12. Lorcan

Chapter 12

Lorcan

-Midnight Sun- North Atlas-

I’ve been back in America for a week now, and it’s been a whirlwind of events. Everywhere I turn, I hear Grace and her bonded mates tirelessly managing the local packs. Despite the chaos, I yearn for a moment with my mate, but each time, she’s summoned to yet another urgent situation.

In my heart, I understand I’m not being rejected, but the feeling of invisibility is becoming harder to bear. Thankfully, Agnes, ever empathetic, guided me out into the garden to find solace on the swing beneath the sweeping branches of the weeping willow tree.

Grace’s garden is a haven of scents; each bloom is more fragrant than the last. The warmth of the American spring envelops me, a stark contrast to the cooler weather I’m accustomed to back home. I can only imagine the intensity of the summer heat yet to come.

The snap of a branch draws my attention, and I turn to listen for whomever is approaching from upwind. “It’s just me,” Grace says, her tone carrying weariness.

“How’s your day been, lass?” I pause my swinging, offering her a space beside me if she desires.

Grace slowly leans her head against the ball of my shoulder, her breath heavy, almost like she’s carrying the weight of the world within her chest. The signs of exhaustion etch themselves deeper into her body as she wraps her arm around mine. She’s holding on as if she’s clinging to the last bit of strength she has.

“It’s a day,” she murmurs, her voice a mixture of resignation and fatigue. I can feel her exhaustion seeping into me, making my own shoulders feel heavier.

“I bet. You have the weight of the world on your shoulders, lass. Plus, you’re the mom of three pups and six men,” I say, trying to inject a touch of levity into the moment. I offer her a gentle smile, hoping to bring even a small spark of light to her.

Grace chuckles softly, but it’s a hollow sound, and she sighs once more. “I never asked for any of this.”

“Any of what, lass?” I ask, laying my hand over hers on my arm, giving it a reassuring pat.

“I never wanted to be Luna. Hell, less than a year ago, I didn’t even know shifters existed. They were merely characters in one of my romance novels I was writing,” she confesses, her voice heavy with the weight of her newfound responsibilities.

“What would you do differently if you didn’t have to manage everything?” I ask, my heart aching to know the burdens she carries, and the desires hidden within her heart.

Grace lifts her head off of my shoulder, and as she does, I feel a tug at my heart, as if her departure creates a void that only her presence can fill. She turns to face me, her eyes searching mine with a mix of vulnerability and determination. I can see the hazy outline of her turned to face me. Her fingers delicately weave through my thick beard, sending a shiver down my spine, while her thumbs caress my cheeks, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

Summoning courage, I mirror her gesture, reaching up to touch her face. Grace doesn’t pull away; instead, she leans into my touch, her skin soft beneath my fingertips. It’s as if a silent understanding passes between us, a language of touch that transcends words.

“Honestly?” Her voice quivers slightly, betraying the weight of her words.

“Honestly...” I offer her a reassuring smile, hoping to ease the burden she carries.

I feel the subtle shifts in her expression beneath my hand, her face becoming a canvas where emotions paint their hues. Now I realize her intention—to let me feel what she feels, to share her world through tactile connection.

“My life before the guys wasn’t the best,” she begins, her voice carrying the weight of memories. I sense the moment she looks away, her head dipping slightly as she retraces the paths of her past. “Coming back to Wolf Creek was the best decision to save my daughter and I. I also got to spend time with my grandmother before she passed.”

Her nod is almost imperceptible, a silent affirmation of her journey. I sense the tension in her as she wrestles with her next words, her inner turmoil palpable in the air between us. Instinctively, I remain silent, offering her the space she needs to unravel the threads of her story.

As Grace speaks about her past, her words carry weight, each syllable laden with the struggles she’s endured. Her eyes flicker with memories, casting shadows and light across her face, painting a portrait of resilience and determination. The garden feels hushed, as if honoring the solemnity of her story.

Her voice, tinged with both sorrow and strength, weaves a tapestry of her journey. I can almost see the scenes she describes, the battles she’s fought etched in the lines of her face, the victories reflected in the inflection of her voice.

“You’re so easy to talk to Lor. Thank you for listening to me.” Grace’s touch is gentle yet firm, a testament to the tenderness she holds within her despite the hardships she’s faced. As she squeezes my cheeks, her fingers convey a warmth that transcends mere physical contact, igniting a sense of comfort and understanding within me.

A smile blooms across her face, broad and genuine, like a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds. I can’t help but mirror her expression, my own lips curving upward in response to her infectious joy.

Her gratitude washes over me like a gentle wave, filling me with a sense of purpose and belonging. “I told you before, anything you need me to be, I will be. I’m not even a beta here.” The weight of responsibility fades into the background, replaced by the simple pleasure of being present in this moment with her.

“You’re more than a beta, Lor. You’re my mate.” Her words hang in the air, heavy with meaning. I feel a rush of emotion, a profound sense of connection that transcends titles and ranks.

“When you’re ready, you tell me.” The air between us crackles with anticipation as she leans in, her breath warm against my skin, sending shivers down my spine. The proximity of her lips to mine is electrifying, a tantalizing promise of what’s to come.

Her touch is both tender and possessive as she settles herself onto my lap, her body fitting against mine as if we were made to be together. I hold her close, savoring the feel of her in my arms, the beat of her heart against mine. Her lips brush against mine in a soft, fleeting kiss, leaving me breathless and wanting more.

“Ready for what?” My mind races with questions, curiosity mingling with desire as I wait to hear what exactly is on her mind.

“To...” But her actions speak louder than words, her intentions clear as she nuzzles my neck, her canines grazing my skin in a silent invitation. I feel a surge of heat pooling in my veins, my pulse quickening with anticipation.

“Oh...” The realization dawns on me, sudden and unexpected. Grace’s forwardness catches me off guard, leaving me momentarily speechless as I grapple with the intensity of her desires.

Griffin’s warning echoes in my mind, a reminder that Grace is not one to shy away from what she wants. And at this moment, it’s clear that what she wants is me.

“Can we go somewhere more private?” I whisper against her skin, inhaling her intoxicating scent, my heart pounding with desire. She smells exquisite, like my favorite cookies during the holidays. I feel the urge to claim her, to mark her as mine with every fiber of my being.

“If that’s what you really want.” Grace’s voice is soft, sending shivers down my spine as she peppers kisses along my neck, her warmth seeping into my skin. Slowly, she slides off my lap, her movements graceful and enticing.

“I’d like our time together to be just for us.” I caress her hair, marveling at its texture as I brush my lips against her cheek, craving every detail of her.

“What color is your hair, Grace? I must know.” My voice is filled with longing, hoping she’ll indulge me despite the shift in her tone.

“Naturally, almost platinum blonde. I was dyeing it magenta for years.” Her response is tinged with a hint of melancholy, dampening the passion that had ignited between us.

“I’m sorry if I have ruined the moment.” Regret floods through me, cursing myself for breaking the spell we were weaving.

“No, it’s okay. You can’t see me to know what I look like.” Her words soothe my wounded pride as she leans into me, her body fitting perfectly against mine. “My eyes are blue like the winter sky after a storm. My skin is close in color to yours. More porcelain then tanned.” A soft laugh dances in her voice, easing the tension between us. “I don’t have your freckles.” Her touch on my nose sends a jolt of electricity through me, grounding me in the moment.

“What do I look like to you?” Risky? Maybe.

“That’s easy. Your hair in the sun looks like the sun set it on fire the way the light makes the shades of red flicker. Your eyes are an emerald green with what looks like almost gold flecks in it.” She holds me tightly as her fingers thread through my beard again. “Your beard is the same color as your hair. Such a beautiful shade of red. This part.” She touches the spot under my bottom lip. “Is a strawberry blonde, so much lighter than the rest of your beard.” She pulls away and gets me to stand up.

“I’m so much shorter than you.” She steps close and presses her forehead between my pecs before pulling back again. “You look like you should be a Viking built for war.” Grace’s words paint a vivid picture of myself that I’ve never quite seen before. Her description brings forth a rush of emotions, a mix of vulnerability and elation swirling within me. It’s like she’s unveiling a version of myself I’ve never fully recognized, laying bare the intricacies of my appearance with such tender detail.

As she speaks, I can almost feel the warmth of the sun in my hair, envisioning the way it dances with shades of red under its golden touch. Her words wrap around me, her touch threading through my beard like delicate brushstrokes, tracing the variations in its color with such intimacy.

When she mentions the spot under my bottom lip, a spot I’ve never paid much attention to, it’s as if she’s discovering a hidden treasure, bringing it to light with her gentle touch. And when she steps back, her gaze lingering on me, I can’t help but feel exposed yet oddly liberated, as if she’s peeled back layers of self-perception I never knew existed.

In her eyes, I am reborn, transformed into something more than just the sum of my parts. Her words breathe life into me, infusing me with a newfound sense of self-awareness and appreciation. For the first time, I see myself through someone else’s eyes, and it’s both humbling and exhilarating.

“Thank you,” I whisper, the words carrying a weight of gratitude I never knew I could feel. It’s a simple phrase, but it holds within it a world of emotion, a testament to the profound impact of Grace’s words.

“For what?” Grace’s voice pulls me back to the present, her hand resting against my chest, a comforting anchor in the whirlwind of emotions raging within me.

“For giving me a glimpse of myself that I had never had before,” I reply, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. In her presence, I feel lighter, as if the weight of self-doubt has been lifted, replaced by a newfound sense of clarity and acceptance.

“I want to try something,” Grace’s voice wavers, uncertainty dripping from each syllable as she tilts her head upward, meeting my gaze with hesitant eyes. The soft light filtering through the window catches the strands of her hair, casting a gentle glow around her delicate features.

“Relax and let me in,” she urges, her voice a reassuring anchor amidst my uncertainty. Her fingers, delicate yet firm, cradle me gently, and I surrender to her touch, allowing the tension to melt away.

“Do it,” my words coax, and I yield completely, a sense of anticipation stirring within me. A faint tingle dances along my spine as her hands guide me, her presence a calming force enveloping me.

“Okay,” she breathes, drawing nearer until her breath caresses my skin, her hands tenderly framing my face. Her touch is gentle, like a whisper against my skin, as her thumbs trace the contours of my eyebrows. “Close your eyes,” she murmurs, her voice a soft melody that I willingly follow, trusting her implicitly.

I comply, obedient to her guidance, and darkness descends, enveloping me in its comforting embrace. Gradually, light filters through, painting my mind’s canvas with vibrant hues, each shade dancing before me in a mesmerizing display.

And then, he appears—a towering figure, his fiery mane casting a warm glow, his presence commanding and powerful. Grace’s words weave through the colors, filling my heart with a sense of warmth and belonging. In her eyes, I am majestic, a force to be reckoned with—a sight to behold.

“Amazing,” I murmur, captivated by the image before me. “Can you do me a favor?” I ask, my curiosity piqued. “Look into the water nearby so I can see you.”

Grace’s gaze shifts, and I follow her lead, my eyes tracing the familiar path through the woods and the garden, the distant sound of the stream growing louder with each step.

“Are you ready?” she inquires, her gaze meeting mine once more, a fleeting glimpse of myself reflected in her eyes before she turns her attention to the stream. And there she stands—a vision of ethereal beauty, her reflection shimmering in the water’s surface.

“You’re stunning,” I breathe, my words tinged with awe as I drink in her beauty. “Even though the word doesn’t do you justice.” A flush of warmth spreads through me at the thought of claiming her as my mate, of basking in her radiance for eternity.