Page 114 of A Wolf in the Garden

“No. I’m the alpha here; this is my territory. They’re being polite by waiting for me to make the first move, which I appreciate given the fact that they’re weres and don’t necessarily follow the same rules as shifters.”

“You were growling at them before,” I whisper as we start walking. The grass here is freshly mown — Van drove around on the ride-on mower yesterday — and cut grass clings to my feet.

“Just a standard warning. Trust me, if they were a true threat you’d know about it.”

It’s still strange to think about Van in that capacity — that my loving, thoughtful partner is not only capable of true violence, but that there’s been situations in his life where it’s been required. I’ve seen first hand what Weston can do in his wolf form, seen the swift brutality in which he killed a fae, and yet I know that VanbeatWeston in a fight.

After Van told me what had actually happened between himself and his father, I’d gone as far as to search for videos of wolves fighting online, some sort of morbid curiosity spurring me on as I tried and failed to picture it. I couldn’t find any videos of wolf shifters, but even documentary footage of regular wolves attacking each other was violent enough, and I found I couldn’t — and still can’t — quite reconcile the idea ofVanwielding his teeth and raw power in such a way. Perhaps it’s because whenever he’s shifted around me he’s always been so sweet, all tail wags and canine grins, despite his huge size. Growling at the wolves in front of us today is as aggressive as he’s ever been in my presence, bar the moments on the beach after the fae attack when his werewolf was understandably snappish and inconsolable.

As we grow closer Bronte steps forward, a huge grin lighting up her face as she glances between us, her eyes lingering on the bites on our shoulders. While mine is still a messy scab, Van’s has healed in a broken circle of raw pink marks. I can already tell that it really will look a bit like the outline of a silver moon, once the pink fades.

“You two look well!” Bronte is all smiles, her gold eyes filled with warmth as she runs a hand back through the curls of her long black hair. Weston remains close behind her, his hand on the small of her back, mirroring the way Van stands protectively beside me now. “How have things been here? No dramas?”

“No dramas,” I reply, my gaze wandering over the group of them. Standing this close, I can see that both the other women are young, in their early twenties at most. The slightly smaller of the two — who is stillmuchtaller than me — smiles, but there’s something about her that makes me feel odd in a way that I can’t explain.

“Congratulations on your official union,” Bronte adds, nodding at the wound on my shoulder, and I freeze with a goofy smile plastered on my face, because what am I supposed to say to that, and in front of these others, too?Thanks, I’m really glad your son bit me while stuffing me full with his knot,it was so romantic in our post-trauma sex frenzy that I know you overheard.

“Mom,” Van starts, and there’s an edge to his voice that immediately makes me thinkalpha; it’s not quite a barking order, but certainly a show of authority for the newcomers. I’m just thankful he’s sparing me from having to come up with a reply as he says, “Please tell me you have good news.”

“We havewonderfulnews. Everything is going to be fine, and there’s a relatively simple solution, where the cost isn’t too great.”

Weston huffs at this, raising a brow at his wife, and they exchange a look. I hear Bronte mutter “Quiet, you,” under her breath, and I suppress the urge to grin at the way she so easily put him in line. I don’t understand her attraction to him beyond the physical, not with his cold demeanour and cruel tendencies, but then I see them together in moments like this and there’s no denying the love and partnership between them.

There’s no denying thebond, and now that there’s a mark on my shoulder and a connection between Van and I’s minds, there’s no denying any relationship between fated mates. It’s entirely inevitable, I can see that now; magic and biology combined to make a pair destined to be together.

“Let’s get the introductions out of the way first,” Bronte announces, bringing me back to the present. “Ellie, this is my niece Maeve, and this is Lylia. Ladies, this is Ellie, my son’s lovely mate, and of course Maeve, you know Evander already, but Lylia, this is my eldest, Evander.”

Lylia smiles in that strange way again. “He clearly inherited a lot from his father,” she comments to Bronte. “But I’m not surprised. We were all guessing your children would, back when you ran off with Weston. I mean this in a good way!” she adds, looking directly at Van. “In my opinion there’s plenty of good that comes from being a half-breed. I would know, being only half-were myself.”

Van’s hand is still on the small of my back, and his fingers tense, digging into me at Lylia’s statement. “What are you, exactly?” he asks, and there’s a threat in his tone that I haven’t heard from him before as his hand slides around my hip, tugging me closer against him. “You look like a werewolf, and I can’t scent anything else from you. You’re not a shifter.”

“It’s the glamour I wear,” Lylia replies. “It stops the scent.”

“It must be a pretty fucking strong glamour,” he growls, and I can feel the slightly unhinged fury coming from his wolves, a sense that they are howling inside him washing over me. “That’s powerful magic.” This isn’t the calm Van I’m used to. This is all alpha posturing, all shifter wolf, and my eyes meet Weston’s for a moment, before he turns his gaze back to his son, observing with that cold gaze that never fails to unnerve me.

“Evander,” Bronte warns, “Lylia’s the only one that can sort this mess. We arevery luckythat she is willing and able to help Ellie.”

“What are you?” Van snaps, and this time thereisan alpha bark behind it. It has no real impact on anyone present, but we all feel it, and for the briefest of moments I swear I see Lylia for what she really is.

Fae.

There’s definitely a pair of antlers hiding under her glamour, my heart rate picking up again as I quickly glance at Van, fearing that he’ll explode. His fingers are digging into the flesh of my hip now, hard enough to leave bruises, and I feel the tell-tale rise in magic running within him, running under the surface of his skin.He’s going to shift.

“Evander, stop, you’re hurting me,” I say, the only thing I can think of that might halt him in his tracks. It works. This bond between us isstrong, and I feel the way his wolves yelp when they realise, remorse and guilt and concern rolling off of him in waves as his grip loosens, his breathing heavy as he stares at me with wide-eyed horror.

“I —”

I shake my head. “It’s okay. She’s here to help. We were just talking about good fae today, right? She’s good. She’s like me.” As I say it, I know it’s true.

Van’s wolves are still restless, pushing their distress at me. “She’s going to help us,” I say quietly, willing them to listen.

They do. Van composes himself, though his jaw remains clenched and his fists balled, nostrils flaring as he looks over my head at the women behind me.

“Alright then. Tell us how you’ll help.”

Twenty-Two

VAN

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