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He moves to the end of the island, opens a small fridge, and retrieves two bottles of wine. “Red or white?”
“I don’t drink much,” I admit, resting my chin on my palm, watching him scrutinize each bottle. “The only wine I’ve had was what we smuggled into the sanctuary.”
“Nothing after?” He looks at me, a thick brow raised in surprise.
“No.” I clear my throat. “Not many places are willing to serve omegas without an alpha.”
He hums thoughtfully. “Well, these are sweet. We’ve been stocking them for a potential omega.”
I smirk at him. “Then either one will be perfect. What’s your favorite?”
“Red,” he answers without hesitation, putting away the lighter bottle. He moves around the kitchen with fluid grace, opening a high cabinet to fetch two glasses. Devlin moves like a panther in the night—silent and deliberate in every step.
As he turns to open the bottle, I glance up at the vaulted ceilings, where wooden rafters add to the room’s charm. My eyes then drift to the stone archway leading to a hall. Conversation comes easily with the others, but with Devlin, my tongue feels tied, as if I’m lost for words.
His aura is intense, purposeful, and consuming.
“My mother loved to cook, especially for the pack,” he shares, uncorking the wine. “She’d turn up the music, wine in hand, and just immerse herself in cooking. It always took her twice as long to finish a meal, mainly because my fathers would come in and dance with her before leaving.”
“Do you miss her?” I ask, feeling a pang of longing for my own parents. In our culture, back in the remote parts of Terra, once you leave home, contact becomes a rarity.
“Immeasurably,” he admits, a hint of sorrow in his voice. “When my father shattered his bond, it broke a part of my mother, and yet, in a way, relieved the others.”
His words carry an edge, as if he’s teetering on the brink of a deeper revelation. Taking a shot in the dark, I guess, “Royal packs?”
His expression grows serious as he pours the wine. “I just want you to be fully aware of what you could be getting into,” he says, his voice wavering slightly, betraying the pain of the warning.
“What, exactly, am I getting into?” I ask, curious and slightly apprehensive.
Licking his lips, Devlin takes a long, steadying breath. “My mother truly loved my father, if you can believe that,” he begins, pushing a glass of wine toward me. He leans on the island across from me, his intense gaze holding mine. “He wasn’t always seen as a bastard. In his youth, he wanted nothing to do with my grandfather’s legacy, or so he implied. He yearned to exist beyond the council’s walls. My uncle, older than him, gave him that chance.”
“What happened?” I inquire, bringing the glass to my lips. The scent of honey and blackberry merges, creating an intoxicating aroma. As I sip, the flavor bursts over my tongue. Devlin watches me intently, as though my reaction to the wine holds significant meaning to him. “That’s damn good,” I comment, impressed.
“I’m glad you like it,” Devlin says, pushing off from the island and moving around the kitchen. His next words are so casually delivered that I nearly choke on my wine. “My father killed my uncle.”
“What?” I cough a little to clear my throat.
He tosses a smirk over his shoulder. “My father was a master of deception, a manipulator. He fooled everyone. After securing his place in a pack that accepted him, he murdered my uncle and claimed his position as the heir apparent.”
“That’s terrible,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief. “Your mother had no idea?”
“Not a clue,” he scoffs with a hint of bitterness. “He put on a performance for her, convincing her and my other two fathers—who were more peace loving and passive—that he was like them, but by the time he twisted their love around, my mother was already pregnant with me.”
I hesitate, almost afraid to ask how she left, sensing the story doesn’t have a happy ending.
“My father then killed my grandfather,” Devlin continues, a dark shadow crossing his face. “Before Sebastian reformed the council, the only way for an heir to ascend was through the predecessor’s death. Many old members still adhere to this rule. Some even believe in it.”
“What are you trying to tell me, Devlin?” I ask, twisting the wine glass in my hands as I study him.
“Seraphina, I want you. I want you to be with us,” he declares, leaning on the counter, his gaze unwavering. My heart races with each word he speaks. “But I must be honest. Opting for us involves navigating council politics, outdated views, and facing degradation from older members—never at you, but at me.”
A surge of anger courses through me, infuriated by what they’ve put him through.
Devlin’s revelation comes with a clenched jaw, his muscles tensing as he grinds his teeth. “My mother had no choice but to leave without me when my father severed their bond. He cast her as the deserter, spinning tales that deceived everyone,” he shares, his voice heavy with emotion. “He played the victim so convincingly that omegas flocked to him, but I assure you, I will never hurt you. I’ll be your shield against any harm that might come your way.”
I listen, my thoughts a whirlwind. The decision to bond lingers in my mind, unresolved, yet deep within, in a place I barely acknowledge, I already regard them as mine.
“Well,” I murmur, a mixture of apprehension and excitement in my voice, “consider me duly warned.”
