Her tone, laced with something I couldn’t quite place—resignation, perhaps, or disapproval—set a knot in my stomach. Whatever this was about, it wasn’t just a casual family visit.
“Remember that one time we tried to take down that gator?” My dad’s voice boomed through the house.
“Of course I do; the gator turned out to be a shifter and ended up giving us both a whooping we wouldn’t forget.”
I froze at the voice. It couldn’t be. I looked at my mother, who fidgeted nervously. I was about to turn around and leave when a strong hand grabbed my wrist.
“Talon, my boy! You made it.” My dad pulled me into a hug, and I stiffened.
Breaking free, I stepped back and scanned the room. Sure enough, my Dad’s ex-best friend and Mark’s father, Graham, stood by the counter. Despite his age, his presence was still imposing. Standing tall at 6'3", his build was strong, his frame broad and solid, a testament to years of physical labor or workouts. His dark brown hair, now streaked with gray at the temples, matched the rugged beard that framed his firm jawline. His olive-green eyes, deep-set under bushy brows, scanned the room with a guarded intensity.
Beside him stood his wife, Vivian. Her auburn hair was styled in soft waves that cascaded just past her shoulders, catching the light with a fiery glow. Her slender form was wrapped in a simple, elegant dress that accentuated her grace. The familiar freckles on her cheeks seemed to dance under the kitchen lights as she offered a warm but cautious smile.
Before I could gather my thoughts, another figure stepped forward. Mark. His height still commanded attention as he approached, his athletic build obvious even under his casual clothes. His sandy blonde hair was cropped short, and those unmistakable sea-blue eyes focused on me, his dimpled smile cautious but open.
“Talon,” he said simply, his voice holding a mixture of regret and tentative hope.
Seeing them all here—especially Mark—sent a rush of old feelings and memories, not all of them welcome. The complexity of facing my past head-on, here in the home that once felt like a battleground, weighed heavily on me. What were they all doing here—together? What was so important that it brought these figures from my past back into my life now?
Ignoring Mark’s attempted greeting, I turned to confront my father. “What’s going on?” I demanded, my voice tight with restrained anger.
My mother stepped back, her expression wary, and even my sister, who usually had nothing but disdain for me, bit her lip—an unmistakable sign of her concern.
My father's response came with a broad smile. “Isn’t it wonderful? We've talked things through. It's all in the past now.”
'In the past,' the phrase echoed mockingly in my mind. My lion roared within me, outraged. The darkest chapter of my life was dismissed with a few words.
“I told my parents I’m gay,” Mark interjected, his voice low as he tentatively reached out to touch my arm.
I recoiled from his touch, my expression darkening. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Mark shifted uneasily, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was hoping we could—”
“I’ve met my fated mate,” I cut him off sharply, my tone leaving no room for misinterpretations or reunions.
“You what?” My mother gasped, her eyes lighting up as she rushed to my side. “You’ve met your mate?”
“Yes, Mom, I’ve met my fated mate,” I confirmed, meeting her gaze.
Her smile was the first genuine one I’d seen in years. She opened her mouth to respond, but my father interjected.
“Are you saying Mark is your fated mate? After all this time, you’re saying what happened was because he’s your fated?”
I scoffed, anger flaring as I turned to face him squarely. “I didn’t do anything back then. Mark concocted that story about me forcing him, but he knew the truth.” My gaze flickered to Mark, my eyes hard and unyielding. “He was too much of a coward to admit he was gay.” I then locked eyes with my father again. “So no, Mark isn’t my fated mate.”
My father’s face reddened with each word, his fists clenching at his sides. “So, if it’s not Mark, who is it then? Some girl you picked up to spite us? What are you no longer into guys.”
“No, Dad, not a girl,” I replied, my patience wearing thin. “And it’s not about spiting anyone. It’s about who I am and who fate has chosen for me. My mates. My fated mates.”
Just as my father opened his mouth to retort, my mother stepped in, her presence commanding and firm for the first time ever. “Enough, Seb,” she said sharply, her voice slicing through the tension like a knife.
“Mira, I—”
“No, Seb,” she cut him off with an assertive hand gesture that silenced him instantly. “This isn’t helping anyone. Talon, you mentioned mates—so I assume there’s more than one?”
My father’s mouth opened to interject, but a sharp glance from my mother quelled him instantly. I had never seen her take such a firm stance.
“Yes, Mom. I have two mates,” I confirmed, somewhat relieved yet apprehensive.
