Mates for Quinn

Greyson, Fifteen Years Ago I am a Valentine now. My mother says I should be proud she landed us such a high position in the Valentine pack through her marriage to Jessup Valentine, one of the current alpha cousins. Says it’s a great honour. I think it’s bullshit. As our limo, a f*ucking limo, takes us to the pack’s mansion, I feel like we are betraying my father’s memory by coming here to live with another pack on the other end of the country. We had simple lives back home. It wasn’t glamorous by any means, but it was home. With all the trouble I had there, with all the bullying and stigma I put upon all of us with my weirdness, it was better than some cold east-coast castle, full of pricks who care about nothing but status and money. That’s what Jessup is like, and that’s what I am pretty sure everyone in that packhouse is. The sun peaks through the half-rolled down window of the limo, caressing my face, and I squint a little as my eyes roam through the view outside. We are just turning around some old road, the bushes on the left almost hiding a creepy house that looks like it’s about to fall apart at the next stronger gust of wind. I am glad it’s hidden because its energy is off the rails. Spooky stuff. I bet at some point it belonged to witches. I bet something really dire happened there. But then my attention is drawn to the big shiny gates that come to view in front of us, just at the end of the road. My mother squirms in the seat next to me, the pearls on her neck and wrists clinking with each of her movements and I really want to scoff, but as per usual, I keep it to myself. Keep it all to yourself. I’ve been reminded of this rule my entire life and I don’t plan to dismiss it now that my father is dead and a new man dares to claim the title. Keep my mouth shut, be polite, don’t cause any trouble, don’t make other people uncomfortable with your weirdness. For a moment, I wonder what Jessup would say if I told him he’s going to die in a few months, killed in a feud with the werewolves. I bet he won’t be this willing to replace my father then. Sometimes, especially today, I suspect this is the reason my mom chose Jessup. Because I didn’t keep it to myself and told her what I saw when I first met him and he made me shake his hand. I don’t like people touching me without my permission, meaning at all, but I was willing to let it slide this one time. I actually naively believed we could do something about my vision and save the man. Instead, I am now his step son, about to live under his roof and pretend I don’t know. My mom gives me another encouraging smile, almost reaching out to squeeze my hand, but remembers the rule in the last moment, and withdraws her hand. She gives me one of her apologetic looks, one that says she’s sorry she doesn’t want to touch me, that I creep her out with my existence and that I am not like all the other normal kids in the world. She tries to make it seem okay and she’s not bothered that her own son happened to be this creepy messenger of doom who has the ability with one touch to see how someone’s life is about to end, all the gory details and so on. At first, when I was too little to understand, they thought I was just messed in the head. They started taking me to all kinds of doctors - shifter doctors, human doctors, shamans. They all said I was fine. Didn’t stop them from poking and prodding me though. Then, when people actually lost their lives in the exact way my five-year old self described it, they started shying away from me. My own parents refused to touch me when I needed them the most. I was too young to understand why they were so scared of me, why I was never held as a child. Now I do. Doesn’t make it any easier, but I do. It took me eighteen years to figure it out, but I know better now. My hand curls into a fist on my lap as the limo pulls to a stop in front of the castle-like building that shines in the late summer sun like a gem, the facade made of marble and gold. There is a fountain in front of it and a large white staircase leads to the poshest of posh porches I’ve ever seen in my life. I doubt that even magazines have shown such luxury. “This is good,” my mother tells me now, her polished accent grating on my nerves, my stomach twisting in knots. “We are going to be just fine.” I want to tell her that no, neither of us actually knows if we are going to be okay or not, but naturally, I choose to stay quiet and only nod at her in agreement. She’s not a bad person, my mom, and I do love her, she deserves to be happy. I realize that. My father died two years ago, the alpha of our old pack killed him because he feared dad would make a coup and take over the pack as it was his actual birthright. I’d warned him about that, but he believed he could beat fate. News flash, dad: you can never beat fate. The b*itch doesn’t work like that. After his death it wasn’t safe for us to stay there, I realise that too I guess, and with me approaching my eighteenth birthday, both mom and me were in danger. That’s why she threw herself at Jessup the moment she caught his eye. A butler, an omega probably, even though he looks nothing like the omegas in my old pack with his nose raised high in the sky and the way he’s looking around like he owns the place, opens my mom’s side of the limo and helps her get out. She does so gracefully, not thanking him, of course not, and then Jessup is there, giving her a polite sophisticated hug. The man is one of the retired warriors of his pack, honoured and respected for the diplomatic work he’s given himself into recently and I can’t get around the fact that if he were a member of our old pack, he’d be discharged and considered a lowlife. Someone to be cast aside and forgotten, probably torn apart by the other, stronger lycans. Is it weird that even the retired warriors in the Valentine pack have such a high rank and all the fortunes to their name? Or maybe that’s what’s normal and what we had back home was the weird part? I finally get out of the car, my heart beating like crazy in my chest. For a moment I feel too awkward and out of place. I am too tall and too scrawny, and my baggy clothes do not fit the vibe of this literal castle, like at all. As I walk to greet my new stepdad and his prick of a butler, I almost regret not listening to mom and buying some new stuff for myself to look more presentable. The butler stares at me with a raised brow before he remembers himself and looks away, even coughing a little to hide his mistake. I ignore him as Jessup pulls me in a hearty hug, and instantly I go dizzy as the vision of him lying dead and bloodied on the ground after the attack of that werewolf I keep seeing every time I get into contact with him. For a second, it’s like I am there, in that moment, and not back here where it’s sunny and warm and safe. As Jessup is saying his ‘welcome home, son’ to me, in my mind’s eye I hear his last thoughts and regrets. He’d be thinking of his son and my mom and me, regretting he didn’t have more time to be with us, to protect us. My heart shrivels in my chest and I push him away. It’s worse to know when the people whose deaths you see are ones who care about you I guess. “Come on, family,” Jessup says with one of his good-natured smiles and I equally want to roll my eyes at him, and grab him and tell him never to go alone on that road seven months from now. I have no choice but to follow him and my mom up the fancy ivory stairs to the front porch where more people wait for us. An elder woman with an old-fashioned up-do stares at us with hawk eyes, the sun reflecting in her gold necklace. That pale cold gaze of hers is so piercing, it makes me shiver. I definitely do not want to touch her and get inside her head. “That’s my aunt Genevieve,” Jessup introduces us. “Aunt, meet my new wife, Elaine, and her son, Greyson.” Genevieve shakes my mom’s hand and thankfully her eyes only go through me like she doesn’t particularly care about me. Both mom and me take a sigh of relief at that. “And that over here,” Jessup points to the polished gentleman that appears behind Genevieve, “that’s my dear cousin and our alpha, Ragon Valentine.” Ragon nods at us with politeness and respect, but there is something about the way he looks at us, his dark blue gaze heavy, his movements filled with power and grace I’ve never seen before, to just ignore him. It’s too late for me to realize that he’s actually exerting dominance over both of us - now that we are are a part of his pack, we need to be sired, and there is a ritual for that and all, but he’s doing it now, in silence with all the people around not giving a f*uck that he’s actually doing it. He hasn’t even touched me but I feel him poking in my head, that strong bond he’s trying to put upon me, like a leash of a sort, seeking for the weakest spot in my mind to sink his teeth. I don’t care about his mind games though. I came here to be a part of this new pack whether it was my choice or not, and I am not going to ruin things for my mom now. So, I let him sire me, pledging my loyalty without words and accepting he’s my boss now. I guess, it had to happen this way. I know the man has too many enemies with the wild werewolves living practically at his back door, and all that. Not to mention all the origin legends about the creepy witches who in old times stole the wolf spirit and cut it in two just right here in the Redwind valley. I just… I wish I could be my own person for once, no alphas and betas, no obligations to the pack. I wish I was normal, like a human. “You are more than welcome in the Valentine pack,” Ragon is just telling my mom who actually bows to him, all jiggly and excited. Her dark eyes sparkle with happiness and content and I try to force myself to feel happy for her. “Everyone valued so highly by my cousin is family to us, and we will do anything in our power to protect them and make them feel loved.” I could almost see myself rolling my eyes but I stop before it’s too late. Can’t show disrespect to the new boss the first time we meet, right? I am sure I will have plenty of opportunities in the future. Natural f*uck-ups like me always do. The introductions continue with the cute little daughter of Ragon, a blond nine-year old girl named Geneva, who makes a curtsey in front of us and my mom giggles before her laughter turns nervous as the girl rushes to give me a hug and I hurry to step away. Her big blue eyes widen at me and she runs to hide behind her dad and I feel like an a*ss, but I just can’t bear to see how someone so sweet and innocent loses their life. Not again. Ragon’s eyes narrow at me and I have no other choice but to let out an awkward smile and let my cheeks flush a little as I look away. “Sorry, kiddo, I am so dirty from the road. Will you show me around later?” She peaks behind her dad’s back and gives me another shy smile, one that I return. More people come and greet us and by the time we are done, I am exhausted. I managed not to touch any of them, and as I walk after the butler, whose name is Carter, to my new room in the west wing, because of course the castle has wings and apparently warriors and their families live in the west wing, I try to convince myself it’s not that bad. I mean, I couldn’t save my dad, or anyone whose death I saw in my mind’s eye, and probably I won’t be able to save Jessup, but at least I have a roof over my head and for the first time in a long time, I can breathe. Sure, I had to leave the only home I knew, but the alpha there hated us, me specifically. Because of my curse, because of my blood. Not to mention my mom was miserable there - being sired to a man who she knows killed her husband and wants to hurt her kid as well is no way to live. Maybe she did marry for money and status, but it doesn’t mean she is undeserving of happiness and peace. So, for her, I will keep it to myself and do my best not to cause her any new trouble. “This is your room,” Carter announces to me after stopping abruptly in front of one of the last doors in the corridor. “This one,” he points to the opposite one, “belongs to Markus. He’s probably home, but I wouldn’t suggest you bother him right now.” Markus, Jessup’s real son, I remind myself. I’ve never met the guy, only heard times and times again what a great dude he is. I am not that sure though. I mean, he didn’t even bother to show up at his own dad’s wedding and all, which is definitely not cool. Not cool at all. “Okay,” I shrug at the butler, not really caring about my new step-brother. Why would I care when he doesn’t anyway? "Dinner is served at six, no exceptions. Be on time, or you won’t eat at all,” Carter clarifies and I nod again. With that he leaves me there in that long-ass corridor. Mom and Jessup are still with the alpha and I feel extremely alone all of a sudden. Abandoned, like one of the ghosts who definitely haunt this place. I give the door opposite mine one last look, before letting out a sigh and unlock my own room. I’ve never had a room to myself in my life, and I don’t lie when I say I am a bit excited about it. Back with the old pack I shared a bunk bed with one of the other warrior’s kids and privacy of any kind wasn’t a thing, like at all. My new room in the Valentine’s mansion is not that big, but there is a nice looking bed, a desk, a large dresser and it’s attached to a private bathroom, because of course it is. The naked walls are begging to be filled with posters and other stuff that will make it all mine. As my suitcases are already stacked next to the bed, probably thanks to someone of the omegas in the house, I have no choice but to start unpacking. It’s quarter to six when I am finally done, and I am on my way out for dinner, scared not to miss my chance to grab something to eat, when the door opposite mine unlocks and a big guy pours himself out, and I freeze right there in the middle of the hall, my eyes wide like saucers. A scent like no other, sandalwood with a dash of citrus, a perfect combination that definitely belongs to him, engulfs me, and I suddenly feel dizzy. I feel like someone drugged me, and the poison is hitting too hard and too fast. I feel like I am addicted to that scent and the person it belongs to. It’s like I just found a part of me, one I didn’t know was lost. It’s weird, and terrifying, and my heart is beating like crazy in my chest, and I don’t know where I am or what is going on. I don’t know who I am. And then I am really falling, because Markus Valentine doesn’t notice me at first and bumps into me, taking me by surprise and knocking me on the ground. He looses his balance and falls right on top of me with a grunt. “Dude, watch where you’re going,” he grumbles, his deep blue eyes boring into me, his face scrunched in displace, before he pushes himself off of me and walks away. Just like that I am all alone again. Alone and broken. All I can do is stand there, on the floor, staring after him, choking in my own confusion. Because I may not know many things in life, but I do know what that boy and his scent mean for me. I know it, the wolf sleeping inside me knows it, the entire world knows it - a mate. Markus Valentine, my step-brother, the boy who probably hates my guts for stealing his dad. The one soul in the entire world who was made for me. Solely for me. Mine. The person who I saw dying the day he accepts our mate bond. He’ll lose his life because of it. I am shaking, drowning in the sinking feeling at the pit of my stomach. My vision blurs as my heart races in my chest, desperate for escape that will never come. He didn’t feel it, a voice in my head whispers. He didn’t feel the bond. He doesn’t know. Maybe he’ll never know. And as long as he doesn’t know, he will be safe. Right there, in that moment, I swear to myself that I won’t ever let him know.