It’s been sitting there for as long as Grayson has been coming here. The perfect metaphor, given how shitty the administration had been treating him since he began classes early last spring.
Gideon stares at the solid brick wall across the narrow street. It’s meant to be unwelcoming to non-magic users—the back end of a store that doesn’t exist—and spelled to encourage your eyes to pass right over. The spell does its job, and Gideon has to work hard to keep his glare steady.
He wills Grayson to appear now as he always does—in the blink of an eye, pale, but with his uniform’s white button-down rolled up over muscular forearms. But the wall remains as solid as ever, impenetrable to anyone not able to access the Goddess’s Plain.
“Come on, pretty…” Gideon murmurs under his breath, slamming his hand on the steering wheel in frustration. “If you’re not on this side of the wall when the timer goes off, I am coming in after you—fuck the consequences.”
He thumbs the screen on his phone. Six minutes, twenty seconds. Jay had set the timer himself when he’d agreed to let Gideon go alone, as if knowing he would find an excuse to ignore it.
Gideon had promised to do as he was asked and give Grayson time to come out on his own, but as the old saying goes,time fliesonlywhen you’re having fun.
Unbuckling his seatbelt, he turns the vehicle off, letting the silence help him hear his wolf more clearly. Gideon has been able to hear him better since their return from Florida—and even more so since Skye came to them. But today he is louder than ever, pacing like he knows something Gideon doesn’t.
The SUV still smells faintly of fish and lemons, the scents clinging to his hands even after the drive. Not half an hour ago, Gideon had been elbow-deep in Mediterranean-style salmon—focused on his menu and moving non-essential tidbit-stealers from his space.
With an impression to make, Gideon refused to let the lack of a suitably trained sous chef and Jay’s fingers in his tamponade impact what must be a spectacular meal. He’d cooked for hundreds of important guests, but for some reason, he was more intense about it than usual and was leaking his mood all over the house.
So much so that Jay had leaned in, voice low and irritatingly reasonable, and suggested they just order from Quest.
Jay had only intended to relieve some of his stress, but Gideon had not-so-politely declined, unable to prevent his wolf from being anything but offended at the mere suggestion.
So he stayed in the kitchen and didnotpace beside Rowan, who’d been a growling mess at the idea of strangers near their three pups. At least Gideon could keep his claws metaphorical, his apron on, and himself entirely person-shaped. That had been the plan, anyway—to keep his hands busy instead of his teeth.
But the plan has been slipping.
In the days since Skye had arrived, Gideon had felt an increasing urge to guard and cook nonstop.
He’s also been fucking, hard and often.
He can’t quite verbalize the feelings yet, but as always, food and sex are proving to be the best way Gideon knows how to be true to himself—the wolf and the man—this time with conscious intention.
Maybe then he’ll get better at saying what he means out loud—not just thinking it. Gideon would never say something he doesn’t mean, but that doesn’t mean he says everything, either. Finn says it’s possible—and preferable—to do both. And he won’t deny it’s gotten easier, especially since Skye showed him how.
It shouldn’t have made as much difference, but seeing it for himself has. While he may be Carnell’s son, Gideon is not his father.
He’s simply Gideon.
Sure, he’d heard it all from his mates, but he’s never been able to see it for himself. The good things. The real things. The only ones that matter.
And if Skye knows everything that Gideon is and is still willing to take his hand—let him read Skye stories and gobble down everything Gideon puts in front of him—then maybe Gideon can finally forgive himself.
And, whoa, is that something he’d never thought he’d be able to say.
Magic has made all of that self-awareness possible.
Gideon snorts aloud at the thought, watching the clock count down the last five minutes.
Yes, the irony that he’s relying on magical truths to ease his conscience is not lost on him. He can’t help but think that, ever since Nix’s lawyer had dropped Hayes’s evil pendant into his palm a year ago, magic has been barreling down on them atevery turn. Even though Grayson is (mostly) happier than ever, something about magic still manages to rub Gideon the wrong way.
There is no doubt that his frustration with the high-handed magical bureaucracy and the stick up their collective asses stems from their attempt to tie Grayson down and use him for their own purposes, with little or no regard for Grayson’s unique circumstances.
Sure, they couch it in terms of education and practice, talking about rules and regulations, but it has never rung true for Gideon. In his mind, rules are meant to be broken—or, at the very least, bent—when they no longer serve their purpose. No amount of legalese or arguments about the needs of the collective will get him to change his mind.
Even though it’s contrary to Grayson’s view, Gideon thinks magic is meant to serve the people who wield it, and when it doesn’t…well, you fucking change it. He’ll never blindly allow the people he cares for most to throw themselves off the proverbial cliff like lemmings in the name of the greater good.
In that vein, Grayson’s ever-lengthening schedule has Gideon thinking he needs to have a face-to-face meeting with the head of the Guild about how magic is serving Grayson.
Preferably alone.
