| |
"What the fuck." Ian burst out of his cabin and slammed into the porch railing. It cracked against his impact, but he ignored it and vaulted over to land on the ground in front of Bryce.
Bryce just looked at him, waiting for the onslaught. He'd expected Nolan to lose his shit first, but he shouldn't have been surprised it was Ian instead.
"I take it you were listening in on the conversation," Jameson said, amused.
Ian didn't look amused at all. He pointed a finger at Bryce.
Bryce felt something wash over him—a streak of angry stubbornness he'd forgotten he possessed. Ian could say whatever the hell he wanted, because Bryce was staying put.
"You can't join this clan," Ian said, not even bothering to keep his voice down. "Our time here is temporary. Our time everywhere is temporary. We're rogues, remember? We're outlaws!"
Let him rage, Bryce thought. Let Ian shout and fight and express all the fury that Bryce felt inside.
Ian faced him, chest heaving with ragged breaths. He hadn't put on a shirt, and his ratty sweats made him look like some young punk instead of a man in his late twenties, same as Bryce. They'd grown up together, friends since they were five, with Nolan as their leader. Bryce remembered the three of them together, marching through the Alaskan wilderness like kings.
How things had changed.
When Bryce didn't say anything, Ian turned around and walked back to his cabin. He didn't say fuck you, but his silence was almost worse. Instead of going into the cabin, though, Ian stripped and shifted into his grizzly. Bryce held his breath, wondering if Ian would charge him, but instead, the grizzly loped off into the woods.
"It's a deal," Jameson said quietly. "You go down to Peru for us, talk to the witch, bring her over to our side, and you have a place in the clan. That cabin is yours."
Bryce nodded.
Jameson reached out and shook his hand—firm, promising. And in that handshake, Bryce felt the guilt of his mistakes in Alaska slough away like old skin.
Bryce looked to his brother and saw the judgment in his eyes. Just as quickly, Bryce looked away again. Nolan would never get over it, and nothing Bryce said or did would change that.
"I'll need to find someone to go with you," Jameson continued. "We never send anyone alone, not since that transport job nearly went awry with Nolan and the Channing brothers from the Corona Pride."
"That was all Bronson's doing," Nolan muttered.
Bryce flicked his gaze to his brother once more, wondering what the story was there. Had Nolan been in danger? Ha, yeah right. Nolan was plenty able to take care of himself. From what Bryce had heard from other shifters over the past ten years, Nolan had honed his skills in underground cage fighting. He'd traveled North America with the fighting name "Alaska," and he'd been unbeatable.
Unbeatable. If it wasn't the scummiest thing in the world to do, Bryce would fight him for a chance at Margot in a hot second.
And Bryce would make sure he won.
A low growl rumbled from his chest, and he and his brother stared each other down.
Jameson cleared his throat, and Bryce redirected his attention to his hopefully-future alpha. "Yeah?"
"I take it that sending your brother with you wouldn't be a good idea."
"Fuck no." Nolan's voice—and anger—were loud and clear.
Jameson nodded. "Noted."
Margot was still sitting on Nolan's porch. A faint trace of flour was still on her face—he hadn't gotten it all off when he'd touched her earlier. The very memory of his fingertip on her cheek had him wishing, so hard, that he could’ve talked to her alone before Nolan had interrupted them.
The memory of her in his dream last night was almost as good. She'd done everything he'd asked and he'd listened to her sexy noises while he got himself off, too.
Now he wondered, what was her reaction to him asking to join the Rock Creek Clan? Nolan's opinion wasn't important; Margot was the one who mattered—she would always be the one who mattered.
Shit. What the hell was he doing? He wanted to join the clan but he was in love with his brother's mate. Did he want to torture himself until the end of time and only see her in his dreams? He didn't think he'd be happy with an imaginary Margot forever. No, he wanted her in real life. He opened his mouth to backtrack, to tell Jameson he didn't mean it, but the words wouldn't come out—it was like his grizzly side stopped up his throat and wouldn't let him say anything.
Because it turned out, he'd rather at least be able to see Margot sometimes—he'd rather even see her happy as Nolan's mate—than never see her at all.