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It was dragon law that doomed him, and no amount of forgiveness from a dragon’s omega mate would change the fact that Sorin and Bertram were considered traitors by their kind.
As he stacked the last of the dishes in the sink, that sour feeling morphed into something worse—sorrow that brought him to the verge of tears. What he had done was important, and he did not regret having fought for what was right, but a selfish part of him wished he could have what they had. Not just the opulence, but friendship.
Family.
All of them seemed so happy together, and being with them was a cruel reminder that he would never be a part of that. Not now, and not ever. It simply wasn’t meant to be.
“Sorry to interrupt,” said Harry, startling Sorin out of his own head. He ran his arm hurriedly over his eyes to wipe away the mist gathered there, then turned to find Harry standing in the doorway, smiling as earnestly as ever. “I just wanted to take a second to say that I’m really glad you opened up to us. I know it wasn’t easy. We can be loud and goofy and sometimes we may even say things that can be insensitive—or at least, I know I do—but I hope you feel like you were heard, and that you’re safe to be yourself around us.”
The mist came back, and Sorin did his best to blink it away.
“Thanks,” he mumbled. “It means a lot that you came all this way to hear what I had to say. I’ve spent a long time being alone, separated from my children and from Bertram, and now, even from the Vanguard, and… and it’s been a lot. But today, with you here, it feels different. It doesn’t feel as heavy. And even though I know it won’t stay this way, I won’t forget what you’ve done for me, and the kindness you’ve shown me. With you all here, I don’t feel so alone.”
“You’re not alone,” said Harry, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Not anymore. You’re one of us now, and even if you never come back to Aurora, that won’t change.”
No sooner had Harry finished speaking than he gasped in surprise. The snake once wrapped around his wrist was on the move. She spiraled up his arm and down his body until she arrived on the floor. Both men stood in silence as she wove in S-shaped patterns toward Sorin, then slithered up his foot and wrapped herself around his ankle. The empty arms of her tiny leather jacket hung off her like streamers.
Sorin had no particular affinity for snakes, but even he had to admit that she was kind of cute.
“She likes you,” Harry said, coming over and squatting down to get a closer look. “She wouldn’t even say hello to everyone else, but she came right over to you. I think you should keep her. Snakes are very easy pets, and she’ll stay small enough she won’t be able to eat your eggs.” He paused, scrunching up his nose like he was mentally calculating something. “… probably. And since she can’t use her venom, she’ll be safe for your babies, too.” He looked earnestly up at Sorin from his squatted position. “Before I met Everard, when I was at my loneliest, having Steve with me really helped me feel like I wasn’t so alone, and I think if you keep her, she’ll help you just the same.” He pushed up off his knees so he was standing up straight and nodded in the direction of the doorway. “But anyway, would you like to join us in the sitting room? Finch is organizing some activities to keep us busy until Perry gets back—I think we’re starting with charades.”
To keep from crying, Sorin laughed. “Yeah, that sounds good to me.”
27
Bertram
The sound of the front door opening alerted Bertram to the fact that he was no longer alone. He had gone up onto the roof in the hopes that poking at the broken chimney would distract him from the fact that his pregnant mate was trying to make peace with seven men who could very well want them both dead, but it hadn’t worked. He was as anxious as before—only now, with a scenic view.
Still, when he heard the door open, he felt a stirring of hope. Maybe the conversation was over and Sorin had come out to collect him. Fingers proverbially crossed for the best, he left the chimney and peered over the edge of the roof.
A set of eyes peered back at him.
They belonged to Peregrine.
“Hello, Bertram,” Peregrine said politely. “May I join you?”
Bertram could not think of a single thing he wanted less, but he also couldn’t think of an excuse as to why he should be alone, so he did not argue.
Peregrine came round the manor to the ladder, and Bertram held it in place for him as he climbed. For as delicate a creature as he was, he was agile, and reached the top quite quickly. Bertram backed off to give him space, and Peregrine rewarded him for it with a charming smile and a gracious dip of his chin in thanks.
The roof—despite its considerable age—was sturdy, but Peregrine strode forward with caution, picking his way across it until he came to the ruins of the chimney. Once there, he gestured for Bertram to join him and sat with his back to the rubble, facing the sea. The sun, creeping ever lower as the afternoon unraveled, caught in his hair and shone like gold.
“You have made quite a lovely home for yourself,” he remarked conversationally as Bertram came to sit next to him. He did not look at Bertram, but beyond the crags at an imagined far-flung shore. “It reminds me of when we were young, before the New World was discovered. They were simpler times, weren’t they? Life seemed so effortless then. The present day seems needlessly complicated in comparison.”
Bertram hummed noncommittally, but he did not entirely agree. Nothing had ever been simple. Not for him, and not for Sorin. But Peregrine didn’t deserve his negativity, so he kept his thoughts to himself. It wasn’t just politeness—it was easier that way.
When he said nothing, Peregrine sighed and drew his legs to his chest. He looked strange without his usual flowing silks and loose clothing—his tight biker garb made him look especially fragile—and Bertram couldn’t help but wonder if this was the version of Peregrine his brother would burn the whole world down to save.
“Do you ever wonder,” Peregrine said after quite a while spent in silence, “what would have happened had our lives unfolded in different ways? When I am alone—which is seldom these days, thanks to Mira and the boys—I sometimes daydream about what could have been, for better or for worse, had I not said or done any one particular thing. For instance, what would have become of me had I not been sent out to bring home herring for my cloister? I never would have met Sebastian, or known a life of luxury, or had so many precious children to love with all my heart. And all from such a small thing. A decision made at exactly the right moment, putting me in exactly the right place to change my life forever. It makes me think that life is not so much made up of milestones as it is accidents. Chance encounters that shape us forever. If an action as small as being sent out for herring could lead me to my mate and give me my wonderful family, what other small things could change my life? And in which ways?”
He let go of his legs but kept them tented, leaning forward and setting his forearms on his knees.
“It’s not always a happy game,” he admitted somewhat painfully once he had settled into his new position. “There are plenty of small decisions that lead to hurt and suffering, often unpredictably. But that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? Unpredictability. We never know what will happen to us until we are in a place where we can look back on our lives and reflect upon the journey we have taken. But unpredictability aside, I do know one thing for certain—without action, there is never change, whether it be for better or for worse. You do not learn how to walk by standing still, and likewise, you do not get to live life without putting yourself out there. Not truly, anyway.”
A wind swept in off the sea, stirring their hair. Peregrine closed his eyes and lifted his chin as though it was the most exquisite of life’s pleasures, and as his head moved, the light from the sun—now fading as the afternoon crept toward evening—caught the many tiny diamonds studding his earlobes and glimmered in them beautifully.
“Which is why,” he said once the breeze was gone and the first hints of orange had begun to stain the sky, “I think you should call your father and explain what has been going on. I can’t promise you a happy ending, but you’ll never know what could have been if you do not try.”
