glued to her fingers, but the nudge worked and his hand shot out to capture hers.
The minute they touched, Thalia groaned. She couldn’t contain it. It just escaped. Falling from her lips as her body, both the human half and the She-Wolf, came together to revel in the touch of this man.
His pupils shot to pinpricks, just as Rafe’s had, and his breathing increased its speed.
“What’s going on?” he whispered, and she could see the tremble in his arm, then felt it as it shifted down to where their fingers were clasped.
“You’re my mate,” she told him simply, wondering if he even knew what that meant.
The quick shake of his head told her that he knew its meaning, which indicated he understood more about Lykens than the average human did.
“That’s not possible.”
She cocked a brow, and gently slipped a fingertip along his pulse point. “Isn’t it?”
Her gentle touch had a shiver racing down his spine, one so strong that his response to it was visible.
She smiled at him, but he scowled back. “What the fuck’s going on?” he demanded, but the command in his tone was softened by the combination of his confusion as well as his sudden arousal.
“I told you. You’re my mate.”
“You’re already mated,” he gritted out. “To that guy over there.”
Thalia grinned, pleased with the news. The more people who knew Rafe was taken, the better in her eyes. “News has spread, I see.”
“Your grandfather told me.”
She sighed. “I knew this would all be down to him, although what use he thought a human guard would be, I don’t know.”
That pricked Mikkel’s pride. His shoulders stiffened and he straightened. Oddly enough though, he didn’t break the connection between them—their hands remained clasped together.
“I’m in the Special Forces. I can take any of your hairy asses out in my sleep.”
Despite herself, she chuckled. “Is that why you don’t want to be my mate? You think I have a hairy ass?”
It was a testament to how much peace Rafe had brought her that she could joke at such a moment.
When she’d met Rafe, just the inkling that he hadn’t wanted her, had decimated her.
Now though, she could tease. Rafe had made her stronger, far stronger than she’d even realized.
Because of that, she turned away from Mikkel to look over at her mate. He was watching the proceedings with glassy eyes. She wasn’t sure why, wasn’t sure he knew why either.
They were all walking blindly in this. There was no rule book, no guide even, that could help them traverse this path. They had to take each step as it came, and approach every new phase with caution.
“Rafe?” she asked softly, but there wasn’t really a question. Just a… she guessed she was seeking reassurance that he was okay.
Nothing else mattered at that moment, she realized.
Not if she was okay, not if Mikkel was. Just Rafe.
He had to take precedence over them all as they headed out into the unknown because he was her glue. It was as simple and as terrifying as that.
He stared at her a second, seemingly aware that both her and Mikkel’s attention was on him. He didn’t seem to react in any other way, just bowed his head. Both in understanding and agreement, she thought.
With that in place, she turned back to Mikkel. “Will you board?”
Mikkel’s fingers tightened about her own, then, he ceased straddling two worlds and entered hers. Theirs.
14
Mikkel was used to being in difficult situations.
He was used to being in danger, being shot at, having to think on his feet.
He wasn’t just in the Special Forces, after all. He led his team. Without him, he knew his men wouldn’t exactly be lost, but they’d certainly be ill at ease for a while as they adapted to a new head.
Still, for all his abilities, for all his strengths, he was at a loss.
Whatever he’d expected when he’d been summarily
taken from his team and plunked into the middle of Lyken politics, it hadn’t been that, like his mother, he’d find a Lyken mate.
And not just any Lyken, but the daughter of the TriAlpha. A hazy governing body that was worse than a spider web, more insidious and capable of far more because of its network.
Thalia smiled at him, but it wasn’t a smile he recognized.
There was no triumph or glee buried within its depths. No desire or need.
He’d been unfortunate enough to be there when his mother had met her mate. The Wolf had been so besotted with her, so instantly, that Mikkel had watched on, mouth gaping, as the stranger had strode up to her in the mall and, out of nowhere, kissed her square on the mouth.
Four-year-old Mikkel hadn’t had much choice but to stand there, clinging to his mother’s hand as a stranger made a move on his mom. But his memories of that moment were enough to cloud what was happening here.
Years later, when he’d discussed the day she’d met her mate, his mother had claimed it was like an instant recognition.
Like every bad part of her nature, and every good part, combined and was revealed to someone who accepted every single facet.
Total and utter acceptance. Unconditional.
Mikkel didn’t feel that. But he wasn’t sure what he was feeling.
His hand was still bound to hers. And he didn’t know why. She hadn’t slipped superglue on her fingers before she’d reached for him; yet that was how it felt.
Like their hands were glued together.
Like he didn’t want to let her go.
Of course, just thinking that had him releasing her. The notion that he didn’t ‘want’ to be doing something acted as the catalyst.
For far too long, Mikkel had been following orders, and in this, there was no order than the one his body was inducing him to comply with.
As he pulled away, his fingers tingled where they brushed hers. He curled them into a tight fist to stop the tingles which were disconcerting as hell—it was like he’d been sitting on his hand for an hour, and the blood was now rushing back into the digits. As he looked at them, wondering if there was a visual on whatever was going on with his hand, he caught sight of something on the way down.
Trinity (The TriAlpha Chronicles Book 1) Page 23