“Shit,” he sighs.
“Our mate had no idea the man she was living with,” I say softly. “His real estate business is a cover. He deals in stolen art. Once he’s gone, I’ll move the money to the women he abused.”
“I'll always support you,” he says.
“I know.”
“We're a team.” He tilts his head. “You know I’m always honest with you.”
“I do,” I say slowly.
“I think it’s honorable. No one but you would give humans the chance to heal as you are doing. The result is the same, so I’m good with it. It means we won’t have to leave our mate to get more blood on our hands. I don’t regret any of the things we have done over the years that brought us to where we are now. As long as I am at your side, the blood could cover us, and I would follow you anywhere. I may be Lawson’s anchor, but you are mine.” I bow my head, overwhelmed. “It’s been a privilege to be your brother and fight to find Lawson and Remy. At my lowest, you were there, always picking me up.”
“Many of those moments, you were carrying me,” I whisper, meeting his eyes.
“That's the meaning of family.” He nods toward the door. “How many shifters and vampires are on our property because of one text for help? Blood doesn’t matter, yet our bond is deeper than that, yeah?”
“Yeah, Brother. Haven is lucky to have a man like you loving her. I’m grateful to share her with you and our brothers.”
“Now, I’m going to tell you to shut that shit down.” He points at the computer. “Haven needs you, so go upstairs.”
“You’re right,” I grin.
“I usually am,” he smirks.
“I believe that’s Sally.” Her soft knock echoes through the house. I close the computer and move around the desk.
“Go upstairs,” he says, turning. “I’ll let her in.”
“Thanks, Brother.” I squeeze his shoulder, and he stops moving. “All of you keep me grounded, and remind me of what’s important. If Haven—”
“No.” He faces me. “She is fighting like fuck to come back to us.”
I nod, and he leaves the room.
I know he’s right, but I won’t breathe easy until I can look into her eyes; her jaguar eyes.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Haven
“What the fuck,” I whisper roughly as I open my eyes.
I went from the most pleasure possible to severe pain. Now, I’m confused. Sitting up, I gaze around the room. How am I here? I look down at my body, brushing my hands over my skin. I’m wearing a shirt that isn’t mine, but it smells like Hunter’s. Everything else looks normal, feels normal, yet when I look up, I’m in my mother's art room. Her paintings are on the wall, and a mound of blankets are in the middle of the room.
With my hand pressed to my throat, I get to my feet and turn in a circle. Everything is the same as before she died, except I can’t see out of the doorway. It’s yellow, unending yellow. I flex my fingers, hoping my touch will ease the ache. I was screaming seconds ago, wishing for my mates. I wonder what they are doing while I’m in this other world. I think of the conversationwith Breeane and what her experience was like. My mind can’t focus or recall her words.
“This is all in my head.” I walk to the wall and glide my fingers over the picture. It can’t be here. It’s in my room.
“Haven’t you ever seen a painting and the beauty of it stays with you wherever you go?”
I freeze, my fingers spread on the canvas. I know that voice. That voice is in my dreams.
“It’s not real. I’m dreaming,” I rasp.
“If it makes it easier to think it is.”
My heart pounds. I slowly turn my head.
