11. Griffin

Chapter 11

Griffin

-Surface Pressure- No Resolve-

The news of what happened at Wolverton spreads like wildfire, igniting a tense atmosphere in our home. Each tick of the clock echoes louder in the silence as we pace, waiting impatiently for their return. My heart pounds in my chest, thoughts racing with worry.

Lorcan has transformed the front room into a makeshift healing station, his tools laid out meticulously, ready for Ethan’s arrival. The anticipation hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the scent of disinfectant and anxiety. Every creak of the floorboards outside makes us jump, our nerves on edge, hoping for the sound of familiar footsteps. Time stretches, each passing moment feeling like an eternity as we cling to hope and fear in equal measure.

The sound of tires crunching on the stone driveway sends a jolt through me, like an electric shock. With a surge of adrenaline, I propel myself through the house, my heart pounding against my ribcage like a drumbeat of urgency. Out the front door, I burst, my breath coming in rapid gasps as I sprint to meet the car.

Nic brings the car to a halt, and he’s already leaping out, his movements urgent and determined. Grace is in the backseat, her eyes alight with a fierce intensity, scanning the surroundings like a sentinel on high alert. It’s a look I’ve seen before, etched on Ethan’s face in moments of danger–she’s ready to pounce, to defend her wounded mate at any cost.

“Gracie...” Barrett’s voice cuts through the tension, his approach cautious as he cradles Deacon in his arms. My son emits soft coos, a sound that momentarily diverts Grace’s attention. The conflict swirling within her is palpable, her gaze flickering between Ethan lying prone and vulnerable, and her precious child in Barrett’s embrace.

“Is my baby okay?” Grace’s voice is strained with worry, her body poised defensively, ready to shield her family from harm.

“He just misses his momma,” Barrett reassures, inching closer to the back door so Grace can catch a glimpse of her son.

I observe the subtle shift in Grace’s demeanor as she nods, her focus returning to me with a plea in her eyes. “Griff? Can you guys get Ethan in the house?” Her brow furrows with concern, her usual strength momentarily eclipsed by the sight of her fierce mate, defenseless.

I nod, my heart pounding as I signal Conrad to approach with the stretcher. His silhouette against the dimming light adds to the tension in the air. The crunch of gravel beneath his boots resonates through the quiet tension of the scene. With each step, my eyes flicker between Ethan’s still form and Grace’s troubled expression.

Grace’s soft growl sends shivers down my spine, and I watch as she delicately slides out from under Ethan’s head. Her movements are hesitant, as if each step forward is a battle against her instincts. The strained expression on her face mirrors the turmoil within her.

“It may be safer for everyone if I take Deacon and go in the house,” Grace murmurs, her voice tinged with apprehension. As she reluctantly leaves the safety of the car, her silhouette blends with the shadows creeping across the lawn. With a heavy heart, she takes our son from Barrett’s arms, cradling him close as she heads towards the house.

I swallow hard, torn between the need to help Ethan and the desire to protect my family. Ethan’s body feels heavier than ever as we hoist him out of the back seat. “I’m putting on the list the need for an industrial medical lift.” Conrad says as he stretches after getting Ethan strapped down.

Conrad’s words about needing an industrial medical lift echo in the air, mingling with the strain clear in his voice as he secures Ethan to the stretcher.

“Yeah no shit.” Shaking my head, I forgot how heavy dead weight is when you have to move it. I can’t help but agree with him, muttering under my breath about the obviousness of the situation. Moving Ethan is a physical reminder of the gravity of the situation we find ourselves in. Each step we take, each roll of the stretcher across the gravel, feels like an eternity.

Nic and I share a glance as we navigate the stretcher up the steps and into the house, our movements synchronized in the effort to ease Ethan’s passage. Grace stands in the doorway, her expression a mix of concern and determination as she guides us toward Lorcan’s makeshift clinic.

With a gentle touch, Barrett assists Lorcan as they approach Ethan, their focus unwavering despite the tension in the room.

“He has stitches in his shoulder from where the knife went in,” Grace says and her eyes pulse between human and wolf.

Grace’s words about Ethan’s injuries cut through the air. I can sense the struggle within her, the urge to shift and unleash her inner beast, held in check only by the weight of our son cradled in her arms.

“I will do what I can for him, lass,” Lorcan murmurs, his voice laden with determination as Barrett gently positions his hands on Ethan’s injured shoulder. As his fingers hover over the afflicted area, the milk-white hue of Lorcan’s eyes seems to shimmer, casting an otherworldly glow in the dimly lit room.

With painstaking care, Lorcan traces invisible patterns over Ethan’s body, his touch light yet purposeful. Each movement is deliberate, as if he’s coaxing healing energy from some unseen source. The tension in the room is palpable, amplified by Grace’s unwavering stare, her eyes burning with a mix of concern and barely contained fury.

“The good news is there’s no permanent damage done,” Lorcan declares. His words soothe the frayed nerves of those gathered. He continues his examination, methodically checking every inch of Ethan’s upper body under Grace’s intense scrutiny. It’s clear that her loyalty to Ethan runs deep, her protective instincts on high alert. Mate or not, any misstep from Lorcan could ignite a storm of wrath from Grace, and he knows it. But he remains steadfast, his focus unwavering as he works to mend the damage done to his friend.

“He’s all clear, Lass. I did what I could to speed up his recovery,” Lorcan says, his voice tinged with relief as he smiles warmly. I see the weight lift from Grace’s shoulders as she exhales a shaky breath of gratitude.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, her voice a fragile whisper, her eyes brimming with emotion. Grace steps closer to Lorcan, her movements slow and deliberate, like a delicate dance. Standing on her tiptoes, she presses a tender kiss to his cheek, a silent testament to her appreciation, before turning her gaze to Nic.

“Can you place him in the nest with me and the children? I need to take a nap,” Grace requests, her words carrying the weariness of a soul stretched thin. Her eyes flit between our son and my brother, a flicker of exhaustion shadowing her features.

“Of course. We can angle the stretcher and slide him right in with Barrett’s and Conrad’s help,” Nic responds, his smile strained, a reflection of his concern for Grace. I feel a pang of empathy for her, knowing she won’t stray from Ethan’s side until he awakens.

I watch as my brother and bond mates stride out of the room, leaving behind a palpable sense of emptiness. Ethan, usually the pillar of strength among us, now sidelined for days. It’s a heavy realization, one that settles like a lead weight in the pit of my stomach, casting a shadow over the room.

“Griffin?” Lorcan’s voice cuts through my swirling thoughts, drawing me back to the present moment.

“Yeah?” I pivot slowly to face my old friend, meeting his gaze with a mix of weariness and understanding.

“Can you explain how your family works? I don’t wish to overstep or cause issues.” There’s a hint of uncertainty in his tone, a flicker of apprehension that I recognize all too well. He’s navigating unfamiliar territory, a beta in a sea of alphas that comprise Grace’s family.

“Of course. Let’s head to the kitchen and chat over some coffee.” I reach out, guiding Lorcan with a reassuring hand on his shoulder as we navigate the narrow hallway.

Entering the kitchen, the aroma of dinner in the making envelops us, a comforting embrace amidst the tension. My mom is already bustling about, a familiar sight that brings a small sense of normalcy to the situation.

“Mom, could we have some coffee?” I inquire, ushering Lorcan to a seat at the worn wooden table.

“Of course, honey. With or without whiskey?” Her smile holds a hint of mischief, a silent acknowledgment of the weighty conversation about to unfold.

“With, please, Mom. Just give us the bottle,” I respond with a wry raise of my eyebrows, and she acquiesces with a knowing nod.

I set the whiskey-laced coffee in front of Lorcan, watching the amber liquid swirl into the dark brew. The aroma mixes with the rich scent of the brewing coffee, filling the air with a comforting warmth. As I pour my own cup, the steam dances around me, enveloping me in a cocoon of familiarity.

“What would you like to know?” I may as well let him lead the conversation, since I have no idea what he needs to understand. Taking a moment to relish the ritual, I sink into my chair, feeling its familiar contours beneath me. The first sip of the concoction dances across my tongue, sending a shiver down my spine. The bitterness of the coffee mingles with the smoky sweetness of the whiskey, a perfect harmony of flavors.

Breathing in deeply, he lowers his head for a moment. “Other than being a healer, I am not an asset to the family. As everyone already knows, I’ve been blind since birth.” He arches a brow and looks up at me. “At best, I can make out faint outlines and that’s it.” Lorcan’s words hang heavy in the air, mingling with the scent of the coffee. His vulnerability pierces through the calm, raw and unfiltered. I reach out, my hand finding his, offering what little comfort I can muster. The rough texture of his skin beneath my touch speaks volumes, a testament to his strength and resilience.

“None of that matters to Grace,” I reassure him, my voice soft yet firm. But his growl betrays the depth of his struggle, the weight of his perceived inadequacies pressing down on him like a heavy burden.

“It should. I can’t provide for her or protect her in any capacity,” he counters, his voice tinged with bitterness. His admission hangs in the air, a stark reminder of the demons he battles daily. But there’s a hint of defiance in his tone, a flicker of determination amidst the despair.

I watch as he raises the mug to his lips, the porcelain clinking softly against his trembling hand. The liquid disappears in a single gulp, swallowed down like a bitter pill. His laughter cuts through the silence, sharp and jagged, echoing off the walls of the room.

“I was ready to be a hermit living on the edge of a Loch for the rest of my days. No one should be burdened with me,” he confesses, his words heavy with resignation. The image of him alone by the edge of a Loch paints a vivid picture in my mind, a solitary figure lost in the vast expanse of the wilderness.

I top off his mug with a careful blend of coffee and whiskey, the rich aroma mingling with the warmth of the room. “You know the moon goddess doesn’t do anything half-assed,” I murmur, my gaze drifting to the flickering candlelight casting shadows across his face.

“There’s a reason she gave you Grace,” I continue, my fingers gently squeezing his forearm in a silent gesture of reassurance. “Just like there’s a reason she added Nic to our family.” I offer him a small smile, hoping to convey the depth of my conviction.

Lorcan chuckles, his eyes dancing with a mix of amusement and understanding. “Four alphas, an omega, and a broken beta,” he muses, the corners of his lips quirking up in a half-smile. “It almost sounds like the start of either a terrible joke or a movie on Pawhub.”

“It’s more like a giant comedy of errors around here,” I admit, my voice tinged with a hint of wry amusement. “Ethan is Grace’s sire, for lack of a better term, since his wolf is the one that changed her.” I take a moment to swirl my drink in my mug, the liquid sloshing softly against the sides. “Barrett is her second favorite, most of the time, to be honest.” I pause, a soft chuckle escaping me. “Then again, they joke about being sister wives all the time, since Barrett is bonded to my brothers and me as well.” As I delve into the intricacies of our family dynamics, a sense of peace washes over me, like finally finding the missing piece to a complicated puzzle.

“I can understand that. The way he was talking about his relationship with Grace, he feels as if he’s her equal. That’s unheard of for an Omega to be given that level of respect in a pack. Most are just used and abused and tossed aside.” I nod, my mind flooded with images of Lorcan’s words, each one painting a vivid picture of the injustice endured by omegas. Lorcan’s voice carries a weight of bitterness, his eyes reflecting the pain of countless tales of abuse.

“But Grace... she’s different,” I interject, a swell of pride swelling within me as I speak of her. “She’s not just a leader; she’s a protector. A guardian of those who have long been forgotten or mistreated.”

The memory of Grace’s fierce determination flashes before me, her unwavering resolve in the face of injustice. “Grace would never allow such cruelty to persist under her watch,” I declare, my voice brimming with certainty.

Lorcan’s demeanor shifts, his usual lightheartedness replaced by a solemn acknowledgment. “Yeah,” he murmurs, a hint of admiration tingeing his words. “Grace doesn’t mess around when it comes to protecting her own from what I’m told.”

I offer a small smile, a ripple of amusement coursing through me at the memory of Grace’s fierce retribution. “Remember what Barrett said she did to his stepfather?” I remark, a chuckle escaping me despite the seriousness of the topic. “That bastard had it coming for years.”

Lorcan’s laughter echoes mine, a shared understanding passing between us. “True,” he concedes, his expression softening with genuine appreciation. “Having Grace as our mate definitely has its perks.”

I nod in agreement, though a pang of sympathy tugs at my heart for Grace, burdened with a power she never sought. “It’s not easy for her, you know,” I murmur, my gaze drifting to the horizon as if searching for her silhouette against the fading light. “The weight of that legacy... it’s a heavy burden to bear.” But even as I speak, I know Grace carries it with grace and strength, a beacon of hope in a world too often clouded by darkness.