I’m halfway through a bag of peanut butter M&Ms when I finally turn down the radio and tell Marcus everything I overheard my father and siblings talking about in his study. “They talked about… about my attack. And I want you to know that I don’t think you failed in your duty to protect me that day.”
Marcus grits his teeth and keeps his focus on the road in front of us. “I did, Juniper. If I hadn’t hung back to take that call, Radcliffe wouldn’t have gotten close enough to touch you.”
I blow on my latte and take a sip. “You wouldn’t have taken that call if it hadn’t been important.”
“When I’m working, there is nothing more important than your safety. I was distracted that day and I will regret that for the rest of my life. You were hurt because of me.”
“I was hurt because Andrew Radcliffe is a piece of shit. Not because you got a call from your mother’s oncologist. Which westillhaven’t talked about, thank you very much. Is she… is she okay?”
“She’s sick and she’s getting worse.” His voice is tense, not his usual stony stoicism, but something more raw, wounded.
“Marcus, I had no idea… you should be with her, not with me.”
Marcus swallows hard, his throat working. “She doesn’t want me around. Honestly, I don’t think she can even stand the sight of me.”
“Why… why would you say that?” As his silence stretches on, my gut roils. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t pry. I know you haven’t wanted to talk about it.”
“No, you should know.” He grips the steering wheel so hard his knuckles go white. “Youneedto know. Before I trained to become an honor guard, I failed to protect my sister. Emily was an omega, a year younger than I was. We were at St. Honora’s Academy together, both on scholarships. But my family couldn’t afford an honor guard for Em. I was meant to protect her. And I failed her. She was assaulted… raped—” His voice goes thin when he says the word. “The alpha who raped her was already contracted to mate with another omega at the academy and when that omega found out about Em’s attack, she blamed her for it, not her future mate. Em was shunned, ridiculed, practically tortured by the other students. I knew she was suffering, but she hid so much of her pain from me. Until she couldn’t bear to any longer.”
“Marcus, what happened?” My voice is hollow, a whisper in a bottle.
“She hung herself.”
I can’t help the low, aching whine that escapes me, the way my heart breaks for him. “I’m so sorry, but, Marcus, what happened to your sister wasn’t your fault.”
“I failed to protect Emily and I’ve failed you, too. I can’t make that mistake again.”
“You could never fail me,” I say quietly. “I trust you more than almost anyone. As my honor guard and as my friend.” His shoulders jerk and his eyes are glassy. I reach over and take his free hand in both of mine. He lets me, and for the barest second, it shakes as he fights back his tears.
* * *
Things changebetween us after that, as though our quiet words tore down a wall between us. We pick our way toward each other through the rubble, finding each other in the destruction. Marcus protects me still, is never remiss in his duties, but that small “something more” that hung between us in the fall grows after the quiet admissions we made as he drove us north, back to Fairhaven. Backhome.
Affection blooms between us, more intimate than a friendship, but it’s innocent.
There will never be romance between me and Marcus, as deeply as we care for each other. Still, it doesn’t stop me from wishing, from dreaming, that Marcus Haley wasn’t immune to my scent.
Because I am certainly not immune tohis.
He surprises me with a Fisherman sweater of my own, almost an exact match to his, and his scent already clings to it. I don it immediately because Marcus is home, winter wind and towering pines, a scent as familiar to me now as my own.
Just as his scent is woven through every fiber of the sweater, mine weaves through the wool scarf I laughingly drape around his neck. Knit up out of a heathered gray-green yarn in patterns and twists to match his sweater, I find myself inordinately pleased to see him wear it.
And just as pleased when he picks up the e-reader I’ve stuffed with new (and old) books for him to read so he doesn’t lose any of the paperback books most precious to him around campus. Even more pleased when he reads to me, the warm glow of the screen lighting his handsome face, late into the night over cups and cups of tea.
* * *
I’m downingmy first Ciel white mocha of the year, while putting the finishing touches on my essay on transient sigils, when I get the notification from our newly-titled “Omega Girl Gang” group chat, declaring today to be our Girl Gang Yule party. Marcus and I linger at Ciel for a while, and I tell myself I’mnothoping Ian will drop by his office while we’re here.
He shouldn’t. The overworked madman absolutely deserves a day away from his chaotic office, but that doesn’t stop me from hoping to see him.
He does drop by, looking harried, juggling a stack of tomes and carrying a battered briefcase. He’s reading something on his phone, but I know he catches my scent the moment he stops suddenly, nearly running straight into a café table.
“You’re back safely,” he breathes, his blue eyes bright. He jostles the books he has tucked under one arm and sets them down. “Do you have a minute?”
He looks up to where Ellie is behind the bar at Ciel.
“Usual, professor?”
