Chapter 21

Peter

"Youth is wasted on the young. What does it mean when responsibility knocks before you've fully grown up?" ~ Peter

I'm only twenty-three. I labor under pangs of guilt, based on a deep gnawing sensation that I've heard my mate's call before my older brother Frank. Frank should have been first. It is his rite of passage as the firstborn male.

It took all my willpower to wait for my family to plan the journey to her home instead of running ahead, driven by an instinctive pull that vibrated within my bones.

Once I arrived and discovered a powerful witch kept her from me, I again buried all my emotions. Something I never do. I kept everything locked up tight in fear that I might do something I could never take back.

My frustrations simmer beneath my calm exterior, and I want to tear the mountains around me apart with my bare hands.

I gave in one evening, knocking a couple of trees down with Takis and Markos. Their shared rage, a cathartic release.

When Damian sent us to the store, the others put me in charge of toys. I bought balls, dolls, stuffed animals, crayons and coloring books, trucks, trains—anything that looked simple and fun. I meticulously selected each item, imagining what might bring a smile to my mate's face or a child's, if she has one.

Now, standing on the threshold, I finally have permission to go inside and meet her. My heart races, anticipation and anxiety swirl within me.

What's her name? Is she a mother like most of them? Am I ready to be a father at twenty-three? Can I be what they deserve? The questions bombard me, each one heavier than the last.

I stop for a moment and take a deep breath, my hand resting on the cave walls.

What will I do if she demands I must leave after seeing her? The thought is almost too painful to bear, but I push it aside. I know I must be strong for her, whoever she is, and for any children she might have.

The cave ends, and the center of the labyrinth comes into view. I step inside, my vision scanning the area.

The atmosphere is tense, filled with layers of curiosity and caution.

I'm surrounded by the other men eager to get a glimpse of their mate. We've bonded in the short time together over our mutual plight. While I pray each of them gets a happily ever after, my focus isn't on the outcome of them seeing their mates for the first time.

I see her standing outside of a tent, a woman with a kind yet wary expression. The wind carries her scent in my direction. An aroma so powerful it nearly sends me to my knees. Her natural scent is intoxicating, yet it's mingled with fear, unlike anyone else in this place.

I immediately recognize her relation to Cill and Shay, but brush it aside.

My look meets hers for the first time, and I'm immediately struck by her unusual appearance. Her jet-black hair falls loosely around her face. Contrasting with her pale skin. Her irises are a mesmerizing violet, so vivid and unreal that they seemed almost like contact lenses, although they aren't. She stands at an average height, her frame thin and frail, a result of obvious malnutrition. Her pouty lips and high cheekbones accentuate her beauty, despite the hardships.

Standing beside her is a small child of maybe four or five, who looks like me. The sight takes my breath away.

Based on how young she looks, she had to have been sixteen or seventeen when she gave birth to him.

The boy pulls away from his mother and runs toward me with a smile on his face. I drop my bags in the dirt. I fall to my knees when he stops in front of me.

"Hello," I say softly, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside me. "I'm Peter."

The boy's grin grows wider. "Your skin is the same color as mine." He boasts proudly while pressing his forearm against mine. Did he respond to Frank in the same manner? I shove my jealousy down. This child doesn't need to experience my resentment that he saw my brother first.

His mother approaches with caution. The stink of fear growing stronger. She looks at me; her gaze piercing yet gentle. She hides her true feelings well. "I'm Violet," she replies, her timbre firm but with a hint of vulnerability. Her name matches her eyes. "And this is my son, Alexander."

My heart swells with joy and relief. I stand up and reach inside one bag to pull out a toy train. Alexander's face lights up, and he reaches out with a small, tentative hand.

"What is it?" he questions while spinning the wheel with his tiny hand.

"It's a toy. A toy train. They have big ones outside of this place that you can sit in and ride across the whole country."

"What do I do with it?" He looks at me with wonder in his chocolate orbs.

"May I show you?" I hold my hand out for him. He places the train back in it. I crouch toward the ground and wheel it back and forth on the ground. "Like this. It helps pass the time when you get bored."

"May I try it?"

I place it back in his grasp. He plops down in the dirt and gives it a spin.

Violet watches, and her expression softens. "Thank you," she whispers. The words carry a weight of unspoken gratitude.

With the amount of trepidation oozing from her well-guarded persona, the way to her heart surely will involve my devotion to Alexander.

I stand, meeting her gaze. "I just want to help, however I can," I say earnestly. "If you want me to leave after this, I will. But I pray I can stay and prove myself to you and Alexander."

Her head tilts. "How did you know it was me?"

"The same way you did, and Alexander did. I felt it in here." I point to my heart.

Violet nods slowly. Dare I wish for a flicker of trust to form? "I'm not making any promises," she announces, her voice gentle but resolute.

I smile, feeling a sense of purpose and connection. I know the road ahead will be challenging, but I'm ready to face it with unwavering determination.

I have two people to fight for, and I'm pretty sure Alexander is already on my side.