Dylan knew that he would have to tell his parents about Ryker, August and Steve eventually, but that was not a conversation he was looking forward to or even knew how he was going to have.
He’d have to ease them into it very gently.
The water started to bubble and Dylan turned off the microwave and took the cup carefully by the handle.
“Careful with that,” a deep voice said from behind him, startling him so badly that he almost dropped boiling water all over his feet.
Dylan put the cup down on the counter and turned around, his stomach sinking at the sight of Steve’s father standing in the kitchen doorway.
“Hello,” he said, the word coming out as a frightened squeak. He looked over John’s shoulder to see if there was anyone else with him.
There wasn’t.
“Dylan.” John leaned against the doorway, blocking the exit and crossing his arms. He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and held it, making a tsking sound. “You didn’t want to go for a run with the others?”
Dylan shook his head, holding his hands defensively over his stomach and wishing that his heart would stop feeling like it was going to beat its way out of his chest.
He could feel his pulse in his throat.
“They thought it was best if I stayed here and joined the bonfire instead.”
John rubbed his chin, looking him up and down.
“I can see the logic there,” he said, lowering his hands and taking hold of his belt buckle. He pushed away from the frame of the door and walked into the room. “But it’s a shame. Pack runs are for bonding, and you’re missing out.”
“It’s okay,” Dylan said, moving away when John came toward him. “I don’t mind.”
“No?” John stood next to the counter, reaching for the mug of water that Dylan had heated and tracing the rim with his finger. “In that case, I’ll keep you company. We can have our own pack bonding time, just the two of us.”
Dylan swallowed, his chest constricting and making it difficult to breathe. He took another step back, glancing at the door and wondering if he could get away with making a rude exit.
“I actually have a bit of work I need to catch up on,” he said, starting to move. John pushed away from the counter and put himself between Dylan and the door, standing there with his legs shoulder width apart and holding his belt buckle like a character from a cowboy movie. Dylan stepped aside and kept moving, trying to walk past him as he babbled, “I was supposed to do it on Saturday, but then I-”
“Then I had you kidnapped and disrupted your plans,” John cut him off. He reached out and stopped Dylan’s escape by grabbing his shirt, tugging him over so that they were face to chest and putting his hand on Dylan’s shoulder. He squeezed, and after a moment of panic, Dylan realized he was trying to be comforting.
“It all worked out,” Dylan mumbled, burying all his fury at being kidnapped and putting on a submissive front.
“I’m still sorry I scared you. You’re a member of my pack now, and you shouldn’t be afraid of me. Okay?”
Dylan nodded, and when John lifted his hand and clapped him on his cheek, he barely managed to suppress his flinch.
“And you’re right, things did work out in your favor.” John took a step back. He crossed his arms, looking down at Dylan and narrowing his eyes. “Marcus did his thing, and all of a sudden the pieces of the puzzle landed exactly where he wanted them to. It’s funny how that always seems to be the case lately.”
Dylan didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing.
“I should be pleased,” John mused, walking over to the window. He stared down at the driveway, tapping the glass with his finger before looking over his shoulder. “He’s going to be a magnificent pack alpha.”
“I’m just going to go to my room,” Dylan said, walking toward the door now that John was no longer in the way. “I’ll see you at the bonfire ton-”
Between one blink and the next, John was between him and the door, blocking the way and holding Dylan by his shoulders, marching him back toward the counter.
His grip was too tight, and Dylan swallowed a whimper of pain.
“Don’t be rude,” John said, holding him up against the counter and studying him. Dylan could feel the sharp pinpricks of claws digging into his shoulders, pushing deep enough to draw blood. John tilted his head, a sneer tugging at his upper lip. “We really need to work on your manners.”
Dylan didn’t say anything, and after a tense moment, John released him and took a step back. Dylan scrambled further down the counter, pressing himself back and wishing he could crawl into the cabinet under the sink and hide himself away from Steve’s terrifying dad.
“I’ve been expertly manipulated,” John said, walking over to the fridge and pulling out a bottle of water. “I don’t mind being managed – it’s good practice for Marcus – but this time I think he’s gone too far.”
