Fusiah, her dark eyes filled with a mixture of concern and amusement, knelt beside the young girl, her hand resting gently on the child’s trembling shoulder.
The girl was no older than seven, her small frame rigid with fear. Her large, expressive eyes, the color of a stormy sea, were wide with apprehension, fixed on Brandon.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Fusiah soothed, her voice a warm melody. “She just got startled by you.” She turned to Brandon, a playful glint in her eyes. “Hey, it’s okay! He’s a friend! This is Brandon!” She gestured towards Brandon, who stood awkwardly, his usual easy charm momentarily eclipsed by the girl’s fear. He was a tall, lanky man with kind eyes and a hesitant smile, his hands clasped loosely in front of him.
The girl however, remained wary. “Friend?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Fusiah nodded reassuringly, her smile unwavering.
“Yeah, I’m a friend!” Brandon said, his voice soft and gentle. He extended his hand, his palm open, offering a gesture of peace. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes of his intention.
The girl hesitated, her gaze flitting between Fusiah and Brandon’s outstretched hand. Finally, she slowly reached out, her tiny fingers tentatively meeting Brandon’s.
“Nice to meet you! What’s your name, little one?” Brandon asked, his voice a low rumble, carefully modulating his tone to be approachable. He bent slightly, bringing his face closer to hers, but not so close as to be intimidating.
“Tracey,” she answered, her voice still timid, but with a hint of newfound confidence.
Brandon nodded, a genuine smile finally gracing his lips. As he looked at Tracey, a familiar feeling tugged at the edges of his memory. There was something about her-the shape of her face, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled-that resonated with a forgotten memory. He couldn’t quite place it, a frustrating puzzle piece missing from his mental jigsaw. He shook his head, dismissing the fleeting thought, the image dissolving like mist in the morning sun.
“Let’s have breakfast!” Fusiah announced, her voice bright and cheerful, breaking the spell. She rose, her hand still lingering briefly on Tracey’s shoulder, offering a silent reassurance.
Brandon followed her into the kitchen, the lingering scent of coffee and the promise of a warm meal a welcome distraction from the earlier unease. He glanced back at Tracey, a flicker of concern still in his eyes, but this time, it was tempered with a growing sense of warmth.
The morning sun cast long shadows across the weathered wooden table where the old man sat, his steaming coffee sending up a fragrant plume. He took a slow sip, the warmth spreading through him, before his eyes landed on Tracey.
The sight of the young girl, with her bright, curious eyes and a scattering of freckles across her nose, jolted him from his peaceful reverie. He set down his cup with a clatter, the porcelain ringing out sharply in the quiet kitchen. “Oh! My dear Tracey!” he exclaimed, his voice a warm rumble, his face breaking into a wide, welcoming smile.
He scooped her into a hug, the scent of her hair a mix of sunshine and something subtly floral filling his senses.
Tracey, a whirlwind of energy, wriggled in his embrace. “Grandpa! Where’s Mommy?” she asked, her gaze darting around the room, finally settling on
Fusiah, who stood patiently by the stove. Her expression was calm, yet her eyes held a hint of concern.
“Where is her Mother?” the old man asked Fusiah, his voice softening. He noticed the slight tremor in Fusiah’s hands as she smoothed down her apron.
“She was getting some herbs in the garden!” Fusiah replied, her voice barely above a whisper. As if summoned by her words, the back door creaked open.
A woman entered, her beauty striking even Brandon, who found himself momentarily captivated. The sunlight caught the auburn highlights in her dark hair, framing a face that was both strong and delicate. Her eyes, the color of warm honey, held a kindness that radiated outwards. She wore a simple, yet elegant, floral dress, the fabric hinting at the garden she’d just left.
“Mommy!” Tracey squealed, breaking free from her grandfather’s embrace and running towards the woman with unrestrained joy.
The reunion was a flurry of hugs and kisses.
“She’s Jessica,” Fusiah murmured to Brandon, a soft smile gracing her lips.
Brandon simply nodded, his gaze still lingering on Jessica. He joined the others at the table, the aroma of freshly baked bread and simmering eggs filling the air. “Thank you for this meal,” Brandon said, pushing his plate away. A slight nervousness edged his voice. “But I need to look for a flower after this!”
The old man and Fusiah exchanged glances, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and amusement.
“Maybe I can help you find that flower!” Jessica offered, her voice gentle, her honey-colored eyes sparkling with genuine interest.
Brandon, however, shook his head vehemently. “Nah! I can look for it alone!” he insisted, his tone a touch too forceful.
The old man chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through the room. “Why are you rejecting such a precious offer?” the old man teased, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
“I can do it alone, sir!” Brandon replied, his cheeks flushing slightly.
Fusiah, sensing his reluctance to accept Jessica’s help, stepped in. “Then I will help you, if you don’t want help from Jessica,” she offered, her gaze unwavering, her sincerity evident.
“Okay, that’s better!” Brandon conceded, a relieved smile finally breaking across his face. He finished his meal, the weight of his solitary quest seemingly lessened by Fusiah’s unexpected offer.
After breakfast, Brandon retrieved his worn leather bag from his room, the leather soft from years of use. He entered the living room, the sunlight streaming through the large windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.
Fusiah, her eyes bright with curiosity, approached him. “Can I see the picture?” she asked, her voice soft.
He hesitated for a moment, then unfolded the creased photograph, revealing a portrait of a young woman with fiery red hair and eyes that held a spark of mischief.
“Oh! Someone will get married in your pack?” Fusiah exclaimed, her voice laced with a mixture of surprise and understanding.
Brandon’s eyebrows shot up in astonishment. “How did you know about that?” he asked, genuinely perplexed.
Fusiah simply smiled, a knowing glint in her eyes, offering no immediate explanation.
They stepped out of the house and into the dappled sunlight of the woods, the air alive with the scent of pine needles and damp earth. The path wound its way through towering trees, their branches intertwining to form a natural canopy overhead.
“So, why are you doing this instead of the groom?” Fusiah asked, her voice barely audible above the rustling leaves. Brandon smiled, a slight, enigmatic curve of his lips.
“Doing this for the bride!” he replied, his voice carrying a hint of quiet determination.
Fusiah’s gaze intensified, her eyes searching for his eyes. “You like the bride?” she pressed, her tone gentle yet probing.
Brandon remained silent, his gaze fixed on the path ahead, his silence speaking volumes.
They walked in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds the gentle crunch of leaves underfoot and the chirping of unseen birds. Finally, they paused beside a moss-covered log, seeking respite in the shade.
“What pack did you come from?” Fusiah asked, settling onto the log.
“Mad Shadows pack,” Brandon replied, his voice low.
Fusiah nodded slowly, a thoughtful expression on her face. “My assumption is right!” she murmured, shaking her head slightly, a mixture of disbelief and understanding in her eyes.
“What assumption?” Brandon asked, his curiosity piqued. He leaned forward, waiting for her answer, the tension between them palpable.
“Do you know Raven Alarick?” Fusiah asked, her voice barely a whisper.
The name hung in the air, a question mark suspended between them, leaving Brandon utterly bewildered. “Of course, he is our Pack’s Alpha and my father,” Brandon replied, a hint of pride coloring his voice.
“Oh, he is an alpha now,” Fusiah murmured, a subtle smile playing on her lips as she looked away, her gaze drifting towards the trees. A flicker of something unreadable perhaps wistfulness, perhaps something deeper crossed her features.
“What do you mean? You know my father?” Brandon pressed, rising from the log, his curiosity piqued. He felt a surge of unease, a prickle of apprehension at her cryptic words.
“Let’s look for the flower now!” Fusiah deflected, her voice regaining its usual calm as she began to walk again, leaving his question unanswered.
Brandon yearned to press her for an explanation, but a sense of unspoken boundaries held him back. He didn’t want to force her hand, to push her into revealing something she wasn’t ready to share.
They walked in companionable silence for a while, the tension between them a palpable presence.
Finally, Fusiah stopped, her hand outstretched towards a cluster of vibrant, moon-petal blossoms. “We are here!” she announced, her voice soft.
Brandon looked around, his eyes widening at the sight of the delicate flowers, their petals shimmering like captured moonlight. He had found what he sought.
“I brought a tub where you can put them all,” Fusiah said, producing a sturdy, woven tub from her bag. She handed it to him with a gentle smile.
“Thank you!” Brandon murmured, gratefully taking the tub. He carefully gathered the moon-petals, their ethereal beauty captivating him. He filled the tub, his movements slow and deliberate, lost in the task.
“When is the wedding?” Fusiah asked, her voice quiet, as he worked. The question felt oddly intimate, as if she were already a part of this momentous occasion.
“The day after tomorrow,” he replied, finishing his task. He looked up, expecting her to comment on the beauty of the flowers, but her gaze was elsewhere.
“Oh! Under the full moon!” she exclaimed, her voice barely above a whisper. Her tone was laden with significance, and Brandon found himself drawn to her, compelled to understand the hidden meaning in her words.
“I’m really curious about you,” he began, his voice low, “Who are you?” A silence settled between them, thick and heavy with unspoken emotions.
Finally, Fusiah spoke, her voice barely a breath. “I am your father’s mate,” she revealed, her words hanging in the air like a bombshell.
Brandon was speechless, his mind reeling from the unexpected revelation. “Mate? That’s my Mom!” he exclaimed, disbelief coloring his voice. He couldn’t comprehend the implications of her words.
Fusiah nodded, her expression unreadable. “Because they made your pack believe in that,” she explained, her voice laced with a hint of bitterness.
But Brandon remained silent, stunned into silence by the weight of her words, his mind struggling to reconcile the reality of her statement with the life he had always known.
“Me and Raven had a great day back then,” Fusiah began, her voice tinged with a bittersweet nostalgia. The memory seemed to weigh heavily on her, the words catching slightly in her throat. “It was ended by his parents. He didn’t want me, not for your father. Even though I was his mate, they changed things, they chose your mother instead. I pitied my son when he was young, and his father didn’t want him as his son. Luckily, Raven got him out of here.” Her words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken pain and a lifetime of regret.
Brandon stood there, absorbing the shocking revelation, his mind struggling to process the enormity of what she was saying. A storm of thoughts and emotions raged within him. “Son? Are you talking about Theo?” he finally asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Fusiah nodded slowly, her eyes filled with a deep sadness.
“What the heck!” Brandon exclaimed, the words erupting from him in a raw outburst of anger and disbelief. He glared at her, his eyes blazing with fury. The casual cruelty of his father and his pack’s actions seemed incomprehensible.
“Tracey is his daughter, right?” he asked, his voice laced with a mixture of accusation and hurt.
Fusiah hesitated, the silence stretching between them, heavy with unspoken truths.
“Dang! Do you know that Theo will get married to another woman, huh?” Brandon continued, his voice rising in pitch, his anger escalating. He paced back and forth, his frustration palpable. He needed answers, needed to understand the depth of the betrayal.
Still, Fusiah remained silent, her silence a deafening confirmation of his suspicions.
“Come on, answer me!” he demanded, his voice sharp with urgency.
Fusiah took a deep breath, steeling herself for the confrontation. “Yeah, we know about that-” she began, her voice strained.
“And you let him do that? Dang! He already has a family! He will just ruin someone’s life with his lies!” Brandon exploded, his anger reaching a boiling point. He couldn’t believe the callous disregard for others, the blatant manipulation for power that his brother was capable of.
The betrayal stung, not just for his brother’s actions, but for the complicity of those who had allowed it to happen. The weight of family secrets, long-held resentments, and the crushing weight of his father’s actions crashed down on him, leaving him fuming, his heart heavy with a mixture of anger, sadness, and a profound sense of betrayal.
“He told us he will fix everything after he gets married to that woman,” Fusiah said, her voice laced with a weary resignation.
Brandon smirked, a grim expression twisting his lips. The casual cruelty of Theo’s plan, the cold calculation behind it, ignited a fire in his gut. “And I will never let that happen,” he declared, his voice low and dangerous. He turned and started walking, his steps firm and purposeful, leaving Fusiah behind.
They reached the old man’s house, the familiar scent of woodsmoke and baking bread momentarily easing the tension that coiled within him.
Jessica was there, her laughter echoing as she played with Tracey in the garden, a scene of idyllic domesticity that felt jarringly out of place against the backdrop of the unfolding drama.
“I need you to come with me,” Brandon said, his voice serious, his grip firm on Jessica’s arm.
Jessica looked up, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Why?” she asked, her voice soft, her eyes wide.
“We are going to clean this mess,” Brandon answered, his tone leaving no room for argument. He pulled her gently towards the waiting wagon, his eyes fixed on her, a silent plea for understanding in his gaze.
“What is happening here?” the old man interrupted, his voice booming across the yard. He stood in the doorway, his eyes narrowed, his gaze sweeping over the three of them, instantly sensing the gravity of the situation.
Brandon simply looked at him, his expression unreadable. “You knew?” he asked, his voice low, a challenge in the quiet question.
“What are you talking about, young boy?” the old man replied, his voice laced with a mixture of confusion and suspicion.
“My father doesn’t know about it!” Fusiah interjected, her voice strained, her eyes pleading with her father for understanding.
The old man turned his attention to his daughter, his expression shifting from confusion to concern. “What is that?” he asked, his voice laced with a growing sense of unease.
“Theo! Your grandson is marrying one of us!” Brandon announced, his voice clear and strong.
A stunned silence descended upon them, broken only by the gentle rustling of leaves in the nearby trees.
“Theo did what?” the old man finally asked, his voice laced with disbelief, his gaze fixed on Fusiah, seeking an explanation.
“He’s just doing that for the sake of his family,” Fusiah replied, her voice barely a whisper, her words a desperate attempt to justify the unjustifiable.
The old man shook his head, his disappointment palpable. “Can you hear what you are saying, Fusiah? You are telling me that you are supporting your son even though he already has a family?” he said, his voice rising in frustration.
Fusiah looked down, unable to meet her father’s gaze, unable to defend her son’s actions. “Yes, Father! You are right!” she finally admitted, her voice choked with emotion.
The old man looked at Jessica, his eyes softening with understanding. “Go with him, Jessica,” he instructed, his voice firm, “Claim what is yours.”
Jessica nodded, her eyes filled with a mixture of determination and trepidation.
Before the night had fully fallen, Brandon, Jessica, and Tracey were on their way, the wagon carrying them away from the turmoil, towards an uncertain future, leaving behind the wreckage of secrets and lies.
“My friend will help us hide you and your daughter for a while,” Brandon said, his voice low and reassuring as they walked.
The moon cast long shadows, stretching and distorting the familiar landscape.
“Thank you for helping us!” Jessica replied, her voice filled with gratitude. A hint of bitterness edged her words. “I actually didn’t want him to use someone, but his ambition ate him!” She looked at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and determination. Brandon met her gaze, understanding the depth of her pain.
“We need to reach our land before the sun shows up,” Brandon said, glancing down at Tracey, who slept soundly nestled against his back. The urgency in his voice spurred them onward, their steps quickening as the first hints of dawn began to appear on the horizon.
They paused to rest beside a whispering stream, the gentle sound of running water a welcome respite from the tension of their flight.
Jessica looked at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and concern. “You are the real son, right?” she asked, her voice soft, hesitant.
Brandon smiled, a wry expression twisting his lips. “Nah! The real son is your husband,” he replied, handing a half-eaten sandwich to Tracey.
“Thank you!” Tracey mumbled sleepily, her eyes still closed.
Brandon smiled, a gentle affection softening his features. “Go on! Eat!” he said softly, watching her with a tenderness that belied his hardened exterior.
Jessica’s gaze shifted from Tracey to Brandon, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Is she beautiful?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Brandon’s eyebrows shot up, a smirk playing on his lips. “Are you talking about his bride?” he asked, his tone teasing.
“Yeah! The girl you love!” Jessica replied, her voice direct, her eyes unwavering.
The smirk faded from Brandon’s face, replaced by a thoughtful expression.
“I know you like her,” Jessica continued, her voice softer now, “No one would go to this much effort for someone they don’t like!”
A comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the gentle murmur of the stream.
Brandon thought of Stella, her radiant smile, her unwavering spirit, and a soft smile played on his lips. “Yeah, she’s beautiful,” he admitted, his voice filled with a quiet affection.
“Then you should fight for her,” Jessica advised, her voice firm, her words a gentle push towards action.
“I will,” Brandon replied, “But I will give her some time to heal.”
Jessica nodded, understanding his need for patience, his desire to protect her from further hurt. “Let’s go?” She asked, breaking the silence.
They rose and continued their journey, the weight of their secret a shared burden, the hope of a future together a shared dream. It was the dead of night when they finally reached their destination, the familiar landscape of their pack’s land a welcome sight.
Tyros emerged from the shadows, his hand waving in greeting. “Here!” he called out, his voice hushed.
Brandon nodded to Jessica, and they approached Tyros, the relief palpable.
“Oh! Hi!” Tyros greeted Jessica warmly, his gaze softening as he looked at Tracey. “I guess Bryce will have someone to play with!” he added, glancing at Brandon with a knowing smile.
“Let’s hurry before someone sees us,” Brandon said, his voice urgent.
They quickly climbed into Tyros’ waiting car, the engine rumbling to life, carrying them away from the danger.
Brandon urged Tyros onward. “Please look for them, Tyros!” he repeated, his voice tight with a barely suppressed urgency.
The sleek, black car purred beneath Tyros’ expert hands. The setting sun painted the sky in hues of fiery orange and deep violet, a breathtaking backdrop to their urgent journey. “I will, don’t worry!” He assured him, his gaze fixed on the road, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. The tension in the car was palpable.
Finally, Brandon directed, “Drop me off at the mansion!”
The wrought-iron gates of the sprawling mansion creaked open, revealing a breathtaking vista of meticulously landscaped gardens and a house that seemed to glow in the fading light.
Inside, Stella, radiant in a flowing silk robe, was lost in a daydream, picturing her upcoming wedding ceremony under the silvery glow of the full moon. The image was so vivid she could almost feel the cool night air on her skin and hear the soft murmur of the guests.
“Mommy!” The sound of her son’s voice jolted her back to reality. Bryce, his bright eyes full of innocent curiosity, stood beside her.
“What is it, honey?” she asked, her voice soft and gentle.
“You are smiling, Mommy!” he observed, his small hand reaching up to touch her cheek.
Stella chuckled, the sound light and airy. “I am just happy, sweetheart!” she replied, scooping him into a warm embrace.
His small body nestled perfectly against hers. Bryce’s next question hung in the air, a tiny cloud against the otherwise serene atmosphere. “Where’s Daddy?” he asked, his gaze searching the room.
A shadow crossed Stella’s face. “Maybe he is busy with tomorrow’s ceremony,” she answered, trying to keep her voice light, but a hint of worry tinged her words. She gently guided Bryce towards the opulent living room, its plush furniture and soft lighting creating a haven of peace.
As they settled onto a velvet sofa, the silence stretched, punctuated only by the ticking of an antique grandfather clock. Then, a sharp rap at the front door broke the stillness.
“Wait for me!” Stella told Bryce, her eyes filled with anticipation as she rose to answer.
Flora stood on the doorstep, her arms laden with several large paper shopping bags.
Their colorful designs hinted at the contents within.
Stella raised an eyebrow, curiosity battling with amusement. “What are those?” she asked, her gaze lingering on the bags.
Flora’s face lit up, radiating an almost childlike glee. “My pre-gift for you!” she exclaimed, her voice bubbling with excitement.
Stella shook her head, a smile playing on her lips. “You are excited, huh!” she teased, and Flora, unable to contain her enthusiasm, nodded vigorously, her eyes sparkling with uncontainable joy.
Stella prepared a plate of assorted snacks for Flora. Just as she was about to offer them, another sharp rap echoed through the house. “Who is it?” She called out, her hand instinctively going to the doorknob.
The door swung inward to reveal Daisha, Stella’s sister, her face radiant with a mischievous grin. “Your beautiful sister!” She announced, her eyes twinkling.
Stella’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “What are you doing here?” she asked, a hint of playful annoyance in her tone.
Daisha simply responded with a knowing smile, her lips curving into a subtle, enigmatic arc. Her next words were delivered with a calm assurance that belied the underlying urgency. “Dad will be here at any moment to get Bryce,” she said, her gaze softening as she knelt to Bryce’s level.
The afternoon sun illuminated the fine lines around her eyes, adding to her already warm and inviting expression. “Are you fine staying with your Grandpa tonight?” she asked gently, her voice a soothing balm.
Bryce, without hesitation, nodded his head, his small hand gripping Daisha’s.
Stella, however, was not as easily placated. “What are you planning to do, huh?” she demanded, her curiosity piqued.
Daisha’s smile widened, a silent acknowledgment of her sister’s perceptive nature. With a flick of her wrist, she opened the front door wider, revealing Elder Remus standing on the porch, his presence as solid and comforting as the ancient oak tree in their backyard. “He’s here!” She announced, her voice barely a whisper.
Flora, her eyes wide with astonishment, turned to Stella. “How did she know?” She whispered, her voice barely audible above the gentle hum of the house.
Stella shook her head, a mixture of amusement and awe in her expression. “Her sixth sense!” she replied, a hint of wonder in her voice.
Elder Remus, tall and imposing, yet radiating warmth, stepped inside. “I will take this young boy for tonight!” he declared, his voice a deep rumble that held a surprising gentleness. He extended his hand towards Bryce in a gesture both commanding and endearing.
Bryce, without a moment’s hesitation, responded with a high-five, his small hand meeting his grandfather’s with surprising force.
“Go get your bag!” Elder Remus instructed, his voice firm but kind.
Bryce, a whirlwind of youthful energy, dashed off towards their bedroom.
“Be careful!” Stella called after him, her voice laced with concern.
Moments later, Bryce emerged, his small backpack slung over his shoulder.
Elder Remus, a picture of paternal pride, smiled down at Bryce. “You are ready, huh!” he said, his hand gently enveloping Bryce’s small one.
As they stepped out the door, Elder Remus paused, turning back to Stella with a warm smile. “Enjoy!” he added, his eyes conveying a silent message of understanding and support.
The door closed behind them, leaving Stella alone with Flora.
As darkness enveloped the mansion, Theo remained absent. The moon, a silvery disc in the inky sky, cast long, dancing shadows across the polished floors.
Daisha offered a reassuring smile. “I know he’s busy too!” she said, a playful wink directed at Flora.
Flora responded with characteristic enthusiasm. “We already know that, and we will have fun too!” she declared, her voice bright and cheerful as she headed towards the opulent living room, its soft lighting creating a warm and inviting atmosphere.
Stella, however, remained slightly concerned. “There’s more?” she asked Flora, her brow furrowed with a hint of apprehension.
Flora, her eyes sparkling with mischief, simply nodded her head.
Then, a figure emerged from the shadows, a vision of vibrant energy in the form of Sadine, her arms laden with numerous bottles of beer. The clinking of glass against glass announced her arrival, a cheerful counterpoint to the quiet solemnity of the night.
With a flourish, she deposited the bounty onto the center table, its highly polished surface reflecting the warm glow of the bottles. “They will be here at any moment!” she announced, her voice brimming with excitement.
Stella, her curiosity piqued, couldn’t help but ask, “Who?” But her question was met with a conspiratorial silence, a shared secret that only deepened the mystery.
Flora, her lips curved into a knowing smile, leaned in conspiratorially and tapped Stella’s shoulder. “You will like it!” she whispered, her voice a low murmur that promised an exciting revelation.
The night, once quiet and expectant, was now alive with a vibrant energy, a promise of unexpected guests and an evening filled with surprises.