Page 79 of Grim

“Locke, just think about it. You’ll tell the men won’t you?”

Locke grumbled and swore under his breath. “Fine, I’ll speak with Hawke and Sizzle. Then hold a meeting. Care to join us and explain your hypothesis? I can’t tell my men to pray when I won’t.”

It would be the first time in years I had spoken to a crowd. In fact, it would be the first time since I tried to explain to the alpha that I was worthy of his daughter, only to be spat upon, kicked, and beaten until I left with my tail between my legs, my parents staring at me as if I had died.

I clutched my fists, reeling in the anger that wanted to spill again, but the sweet singing of my mate caught my ear.

My brothers would want what I had. They would want the heat of their mates bodies and their souls connected to their mates. They would want companionship.

I had been beyond repair, yet the goddess had chosen me, chose Journey to bring back what others had lost. It could mean all of them could be saved.

I would need to bury my torment, bury the darkness so I could bring them information they may not be ready to receive. Too many had renounced her and given up hope to find their other half. It would be a difficult speech to give, but I hoped that hearing my voice and experiencing the lightness of my soul would change their mind.

Even if it meant that Locke might never find mercy in his heart to ask for help.

Chapter Twenty Seven

Journey

Thetinklingofglassessounded around the bar. Everyone had a pint, if not two. They patted Grim on the back, but he didn’t wince or growl as they spoke to him like a long-lost friend.

Many cheered at the announcement that Grim and I were an official “couple.” He was actually smiling, and it wasn’t directed toward just me. He did, however, look back at me, and I blushed scarlet when the whooping noises and wild hip thrust movements from several members ensued.

“You did it!” Delilah put down a tray of empty glasses.

She threw out her arms and hugged me close. I took in her smell. I could smell a hint of her shampoo, and it smelled of cinnamon and vanilla.

“What shampoo do you use? It smells so good!” I laughed.

She eyed me, placing her hand on her hip. “You can smell my shampoo. Girl, I haven’t showered since yesterday morning.” She lifted her arm to take a whiff. “I feel like I stink, but heck, that makes me feel better. That means these men can’t smell me.”

She picked up the tray and deposited the glasses into the sink behind the bar.

“So, how did you do it?” she asked. “All the women are dying to know how you bewitched the scariest one of the them all!”

The women that had created their own cleaning services and lived in the apartment buildings across the street all eyed us in curiosity. I hadn’t been able to get to know those women, but I’m sure I’d make friends with them now.

Grim brought me to the bar after I begged him. We were stuck “rutting” for days, and he’d kept me inside another two just so we could get to know each other better. Not in just the physical sense, but also in the ways of this fairy tale world I found myself in.

Rutting, scenting, what the bite mark meant, what the club meant to all these men and women that had stumbled into it. They were all a sad group, their mates rejecting them for one reason or another, and it made me hurt for them all.

He didn’t explain to me just the exciting things I had already come to love, but also the danger.

A Royal Council, a group of royals of each species, had rules for everyone to follow, especially in the Earth realm. They decided the fate of supernaturals when they intermingled with humans sexually. Humans were forbidden.

But with this being a rogue commune of sorts, Locke wasn’t worried about his men reporting them. They were all too hung up on the idea of getting mates of their own and besides, who would believe a rogue amongst a council of royals?

No one,at least that’s what Locke thought.

Tonight, there would be a meeting held at the church at midnight. Grim was telling everyone his thoughts about the bond we shared. Locke said he couldn’t do it. Locke didn’t believe in the goddess anymore. He didn’t believe in praying to a goddess that had ruined his life, forcing him to live alone and uncared for.

There wasn’t enough evidence for him.

But why not grasp onto something to believe?

Locke took another shot of whisky and lit another smoke. He truly didn’t want to believe a simple prayer asking for help or asking for someone to save him could work. He thought he could do it all on his own, despite his right-hand man getting his second chance.

Men were hardheaded. Especially the three that I’d come to know—Locke, Sizzle and Hawke. Whatever Locke was going through, though, was too painful for him to discuss, even with Grim.

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