Page 37 of War Games

So, Hasan went to his own office and pondered over things from his own meetings during the past weekend. He tried not to think about what his children weren’t telling him or how they weren’t including him.

I deserve it. First for thinking of them as just children. They’re all grown adults.

It made him sad to know they were all adults. He liked when they had been babies and children. They were cuddlier when they were little. Now, they all could form full sentences, which led to arguments, and they had sharp claws and teeth to back up those arguments. He liked being a father, though. He’d enjoyedwatching them grow up. For a long time, he had no problem with the end of the journey, seeing them branch out and have their own lives. With his eldest two, he’d been grateful to finally push them out of the den, but they had stayed with him and Subira for far longer than the others after them would.

It must be an age thing. Or perhaps a phase I haven’t encountered before. Maybe it will fade.

He tried not to think about how it was his fault that Zuri went straight for Subira and not to him with whatever exciting news she had come to share.

It is. It’s entirely my fault.

He shuffled through the papers on his desk, read his emails, and made sure he got the daily update from Mischa and Hisao, so he could promise for another day that they were both okay. He was in trouble with the Tribunal for saying as much as he had in the family meeting, but none of them were punishing him for it. He gave enough to ease the minds of his family without them all jumping into action and joining Mischa and Hisao in a quarantine that none of them could do anything about. The immortal and nephilim had to resolve that, and the rest of the supernatural world had to trust that they could. He knew his middle children would come out of it okay. That was the most important part to him.

He stopped on his notes from the most recent meeting he’d had with Callahan and Corissa, sighing heavily, knowing he had to say something, eventually. He didn’t know how to properly go about it, though. It was a dangerous line of discussion for him to have, even with his recent help from Subira. He couldn’t see a therapist like a human fighting with grief and guilt could. His beautiful mate had done what she could for him, but even with that help, he couldn’t approach this problem like he once would have tried.

He put it to the side, shaking his head as he found himself lost for a solution.

An hour later, Subira came into his office.

“Hasan,” she said, purring as she came close. Her lips were curled into a smile, one that warmed his heart better than any fire.

“Subira,” he replied, leaning back his chair, joyous to finally see her, all his pondering and pain forgotten just at the sight of her. “What has Zuri told you today that has you smiling like that?”

Subira sat on the edge of his desk, just out of his reach. He was greedy for her attention and touch whenever they were close to each other. Her choice of distance was a taunt to make him listen, and if he behaved, she would finish closing the distance.

“Our grandson is getting married,” she answered, the pure joy on her face such a magical thing.

He felt a wave of confusion, knowing his mate could smell everything.

“Makalo? He’s not even a grown man.”

With a small movement from one of her eyebrows, that confusion was crushed by something far more painful.

Shame.

“Dirk is getting married,” he said softly, nodding. He closed his eyes, sitting with that news and the shame he felt for not immediately understanding her.

My oldest living grandchild. Yes. Of course, he’s getting married. He’s mated to Landon Everson. They’re both young enough to want the official act of binding themselves together under the eyes of government and gods.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, putting her hands together on his chest, holding him from behind, but her touch wasn’t able to banish his thoughts or feelings this time. It wasnormally a balm, always soothing, but he wanted his shame to eat him alive, so he was going to let it.

“Breathe,” she whispered in his ear.

“I feel?—”

“I know what you’re feeling. You didn’t forget him. You were thinking of a different grandson. There are three. One is clearly not getting married any time soon, but Makalo wasn’t a bad guess. He’s young for it, but it’s been done.” She kissed his cheek. “Plus, I hear Makalo is good at charming young women, being the artist he is. It won’t be long before one tries proposing to him. Just you wait.”

Hasan couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Love, you can’t let that happen. Tell Jabari that he can’t let that happen,” Hasan said, knowing that women all through time fell for the artistic ones.

“Jabari knows,” she said, laughing in his ear. “Aisha is the one doing the work, though.”

“I’m not surprised. She knows how to cut a man down.” He knew all too well. He hadn’t wanted to hear what she wanted to say the day he met her, but looking back, he knew he deserved every bit of it.

One day, the world is going to figure out who really runs it, and they won’t be ready for it. Women like Subira, Zuri, and Aisha.

May the gods have mercy on them.

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