Page 82 of Hawke
A typical wolf.
I brought the tangled leather to my nose. The ozone smell was apparent, but leather was a funny fabric. It could retain scent for years, and with my trained nose and deep concentration I could smell hints of my father’s scent. The same scent that was present in mine.
It was my father’s.
This was all that I had left of him. After so many years of not being able to return to my home realm to gather my things, I had something of him. I put it over my neck, not intending to ask if I could keep it.
Bram stepped away, his cloak fading into black sand that slid beneath the wooden floorboards.
I wasn’t a sentimental male. I didn’t cry over shit, but this warlock didn’t know me. He didn’t know what I had done to Delilah over the past two years. And if he had, he would most likely strike me, just as my own parents would have.
A few minutes ago, I thought he was going to rip a black hole into the damned room, and now he wore the largest grin imaginable. The darkness cleared from his face, his fake appearance returning.
With that stupid mustache.
He was so pro-bond, so hell bent on finding a happily ever after, it was almost funny. And now he was left broken, just like I was. However, his seemed to be more recent with the power he still wielded. He wasn’t close to dying, not yet anyway.
“I have renounced the Royal Council and their ways. They are in it for money and power, and I hope you understand that.” His hand went to his wrist, unbuttoning the cuff.
He rolled up his sleeve and the once gold rune marking him as loyal to the Royal Council was now covered in black, jagged lines.
Bram had burned his rune off, or at least tried to remove it. The rune was a magical burn placed on all of those with the deepest loyalty to the council. Their duty was to uphold the peace and keep each race of supernaturals under control, so no one race overpowered the other.
To disfigure such an honor would be worthy of death.
“He speaks truth.”My wolf bowed his head.“And you know this to be true.”
“Please,” Bram pleaded. “I need to know how you did it. How you obtained a second chance. I need to know if there is more to the life I now live; the oppressive air of hopelessness is smothering me. I need a mate to breathe life back into my lungs.”
He was a dark, poetic, scary fucker.
I wanted to ask him about his story, how he lost his first mate. If he was so pro-bond, how the hell did he lose his? He didn’t seem like one to wait and take no for an answer since he was so pro-Goddess. It wouldn’t surprise me if he would have stolen her and forced her to be his or used some sort of spell.
However, each rejection was personal. We all felt like the rejection was our fault. We all felt inadequate, so why talk about it?
They were personal. I didn’t know any of my brothers’. There were few who knew I was a royal guard, but none of them knew I was supposed to be mated to the princess of the wolf shifters.
And this warlock, this magical being that wielded enough power that could easily wipe out a city block, was begging me, wanting to know how I’d obtained Delilah. After this warlock took care of my past, as well as helped me and my mate, he was asking for such a trivial thing.
And since finding happiness again and beginning to feel emotions, I couldn’t help but grow soft.
“I prayed to the goddess.” I swallowed hard. “I prayed for her to help me.”
Bram‘s eyebrows rose in surprise, accompanied by an exasperated huff. “That’s it? You just prayed? Asked for help? I’ve been doing that for years.”
“I’ve known Delilah for two. I felt she was my mate, but I thought I was being hopeful. It wasn’t until I prayed this morning that the bond snapped into place.”
“Lucky bastard.” Bram twisted his mustache.
Words escaped me. I wanted to comfort the male who’d avenged me, who was continuing to take care of my mate and me. I felt like I owed him far more than he owed my family, but for now, I did not have much help. Not with the bond sickness that Delilah was suffering through.
I heard my own quiet breathing as I went to put my hand on his shoulder, the gesture intended to provide some comfort at the moment‘s awkwardness. I wasn’t a male of many words.
Bram nodded in recognition and went back to his parchment next to his magical box and scribbled more notes down before tossing his items in the box.
“I guess I will continue to pray then,” he gritted his jaw. “And I will continue to help you and your mate. Maybe the goddess will shine upon me once I make up for any transgressions I’ve committed.”
I cleared my throat, unsure of what to say. “Thank you?” It came out more like a question.
