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As they crossed the lush land toward the woods, grass rustling beneath their feet, Zander noticed her looking at the outdoor play area on their far left. “Shaya designed that. We all pitched in to build it for the pups.”
“How many pups are there?”
“Two. Both girls.”
“It’s pretty cool. I’ll bet the kids love it.” She took a long breath. The air was so fresh here, so alive with various scents. Wildflowers. Pine. Moss. Sun-warmed earth. It all spoke to her on some level. “I like your pack.”
“There’s a lot more of them.” He glanced back at the lodge. “It doesn’t bother you that some were a little curt?” It had bothered him. It had bothered him more when Eli’s eyes took a long scan of Gwen’s legs, although some weird part of him had gotten off on it too.
“This is their home. They’re protective of it. I wouldn’t expect them to welcome someone here who they didn’t know or trust.” Gwen jerked back at the whine of a bee as it rushed by. She didn’t like anything that buzzed. It just wasn’t normal.
As they walked into the trees, escaping the glare of the sun, she exhaled a happy sigh. “Listen, I got the impression by what was said that your pack’s having trouble with some Rory-person. If so, maybe you should stay here with them. I can have Marlon come pick me up.” She didn’t realize how much she wanted him to decline her offer until he actually shook his head. Relief poured through her. Too much relief. It was disconcerting.
“They don’t need my help dealing with Rory.”
“Is he an Alpha of another pack?”
Pleased that she’d asked a question without adding something like ‘You don’t have to answer,’ Zander replied, “He’s not an Alpha. He’s my identical twin. Lives in another pack.”
“Really? Huh.” Gwen skimmed her hand over a birch tree, feeling the rough bark. She liked it. Liked the sound of the twigs crunching beneath her shoes, the twittering of the birds, and the branches shuddering. Noticing Zander was looking at her funny, she frowned. “What?”
“I’m waiting for you to ask me dumb questions.”
Her frown deepened. “Like what?”
“Like can me and Rory hear each other’s thoughts? Can we feel each other’s pain? If you pinch me, will he feel it?
“I’m assuming by the cynical note in your voice that those things definitely don’t apply to you and your brother.”
“Your assumption is right, but people tend to automatically assume we have some kind of mystical connection. They’re often surprised to hear we don’t get along, let alone that we don’t find it hard to be apart.”
“I always figured it would have been fun to have an identical twin.”
“It isn’t always as much fun as people assume.” He paused as they stepped over a crumbling log. “Think of someone who pisses you off easier than they can breathe. Now imagine living with them, seeing them every day, sharing a room with them, having to deal with them doing whatever they can to irritate and goad you.”
Oh yeah, that would have been a level of hell. Fingering a berry bush, she asked, “Have you ever gotten along?”
“I don’t remember there being a time when we ever did. Even when we were toddlers, I remember him always trying to be the leader because he was born first. But I didn’t want a leader, and I didn’t want to lead him. His first word was ‘mine.’ Apparently, my first word was ‘shush.’ Even then he must have annoyed me.”
“There was never any rivalry between me, Marlon, and Julie. None of us fought for Yvonne’s attention or anything.”
“Good. People say that sibling rivalry is normal . . . a rite of passage that builds character. Maybe it is healthy when you’re a kid, but it sure never felt that way.” He neatly sidestepped a patch of spongy moss. “What fed the rivalry was that we were each other’s measuring stick. The first thing people seemed to do was tally our differences. When people talked about us, it was often comparing us rather than describing us as individuals. Who was born first? Who crawled first? Who walked first? Who spoke first?”
She nodded in understanding. “Ah. I can see how that would make things worse.”
“Plus, we were expected to share everything. We didn’t always have our own stuff. He didn’t like to share. When people bought us gifts, they often got us the same thing in an effort to be fair. That didn’t help. He’d always lose his stuff and swear that I’d taken it.
“When we got older, we’d have our own things, but he hated that. He believed whatever I had was better simply because I had it, so then he wanted it. I was often told to give him stuff just to keep the peace. But there was no real peace in that house.”
Pissed on Zander’s behalf, she asked, “What did your parents do?”
“Nothing. Mom would always excuse his behavior, so he was never held accountable for anything. If you’re not taught something’s wrong, how can anyone expect you to regret it? Why would you ever feel the need to change? I’m not saying it’s completely her fault that he is the way he is. We each have our own mind. But that’s the mental path he went down. If he’s ever in his life felt guilty for anything, I’d be surprised.”
“But . . . why did she excuse his behavior?”
“He was Mom’s golden boy, and she felt guilty for him almost dying after he donated a kidney to me when we were kids. Dad thought it was normal for us to battle it out. Did you know that sibling competition begins in spotted hyenas at birth? At least twenty-five percent of their pups are killed by siblings. It’s the Cain Complex, right? The unconscious, secret wish to kill your sibling.”
She blinked. “You think he’d like to see you dead?”
“I think he wouldn’t care if I was. I don’t know how much money Rory was expecting to inherit from our uncle—probably all of it, since he has that sense of entitlement—but he wasn’t happy whatsoever to hear he’d been left a dollar.”
She couldn’t help that her mouth quirked. “Wow. Your uncle pissed him off even after his death.”
“Rory wants half of what I inherited. He thinks it’s his due. He’ll toy with the pack until I give him what he feels he’s entitled to have.”
