19. Griffin

Chapter 19

Griffin

-Angry Again- Megadeth-

Almost 2 months later…

Until this past month, the resemblance between my brother Ethan and me never struck me as profound. But now, as Grace meticulously styles our hair to match, I can’t help but notice how uncannily alike we appear. Even Conrad, our younger brother, has taken to wanting his hair cut like mine, hoping to blur the lines further.

Grace has gone to great lengths, purchasing a special line of Omega scent-killing soap for us to use, all in an effort to mask our individual scents. She’s determined to ensure that from a distance, even someone as discerning as Conrad might mistake one of us for the other.

Mom’s warm smile reflects both pride and amusement as she steps back to admire her handiwork. With a gentle touch, she perfects the last details, making sure that every strand of our hair falls just so. Standing before her, Ethan, Conrad, and I are like mirror images, with only slight variations in build distinguishing us from one another.

Her words linger in the air, spoken with a mixture of maternal affection and a touch of marvel. “If I wasn’t your mother, I would have a hard time telling the three of you apart just by looking into your eyes.” Other than Conrad being lighter built than Ethan and me, the similarities are almost eerie.

Mom’s warm presence envelops me as she leans in close, her nose brushing against Grace’s throat, a soft smile playing on her lips. “Your heat is almost here,” she murmurs, her words carrying both excitement and trepidation. The anticipation of what’s coming sends shivers down my spine.

Grace meets my gaze, then nods, her resolve shining through. “It’s time,” she declares, her bravery clear as she prepares to act as bait for her dangerous ex and the missing elder.

Now it’s my turn. Mom guides me to a chair, her touch steady and reassuring. We had planned this last night—to shave my head and assume the role of Ethan, venturing beyond pack lands. The low buzz of the clippers fills the air, setting my nerves on edge as Mom approaches with them. The initial contact against my scalp nearly startles me, but I steel myself, knowing the importance of this disguise.

Ethan and Grace draw nearer, my brother holding a straight razor he typically uses on his own head. “My cut and a long-sleeved shirt are laid out on the bed, the ones I wore before the shower,” Ethan reminds me, his voice steady and reassuring. “And don’t forget your jeans, boots, rings, and fingerless gloves—all essential for maintaining the illusion.”

As each lock of hair falls to the ground, I can sense Grace struggling to contain her emotions. The challenge now is to pull off a convincing farewell between Ethan and Grace. Thankfully, our bond allows my brother to guide me through the motions, ensuring that our performance is flawless.

As soon as Mom finishes with the clippers, Ethan steps forward, holding the straight razor with a determined grip. “In some sense, I feel this is unnecessary,” he remarks, his voice steady but tinged with an underlying tension. “But then again, we don’t know who in our pack may be leaking information to the rogues.”

I watch him closely as he speaks, noticing the subtle signs of strain that he tries to conceal. There’s a faint twitch in the corner of his right eye, a giveaway to the turmoil he’s grappling with internally.

“You did good hiding the accent,” he continues, his tone attempting nonchalance. “Just think that most of the beings aren’t worth your time speaking to them, and you’ll be able to impersonate me.”

His words draw a smirk from me as I feel the cold steel of the razor gliding over my scalp. My brother’s touch is gentle yet purposeful as he runs the razor over my head, leaving behind smooth skin. I can feel the coolness of the oil he applies, the scent familiar from countless times he’s groomed himself. Ethan’s fingers, skilled and precise, trace the lines of his tattoos onto my skin, each stroke a reflection of his own artistry.

My gaze stays lowered as Ethan works, my attention drawn to the intricate designs taking shape on my neck. Grace’s presence lingers in the air, her essence palpable despite her physical absence. I glance up briefly, catching sight of her standing nearby, her eyes betraying a mix of emotions.

“Grace’s part is perhaps the easiest to portray,” Ethan remarks, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. “She just has to say goodbye to you like she would to me.” His words resonate within me as he continues, his instructions painting a vivid picture of the woman I love. I can almost feel Grace’s presence, her warmth, and intensity enveloping me.

“Grip her like you want to fuck her right then and there,” Ethan urges, his voice low and commanding. “Hold her as if she’s the most precious thing in the world. Demand everything, and give her your soul.”

“He damn near gets me to cum from a kiss.” I steal a glance at Grace, watching as her body reacts to Ethan’s words, her movements betraying the depth of her desire. She’s a force to be reckoned with, capable of stirring emotions I never knew existed.

“How do you handle Grace, brother?” Ethan’s question pulls me back to the present, and I take a moment to gather my thoughts.

“Hold her as if she’s made of glass,” I reply softly, my words carrying the weight of my devotion. “Watch her, anticipate her every breath. Her wish is my command, her happiness my greatest desire.” I meet Grace’s gaze, and in that moment, she is more than just a woman—she is my queen, my beacon of hope and desire made flesh.

Ethan puts the finishing touches on the fake tattoos, and the cool mist of Grace’s makeup setting spray envelops me. “It’s time,” Grace declares, her urgency palpable as she propels me towards the bedroom to change.

I shake my head, feeling a mix of reluctance and resignation as I slide into my brother’s clothes. Each garment I don transforms me further into his likeness. Studying my reflection in the mirror, I’m struck by the uncanny resemblance. Every gesture, every stance, mimics Ethan’s familiar presence. It’s like staring into a distorted mirror, where my identity blurs with his.

As I stand there, dressed in his attire, I grapple with a sudden surge of confusion. In this guise, I feel as though I’m losing myself, slipping into a persona that isn’t entirely mine. The realization hits me like a wave, crashing over me with an unsettling force.

We’ve always been the most identical of the three siblings, but now, dressed like this, the lines between us blur even further. From a distance, I realize, there will be no telling us apart. It’s a disconcerting thought, one that leaves me grappling with an unexpected identity crisis.

“It’s time,” I announce to the group, my voice steady despite the tumult of emotions raging within me. As I zip up the cut, assuming my brother’s place, I catch Grace’s eyes widening, pupils dilating, as she takes in the sight of me cloaked in Ethan’s scent. The leathers carry the weight of years spent riding with his road brothers, a tangible reminder of his absence.

There’s a pang of envy as I notice Grace’s reaction to my brother’s scent embracing me. She looks torn, her emotions flickering across her face like shadows dancing in firelight. With a stiff nod, I motion towards the front door, silently urging her to follow.

My hand finds its place on the small of Grace’s back, a gesture meant to guide and reassure her, though my uncertainty simmers beneath the surface. Stepping through the threshold, we emerge into the yard, the cool breeze a sharp contrast to the tension coiled within us.

Inside, Ethan remains a silent sentinel in the house. It’s a deliberate choice. Grace’s instinct would be to seek solace in the real Ethan’s presence, leaning on him for support. But tonight, she must lean on me, and for that to be convincing, my brother cannot be outside when I depart.

I can feel Grace’s restlessness and unease as we stand on the cusp of what’s to come. She’s grappling with Ethan’s departure, struggling to navigate the emotions she needs to display at my leaving.

Swinging my leg over the bike, I settle onto the seat, surprised by the unexpected comfort of the soft leather beneath me. Grace moves forward, her fingers deftly extracting Ethan’s key from its hidden pocket, a playful gesture as if she’s trying to keep it from me.

In one swift motion, I snatch the key from her grasp, mimicking Ethan’s playful manner by nipping at the air in front of her. A giggle escapes Grace’s lips as she leans in, bestowing a familiar kiss on my nose, a gesture I’ve witnessed between her and Ethan countless times. Instead of verbalizing my farewell, I pull Grace closer, whispering my goodbye into her ear.

“Put your hand up in her hair and grip it before you kiss her. Own her,” Ethan’s voice resonates through the bond.

I follow my brother’s instruction, tangling my fingers in Grace’s hair, asserting dominance as I draw her into a kiss. She responds with a soft whimper, reminiscent of her reactions to Ethan’s affection. Her hands clutch at the fabric of my cut, fists tightening in a silent plea.

Breaking the kiss, I playfully smack her on the rear, prompting her to retreat towards the house where Barrett awaits, holding the door open for her return.

Grace steps onto the porch, and with a swift motion, I kick the bike to life. It roars beneath me, a beast eager to devour the miles ahead, its ferocity echoing in the wind. I understand now why my brother has such an affinity for this machine; its unbridled power is intoxicating, coursing through my veins like a potent elixir.

“Dip your head to Grace and then put on your goggles, then leave.” Ethan’s voice resonates in my mind, a gentle command amidst the thunderous engine.

I dip my head in acknowledgment to Grace, then secure my goggles in place before revving the bike and tearing away from the heart of our pack lands.

As I speed through the town and onto the dirt road, a prickling sensation crawls up my spine, a silent warning of unseen observers. Glancing around, I catch glimpses of unfamiliar wolves lurking in the shadows of the woods, their presence a foreboding omen. Swiftly, I relay their locations to Ethan and Conrad through our telepathic bond, alerting them to the potential threat these interlopers pose.

Grace’s plan suddenly takes on a newfound urgency in my mind. If these wolves are merely scouts, then what they represent is far more perilous. My concern shifts from the immediate danger to what these outsiders might unleash upon our pack.

I can sense Grace’s transformation, her burgeoning power pulsating like a tempest waiting to be unleashed. The ancient texts speak of her potential to become the Wolf of Embers, a force of nature driven by unbridled fury. Such a creature is the stuff of nightmares, a relentless juggernaut impossible to quell once ignited.