He wasn’t fooling anyone.
“How nice,” Sue observed sweetly, watching him intercept yet another of Georgia’s veiled interrogations, “to see the pack so invested in my niece’s well-being.”
Avine flushed. Heat crept up Theo’s neck.
“The Siren’s Rest is a significant magical landmark.” He stiffened. “Its stability affects the entire ward network.”
“Of course.” Sue’s smile was serene. “The wards. That’s what this is about.”
From the corner, Beck caught Theo’s eye and mouthed something that looked disturbingly like “whipped.”
The witches had made themselves comfortable on the porch, observing everything.
By the time the Elders began making noises about departure, Theo’s control was fraying at the edges. The constant vigilance, the political maneuvering, the effort of pretending his interest in Avine was purely practical—all of it was wearing thin.
But it was Eamon who delivered the final blow.
The old wolf caught Theo’s arm as he moved to follow Avine to the door, his grip surprisingly strong.
“Be careful.” Eamon’s voice was pitched low, for pack ears only. “Surge bonds are unpredictable. They can strengthen or destabilize. I’ve seen them destroy alphas who weren’t ready.”
“There’s no bond.”
Eamon’s gaze was heavy with pity. “Not yet. But it’s coming. I can smell it on you both.” He paused. “And so can others.” Eamon released Theo’s arm. “Whatever happened between the witch and wolf elders in 1890—don’t let history repeat itself. And don’t give your cousin ammunition to use against you.”
He was gone before Theo could ask what any of that meant.
The Elders left in stages—Suelingering longest, extracting promises from Avine about family dinners that both women knew were really intelligence-gathering sessions—until finally the inn fell quiet.
The witches departed with knowing looks and waggling eyebrows, Beck gave Theo a salute that was pure mockery, and then it was the two of them standing in the parlor while the afternoon light slanted through windows that still held traces of glitter from Piprick’s exploding device.
Avine collapsed onto her couch with the boneless exhaustion of a survivor.
“Are they always like that?”
Theo remained standing, not trusting himself to sit beside her. “Worse, usually. You caught them on good behavior.”
“That was good behavior?” She pressed her palms over her eyes. “Bran nearly crushed my ribcage. Your uncle looked at me like I might spontaneously combust. And Orryn—” She shuddered. “Does he always talk like a fortune cookie having a stroke?”
Theo’s mouth twitched. “He thinks it’s charming.”
“It’s unnerving.” She lowered her hands, meeting his gaze. “How do you stand it? The constant observation. Everyone with an opinion about what you should be doing, who you should be.”
He considered the question. Really considered it, which was unusual—he didn’t often let himself examine the weight he carried.
“I remember that they’re trying to protect what they love.” The words came slowly. “Even when they’re terrible at it. Even when their methods are maddening.” He paused. “Most of the time, under the politics and the meddling, they care about this town. About each other. It doesn’t excuse the invasiveness, but it… explains it.”
Avine was watching him with an expression he couldn’t quite read. “That sounds like a reminder you’ve needed often.”
She sat up slowly. “The burden of being what everyone needs you to be.”
“You’d know about that.”
“I do.” She didn’t look away. “It’s exhausting. Being the version of yourself everyone expects.”
He could see the weariness around her eyes. It matched his own.
He should leave. The Elders were gone, his official reason for being here had evaporated, and staying would only add fuel to the gossip fire already blazing through town.
