Bolan eyes the suddenly irate mage. “What the fuck, Sully? Are you off your meds?”
Sully closes his eyes, visibly restraining himself.
Elias steps in. “Bolan. While many may appreciate it when you pretend to be dimwitted, perhaps as a way to amuse yourself, that is not helping this situation.”
Bolan flashes a charming grin at the earl. “Just antsy, Eli. Sully can handle it.”
“We’re all uncomfortable,” Christoph says. “Talking it out, plainly, is the only way to get through it. Mirth is hurting.”
Sully sighs. Then he’s briefly startled to discover Elias standing so close to him, like he’s actually tuned that far out. The earl offers the blue-haired mage a twist of a smile, along with the cup and saucer he’s holding.
Elias wasn’t making tea for himself.
Sully blinks down at the proffered teacup. There’s a biscuit perched on the edge of the saucer as well.
“You prefer the chocolate-dipped shortbread, yes?” Elias asks, ever so politely.
Moving slowly, as if no one has ever handed him a tea and a biscuit before, Sully takes the offering. “Thank you, Elias,” he murmurs. His shoulders visibly relax.
Both Bolan and Christoph have stilled, watching this simple interaction. Engaged, focused … present.
That’s … that’s what this is … what it’s supposed to be …
This is why Sully came to me in London. This is what I inadvertently rejected when I didn’t properly claim him in front of my mother.
Elias steps back to the sideboard and makes another cup of tea.
Some sort of pain cracks through my heart, adding more and more weight to the shit I’m already carrying. “I’ve fucked up,” I gasp. “I’m fucking up.”
“It’s a lot all at once,” Elias says mildly, as if it’s nothing. Nothing that can’t be easily fixed, anyway.
“Say it all now.” Christoph settles against the wall. “Here, with us. Everything you have to sort through, everything you think we might need to hear. Then you can go to Mirth and see … tell her what she needs to hear to trust that you’ll place her first in your heart the next time you hit a rough patch.” He takes a breath. “No one is telling you there won’t be rough patches. That’s fucking life, isn’t it?”
“So,” I say shakily, “you’re the psychologist of the group?”
“Yeah, damn, Chris,” Bolan exclaims. “That’s the most I’ve ever heard you say. Like, even if I put everything you’ve ever said together.”
Sully smirks. “Daddy.”
“No,” Christoph says perfectly mildly. But with a boundary made perfectly clear.
Sully just nibbles on his biscuit, chuckling quietly.
The energy in the room shifts. Lightening, yes. But also somehow twisting around the four of them just a touch tighter.
With me still on the outside.
Because not making a choice is a choice in and of itself. And earlier that morning, I sat there on the edge of my fucking bed, and I watched my phone ring when Mirth called —
I press my fist against my chest. Moving way too quickly for his size, shifter or not, Christoph’s hand comes down on my shoulder. His grip is tight, heavy.
He holds me in that moment until the pain of my own fucking betrayal eases just a bit.
“Apparently, I’m not the only fucking dramatic one in the group now,” Bolan drawls. “Must run in the blood. Which is good, actually, for the rest of you assholes. Because maybe it means I didn’t inherit my mother’s brand of crazy.”
Sully chuckles again, but doubtfully this time.
Bolan angles his bright-blue gaze on me, not quite looking me in the eye. That’s polite, shifter to shifter, but not really necessary. Because however dominant I am, I already know his wolf is more so.
