A Tiny Matchmaker for Two Star-Crossed Mates (2 page)

As the Alpha let go of his hand, the man who'd been leaning against the wall approached them. "Come sit down," he said, now smiling kindly. His hand was warm and gentle on Myles's arm, and Myles went along with it, because at the very least, it drew him away from the looming, overwhelming Alphas.

The man guided him to the couch and gestured for him to sit—which Myles eagerly did. A glass of water appeared in Myles's line of sight and he took it with trembling hands. As he looked up, he saw the kind stranger waiting next to him, within his reach, but not close enough to encroach on his personal space. "It's okay," the man said. "My name is Will. I know things seem very scary right now, and you have no reason to trust us, but you're safe here. No one is going to hurt you."

Myles was aware of the three Alphas talking in the background, and the two people Myles hadn't met yet left. A knot of tension loosened in Myles's chest and he found the strength to smile at Will. "Thank you. I'm sorry. I'm just... I'm not good with people."

"That's fine," Saul replied. "I didn't realize it at first. I apologize for overwhelming you."

An Alpha apologizing? Myles eyed the man with suspicion. Surely, there had to be a catch. Alphas weren't nice. They didn't apologize, because they were always right.

Saul crouched in front of the couch. "Listen, Myles, I realize this isn't easy for you. Mathias has told me a few things, and I figure you've been through some very tough times. I want you to understand that you are welcome to stay here and heal, that you're among friends." His expression sobered. "But I also have a duty toward my pack, so I need to know exactly what to expect from each person who joins us. I realize you're not comfortable with us just yet, and I don't want to rush you into anything, but I think that you're a clever young man, and you can understand where I'm coming from."

The words did a lot to calm Myles down, because in a way, they anchored him in something he knew, or at least had hoped for. "Yes, of course. As an Alpha, you have a responsibility to the pack. You can't accept just anyone."

"No, I can't," Saul agreed, making Myles wince. "There are people who genuinely want to hurt us, and while I trust the wards now around Willow Cove, it's always better to get to know each person individually. I don't think that's going to be a problem with you, but I'd prefer it if were upfront with one another from the beginning. After all, you'll probably be more at ease once you don't have to stress about what I might or might not do."

Myles distantly wondered if Alphas had some sort of mind-reading ability, or if he'd just been that obvious in his fears. Either way, it was quite clear that he couldn't dodge their inquiries. Saul was right to worry about his pack.

"You don't have to give us any details you aren't comfortable with," Saul added. "We have an idea of what happened from what you told Mathias, so if you could fill in the blanks a bit, it would be fine."

Myles looked at his hands and braced himself for revealing his story. He never got the chance to speak. The strangest feeling flowed over him, stronger and more overwhelming than any panic attack he'd ever had. Instinctively, he looked at the door—and his gaze drew the attention of all those present.

And not a moment too soon, because a heartbeat later, a knock sounded outside. Saul went to handle it, and as the Alpha twisted the doorknob, Myles somehow knew his life would never be the same again.

Chapter Two

Braendan was irritated. This was not a new state of affairs for him. Indeed, more often than not, irritation was his permanent companion, and the time of day could often be measured by how intensely he felt it. In the morning, he was usually resigned and mildly annoyed, and his state of displeasure escalated as the hours passed.

Tending to his garden helped his temper, as did reading longtime favorites. But today, he couldn't fall back onto his comfortable routine. His queen had decided he was the best person to send to check in on the progress of her haven for unfortunate lost little shifters.

Braendan had never come closer to refusing Maeven something in his life. He loved his cousin dearly and naturally respected her as was her due as queen, but she knew very well that he didn't want to leave his home and venture back into the world he'd shunned.

Alas, Maeven had other ideas—and that brought Braendan to Willow Cove, to double check Maeven's wards and offer his own power if it was necessary.

He started feeling a little off the moment he entered the territory of the Lone Wolf Pack. At first, he paid no heed to it. It was just the regular irritation of being forced to leave his home and actually having to—gah!—socialize. With every second that passed, though, the sensation became stronger and stronger. He buried it deep at the back of his mind, telling himself he had no reason to be unsettled, and if he did, if there was a problem here, he'd handle it. That was why he'd come here, after all, and he would not fail his queen.

The discipline he'd cultivated throughout his long life helped his resolve, even if at some level, he knew this didn't feel like a broken ward, or an unidentifiable intruder. There was an energy in the air, unlike anything Braendan had experienced before. Still, he did his best to not let it get to him—and it worked magnificently. After all, he had a lot of experience denying what he felt.

It worked up to the point when he reached the house. He absently noted that the Lone Wolf Pack had finished the new structure they'd been building, which was a good thing given all the people who would probably seek refuge here. Leaving his car in the driveway, he headed toward the door and knocked.

A tall, muscular Alpha came to greet him. His smile was dishonest, and Braendan disliked him instantly. "Hello," the man said. "Can I help you?"

"Indeed," Braendan replied, suppressing his distaste. "My name is Braendan O'Gradaigh. Could I speak to the Alpha of this pack?"

"You are," the werewolf answered, narrowing his eyes as he scanned Braendan from head to toe. "I'm Saul Simmons."

Braendan did his best to summon his long-forgotten lessons in courtly manners. "Greetings, Alpha," he offered. "I am here on behalf on Queen Maeven of the Sidhe. She explained that there have been some unsettling events around Willow Cove and that you were interested in checking on the wards."

"Ah," Saul replied. "I see. Well, we appreciate your help."

Braendan couldn't tell if that was the case or not, since for all he knew Saul had expected Maeven to come herself. Either way, Saul seemed to relax at his words and stepped back, gesturing for Braendan to come in. "It has indeed been a problematic time," he added. "I was currently in the middle of talking to a new member of the pack who was involved in the matter. If you'd rather check on the wards sooner, I'd be happy to ask my brother to escort you."

Braendan opened his mouth to mention that he would in fact prefer to handle the situation posthaste, since the peculiar energy had him on the edge. He never got the chance. That very same sensation swamped him once again, and he pushed past the Alpha, following his instinct and his magic.

The moment he stepped into the room, he pinpointed the source of his predicament. There was a young man sitting tensely on the couch. His blond hair curled around his pale face, and his blue eyes were very wide as he struggled to take in deep breaths. The human next to him seemed too close, far too close.

For the first time in his long life, Braendan snapped. His magic angrily burst out of him, shoving the human out of the way. There was a curse from behind Braendan, and the werewolf Alpha pounced on him, sending them both crashing to the ground.

Something ugly rose inside Braendan. The man might be a powerful shifter—but he was a shifter and just that. Braendan was one of the oldest Sidhe alive. It would be obscenely easy to squash him, to snuff out the flame of his life. If he didn't, it was only because of the young man still seated there, trembling on the couch. He instinctively wanted to protect the beautiful stranger, but at the same time, he couldn't let the man see Braendan that way.

Still, the Alpha werewolf was challenging him, and Braendan would have probably done something stupid, or at least violent, had Mathias not intervened. Strong arms separated them, pushing the werewolf Alpha away and holding Braendan back before he could lash out.

"Uncle Braendan, what are you doing? What's happening here?"

Mathias's presence helped anchor him. Braendan had always liked Maeven's grandson, despite the fact that the man was a half-breed. He'd been happy—if jealous—to hear Mathias had finally found his mate. He'd known better than to hope Mathias's luck could extend to him, and yet... It seemed it had.

"I... I just..."

He looked toward the couch, only to see the young man was gone. In shock, Braendan spluttered, "Where did he go?"

"He ran away when you hit the ground," the man who'd been looming over the beautiful stranger said. He didn't seem affected by Braendan's attack, and Braendan guessed Mathias had managed to absorb the spell before it could do any damage. "And thank God he did. Care to explain why a Sidhe envoy decided to attack us?"

Braendan didn't have a real reply to that. He just knew he'd probably made the worst mistake in his life and had chased his mate off. He'd had one chance, and he'd squandered it. He'd failed the already frightened young man who could have been his other half. What in the world was he supposed to do now?

****

Shannon loved his pack. Well, he loved his papa and his daddy most—but his uncles came close, and especially his grandparents. Uncle Jessie always smelled so nice, and Uncle Finn reminded him a lot of his daddy. Grandpa Dean liked to toss him in the air, much to Shannon's glee and his papa's distress. He also liked the little ones, even if they tended to draw his uncles' attention from him. He was generous. He didn't mind sharing—and his papa and his daddy always loved him best, so he was content.

But what Shannon loved most about his pack was that they also loved other people. Their kindness always made him feel like he was enveloped in a big fuzzy blanket. It was comfortable, and Shannon wanted to roll into it forever.

Of course, there were times when the blanket grew stifling and itchy and unbearable—and those times were when Shannon needed to intervene. It had taken him quite a lot of effort to figure it out, but he'd finally narrowed it down to one basic idea—pain.

As far as Shannon could tell, the frustrating sensation could come in different forms. There was that time when his daddy had dropped a big metal something on his leg and had said a loud word, which had made his papa slap his head. It had passed quickly, and Shannon's parents had done their weird kissing thing, and Shannon hadn't been forced to intervene.

A more distressing incident was right before the little ones had appeared. Uncle Jessie had started to make weird noises and Shannon had grown alarmed, because he wanted to help his favorite person other than his parents. But his daddy had taken him away and hadn't allowed him anywhere near no matter how much he'd cried. Shannon had annoyingly fallen asleep, and by the time he'd woken up, it was over, and the little ones were there. Uncle Jessie was okay, so Shannon was content and he decided he liked the little ones. He'd also figured out that the little ones could likely be useful in the future in Shannon's quest to make the pain go away.

But there were times when the pain was stubborn and didn't vanish just like that and that was when Shannon stepped in. His papa and his daddy allowed him to do it—because they were clever like that. It had started to happen more often since more people had begun to appear, and so Shannon had a good feel of when he was needed and when he wasn't.

That day, Shannon was in his papa's arms, dozing off. He'd been a bit restless lately, because he'd just felt something was wrong. But papa was warm and he felt familiar, and the blanket of his love was always the most comfortable, so Shannon allowed himself to be content.

And then, the pain struck. Shannon woke up and started to cry, already knowing that he needed to intervene.

His papa tried to shush him, but it didn't work. Shannon refused to let it work. In the end, his papa accepted Shannon's plan and headed out. Perhaps his papa knew about the pain too, because he didn't need Shannon to tell him where to go. Shannon stopped crying, but only because he knew his papa had understood what he wanted and he wasn't going to let Shannon down. His papa didn't always like Shannon's desire to fix things, but after some effort from Shannon's part, he had accepted it.

The moment they reached the source of the problem, Shannon knew he had a lot of work to do. Everyone was very angry and there was screaming and a lot of snarling. Shannon even recognized his daddy's fury, which upset him, because his daddy should never be angry. When his daddy was angry, bad things were happening—and Shannon hated bad things.

And then there was the new person, and his pain was deep and old. Shannon had sensed something similar before, when Uncle Matt had first visited. Shannon had helped, and then his uncle's mate, Ward, had stepped in—and the pain was gone—and he'd been content.

Shannon suspected things wouldn't be so easy this time around, but he was nothing if not determined. If there was one thing his daddy and his papa had taught him, it was that he always needed to keep trying. Even his daddy who was so big and strong didn't always get things right, but he didn't give up either—so Shannon would follow his example.

****

Braendan would have liked to say he managed to gather his wits long enough to clarify the situation with the Alpha, but he didn't. He was still in shock and mentally berating himself for the fact that he'd chased his mate off because of misplaced protectiveness. He was also still reeling from the realization that he actually had a mate. For someone like him, it wasn't an easy thought to process.

He was ashamed of himself, ashamed that he'd allowed his own bitterness to make him unable to read his mate's energy. But as the centuries passed, he'd been forced to accept he most likely would never have a mate, and he'd cut himself off from the part of him that yearned for it. He still had moments of weakness—how could he not?—but he actively tried to never remember Sidhe were supposed to have a perfect match.