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It’s almost as if we’re here for an intervention, and tingles race down my spine as I look them over. They’re lacking letters, and, normally, they read something at one of these things, but maybe they’ve memorised them.
Shit.
Atticus is on the far right, and he seems to be the most nervous. He’s ditched the shirt he was wearing and replaced it with a thermal olive green long-sleeved t-shirt that clings to his extremely muscular body. He’s wearing the same joggers he was wearing earlier, and has a pair of trainers on his feet. He’s the poster boy for athletic menswear, his fit figure being what would sell their clothes. His blonde hair is in its normal style—the long-ish top being neatly combed into the side-part. His ocean blue eyes are trained on me.
Directly to his right is my giant bear, hovering a couple inches taller than at Atty at 6’7”. He’s wearing the same kind of clothing, except his t-shirt is a dark blue. Orson’s bright blonde hair is tied in his usual knot at the base of his skull, with the same few strands framing his face. His high cheekbones are more prominent with the pursing of his thin lips. He glances to his left and nudges Voss, who is smirking.
I take it back. The fox is not nervous, but the scent of his amusement is buried underneath the worry and anxiety from my other mates. The fox is the shortest one of my guys at only 6’0”, and sandwiched between the two tallest—Griffin and Orson—it’s quite cute. I’m sure that’s how I look—I’m sure that’s exactly how I look—when I’m the one stood between them. He’s got a hoodie on, hiding his lithe frame, and his curly red hair is just its usual mess.
Griffin’s missing his usual earrings, the three in his left aren’t in his ear, and he’s only wearing the newest one in the right. He’s must have either just showered, or was getting ready for one when I got back. His curly brown hair reaches his shoulders, the darkness at the roots fading to the lighter brown at the ends, with highlights all the way through. The natural colouring is one people would pay a fortune to replicate, but combined with his olive skin tone, it’s perfect.
Micah is a close contender for the second most nervous guy. He’s biting his bottom lip, the cracked skin worrying me a little, and he’s fidgeting a lot. With a red t-shirt with four completely different stains on it, and a pair of grey joggers with similar stains, I know he’s eaten whilst I’ve been out. He’s the only one of the guys not wearing shoes, and there’s a hole in the big toe of his sock. On the others, I’d be surprised, but on him, it’s very fitting and super cute. His brown hair is a little dirty, probably from the amount of time he spends in and out of the hot tub, without showering. It doesn’t change the lavender scent that clings to him. He still smells like mine.
The similarities between Malachi and Micah are just subtle enough to show they’re related, but not obvious enough that you’d guess brothers if you didn’t already know. Their hair is both a dark brown, but Malachi’s is more oily and even a little bit longer on the top. Their eyelashes are both thick and dark, but they have different shaped eyes. Malachi’s got beautiful ebony eyes, ones that always seem to show how he’s feeling.
And right now? He’s nervous. Just like the others.
Probably because we had our chat earlier, and he never once mentioned this intervention they were ambushing me with.“What’s going on?” I ask, turning my attention to Mal, hoping they ignore the shakiness of my voice. I slip my hands behind my back to hide the way they’re trembling. I can blame my legs shaking on the rock climbing.
“I think it’s time to admit you into the pride,” Atticus says, smiling at me with that nervous scent still clinging to him “If that’s still something that you’d like.”
My wolf instantly howls in my mind, and I block my mouth with my hands just in case it comes out.
They’re not having an intervention!
Tears well up as pure happiness radiates through me. They’re nervous because they think I’m going to say no.
And, yet, I’m more confused at how they still want me.
Holy shit.
“Aw, she’s excited.” Micah says, and whilst, yes, I am. I’m also very nervous.
I’ve not been part of a pack—yes, I know this is a pride, but, to us, it’s still a pack—in years, and it’s a big thing for shifters.
It’s stupid, and I’ll never admit this to anyone, maybe not even George, but I sort of feel like I’m betraying my old pack.
Not my family, or the old Alpha, not my sister or Kennedy, the new rulers, but the other people? Janice who would watch me when my parents were working, or Karen who would let me take two books from the library instead of just one?
They never did anything to me.
Surprisingly, it’s my wolf who shuts that down. Where she can’t communicate with words, she can subtly—or unsubtly—remind me of the six men in front of me who adore me, who have shown time and time again how much they love me.
How worthy I am, when I feel anything but.
“Are you ready?” Mal asks, and I nod slowly.
“What do I need to do?” I ask, stepping forward now that I’m actually excited about what is about to happen.
“It’s pretty easy,” Atticus says, and Malachi and Orson grab the coffee table, moving it out of the way. Atticus then holds his hand out for me to take. “You take my hand, and come stand here.” I nod slowly, and do exactly that. He then lets go and gives me a small smile. “Then you let me cut the palm of your hand, so that we connect them.”
“Like together?” I say, and they all look at me with various looks of amusement at the horror in my tone. I think Voss is the most amused, my red-headed mate having a fondness for blood that’s unrivalled by the rest of us.
“Yes,” Atticus says, raising one of his thin upward brows. “Problem?”
Is it a problem that we’re mixing blood together? I’d like to say no, since it’s another way that the two of us can bond together, and it’s a closeness that we as shifters crave.
“Is now a good time to mention I’m not a fan of seeing my blood?” I say, and Atticus groans as the others start to laugh properly now.
