“I’m glad to hear it,” I say instead.
We’re walking back into the yard when Merric appears on the path. He’s been keeping his distance, letting me handle Bern on my territory, which is the right call politically. But I can feel him, a presence at the edge of my awareness that I’ve been actively ignoring.
“Willow,” Merric says. “Dane needs you at the barn. Something about the roof joists.”
Willow glances at me. I nod. She goes.
“I’d like a moment with Alpha Brenna,” Merric tells Bern.
Bern looks between us. “Of course,” he says, with the smooth generosity of a man who believes he’s being gracious. He and his aide walk on toward the house.
And then it’s just us at the entrance to the yard. Morning light, birdsong, the distant sound of Dane’s hammer.
“We need to talk,” Merric says.
“Not now.”
“So you keep saying. When, Brenna?”
“When there isn’t an Elder Alpha camped on my property, sizing up everything we do.”
“Somehow I think you’ll find a reason even when he’s gone.”
“That’s ridiculous, Merric. At the moment, my priority is Bern. He’s—”
“I don’t want to talk about Bern.” Merric steps closer. Lowers his voice. I feel a warm pull that I resist with everything I have. “I want to talk about us. About what happened in the bunkhouse. About what you told me.”
“What I told you doesn’t change anything operationally.”
“Operationally,” he scoffs. “Brenna. You told me I have a son. That’s not operational. That’s— Christ, that’s everything!”
“I told you in a moment I wasn’t prepared for, and now I need time to figure out what comes next.”
“What comes next is we tell Cameron.”
I glare at him. “No!”
“He deserves to know.”
“He’s seventeen and volatile. And right now, there’s a man on this property who makes his self-preservation instincts scream. This is not the time to drop a paternity bomb on him.”
“When is the time? When he figures it out himself? He’s smart enough, Brenna. He’s already watching us, already putting pieces together. If he hears it from someone other than us—”
“He won’t hear it from anyone because the only people who know are you, me, Greta, and Willow. And they’d never breathe a word.”
“And Sienna.”
I freeze. “Sienna knows?”
“And Rook. Probably Dane and Briar, too, if I know them.”
Dear God!
“What the fuck, Merric! You told them?” My voice is too loud. I fight to calm myself.
“Didn’t have to. They’re my packmates. They’ve known me for years. Rook took one look at Cameron and one look at me and figured it out in about thirty seconds.” He pauses. “They won’t say anything. But the point is, this isn’t a secret that holds.”
He’s right. I know he’s right. And I hate him for being right because the alternative—keeping the secret, controlling the information, managing the situation the way I’ve managed everything—is the only approach I know.
