Chapter 6 - Robyn

Things weren't easy, like Sunday morning when I jumped out of bed in a cold sweat. Half the blanket clung to my body—and when I inspected my feet on the soft carpet, I noticed half my socks were off. Strange. I never thrashed around in my sleep. I must have had a nightmare or something.

A few quiet minutes went by as I breathed in and out, trying not to think, trying to get myself back to the waking world. Images flashed in my mind. The cliff, the tall brush on either side that opened to two individual paths, and then the tiny cluster of rocks at my feet that kicked up when I walked.

I touched my lips. Cliff kissed me last night. He actually kissed me in the kitchen for the first time in three, almost four years. I peeled the blanket from my body and slowly lowered myself on the bed. More images returned from my dream. And they weren't a nightmare either. They were much worse.

That fool. That jerk.

He looked good in a Christmas sweater. In my mind, at least, it made his long hair look hippie-dippie, and his eyes bristle with more of a greenish hue than their usual hazel-brown. More than that, he looked good as a father, especially to Sydney. Each scene that returned to my memory of what I had dreamed was infinitely better than the last, taking us from a merry Christmas into an elegant New Year and a celebratory summer bonfire.

Those were things I had been wanting for years.

No wonder I was sweating.

"You're making a mess," came a voice from downstairs. "Alright, easy now."

I cleared my throat and hopped out of bed, losing my socks on the way to the doorway. I drifted toward the staircase, peering down at a small square of carpet.

"Mommy will love this."

Warmth swirled in my chest as I descended the stairs slowly, repeatedly pushing my hair behind my ears as I brushed it out with my fingers. I fixed my nightshirt, made of the softest cotton known to this dimension, which had a giant picture of a coffee cup with the phrase Mean Mug written in whacky, bubbly letters. The pink shirt fell to my knees, but one side was stuck on my underwear, revealing my right leg and part of my floral panties.

I tugged the nightshirt down, smoothed my hands down the front, and fixed my hair again. At the bottom of the steps, I took a steadying breath. Look like you just woke up . I squared my shoulders and shook out my hair. I mean, I did just wake up. I mean, I probably didn't need to brush my hair, but—

Something thick and heavy thwacked the ground. "Uh oh."

I darted into the kitchen to find Sydney and Cliff hovering near the stove with matching expressions of sorrow. On the ground next to them was a giant bag of flour. Dusty white clouds clung to the air, dissipating as the mess settled on the tile floor. I stared at it for a while, trying to summon my usual reaction to a Sydney Mess.

My mouth opened and closed silently like I was a fish trapped in a sardine can. Cliff turned authoritatively to Sydney, who was standing on a stepping stool that she often used to reach the sink. She loved helping me with the dishes. By the soapy suds piled around the metal sink and the tiled ground below it, I guessed she attempted to do the dishes by herself.

Cliff cleared his throat. "Uh, Sydney, that was clumsy. I mean, that was naughty." He glanced hesitantly at me. "And uh, go get the broom?"

The awkward expression on his face split into a silly grin. I exploded with laughter. The more I laughed, the more I hugged my stomach, the more I bent into myself as I tried to get my giggling fit under control. Nothing was funnier than stumbling across Cliff, of all fuckboys in this world, trying with all his might to be a ferocious father . His tone was too playful. His countenance was uncertain. His pose mimicked what a disappointed parent might do but didn't seem genuine.

I pointed at him. "You have no idea what you're doing ."

Cliff's brows furrowed while he tried to keep his smile. "What?"

"That was straight out of a sitcom."

"Robyn, if you keep laughing like that, you're going to split your sides."

I wheezed, coughed, snorted, and then wheezed again as I tried to get my laughter under control. Sydney chuckled hysterically along with me; her chubby cheeks reddened with amusement as she hobbled into the living room to get the broom out of the hall closet. She returned with the giant broom clutched to her chest sideways with the dustpan on her head.

Now, Cliff was roaring with laughter. Sydney beamed at us, totally satisfied with her performance. She waddled over to Cliff, handed him the broom with the dustpan, and stepped aside to watch him scoop up the mess. Helpful as she was, she kept kicking small mounds of the flour around the kitchen, causing Cliff to stumble after her with the dustpan to catch every last cloud.

I leaned against the kitchen table and watched the two rugrats scuddle around the kitchen like lost ducks. Sydney chirped while pointing out another flour mess, and then she shuffled right through to point out another one, creating yet a bigger mess for Cliff to collect. Ten minutes later, I was brewing coffee while Sydney set napkins on the table. Tiny granules of flour stuck to my toes, but I didn't mind it. I didn't care.

What I had witnessed was far too adorable to get mad over a little spilled flour.

As I started whipping up some biscuits, Cliff went to the kitchen doorway. "Sydney, can you help me get some flowers from the yard?"

"Yes, Sir!"

Sydney dropped a fork and hobbled after Cliff without saying a word to me. I peeked around the corner of the doorway, watching my ex-boyfriend take his daughter-who-he-didn't-know-was-his-daughter onto the porch. I slid back into the kitchen to go to the sink, where the kitchen window revealed the patio. Cliff guided Sydney into the perfectly mowed yard to the flowerbed where a medley of peonies was growing.

After collecting a fistful, she grabbed Cliff's hand and dragged him inside, presenting the bouquet to me. "Here, Mama!"

Even though I had watched her pick the flowers, I still acted surprised as I accepted them. "Why, these are lovely, sweetheart. Can you help me get them into some water?"

"Sure thing!"

Cliff scooped Sydney into his arms so she could reach the faucet. With his help, she turned on the cold water and then pulled her arms inward so I could use the sink. I filled a vase about halfway, grabbed a packet of flower food I kept under the sink, and opened it.

I handed the packet to Sydney. "Careful you don't spill—"

" Hyah! " Sydney tipped the whole bag over and dropped specks of flower food all over the sink. Maybe an ounce made it into the vase.

Cliff tipped his head back and laughed. "Close enough!"

"Yeah," I agreed to my surprise, "good job, Sydney."

My daughter kicked her legs excitedly. She must have socked Cliff in the hip and stomach about a dozen times without him minding in the least. I set the peonies in the vase and carried it to the table, where I set them in the center. Sydney kicked her way to the ground, sliding out of Cliff's arms like she did this all the time. Her instant comfort with him made me reconsider his mate offer.

I chuckled internally while returning to the biscuits. He made a demand, not an offer.

The oven beeped. I popped the biscuits inside and went to grab a cup of coffee. Cliff joined me as he twirled Sydney around in circles.

I sighed. "I need that energy bottled and around my neck at all times."

"Tell me about it."

I smiled shyly as I stared down at my toes. "You didn't have to do the biscuit dough or anything."

"I know. But Sydney is insistent." He beamed in my direction. "Reminds me of someone beautiful I know."

"Shut up."

Sydney gasped, halting in the middle of an elegant spin. "Mama, that's a bad word!"

I covered my mouth regretfully. "Oops, sorry."

"Not to me." She pointed at Cliff. "Say sorry to Quiff ."

I snorted and then tried my best to hold back more laughter as my daughter gave me an exaggerated expression of irritation. Just when I was about to turn to Cliff and give him an apology, befitting the standards of my adorable child, I heard a knock at the door.

I glanced at the clock. Shit, I forgot Alpha Bill was coming over .

Terror twitched in my core when I heard another knock, and then the hinges of the door squeaking open. I stiffened. Had we left the door unlocked last night?

"Robyn?" Bill called. His voice was flat, dull. "I see a car outside that isn't yours. Everything okay in here?"

Hard footsteps rumbled on the porch made by heavy-duty boots. What a fantastic Sunday morning with my Alpha and his lackeys walking into my home like they lived here. Because it wasn't like I didn't have enough problems happening all at once.

I crossed my arms over my chest while Sydney slid into her booster seat at the table. She wasn't fond of Bill—and I didn't blame her one bit for that. "I'm in here, Alpha. Yes, I'm okay. I have a…" I nipped my lower lip. "I just have a guest."

The lackeys were first to appear: Larry, Curly, and Moe. Each one of them was ruggedly built with broad shoulders, rippling muscles, and mean expressions. Larry had tawny beige skin with short brown hair, while Curly and Moe shared a similar reddish-clay tan that made them look sunburnt all the time. The only difference between Curly and Moe that was truly distinct was that Curly had curly blond hair while Moe had reddish-brown braids.

And then there was Bill. Though his face was mildly weathered from age, he was immensely tall with a slim, athletic build and graying brown hair shaved in a fade that stayed moderately short at the top. His alabaster skin hosted silver undertones that made him look almost ghostly. The left side of his face was dimpled around his cheek from a burn scar. He rubbed it idly and then splashed a smile into the room as his piercing green eyes inked over with black.

"Good morning, friends," he greeted. He did a double-take at Cliff. "Well, we haven't seen you around these parts since I told you to stay away."

Cliff puffed up. "Actually, I'm glad to see you this morning, Sir."

Bill looked pleasantly surprised by the professional way Cliff had just addressed him. "I see someone was sent to boarding school."

"My Alpha, Hector Shaw, sends his regards on behalf of the Silverfang Creeks' previous Alpha, Adrian Lott."

Pale as he was, Bill turned pink in the cheeks with amusement. His clean-shaven face was sporting the worst smile yet. I didn't want to look at him, but I knew ignoring him would be considered a social slight. Our Alpha had an unpredictable wrath, and Sydney was already scared enough.

Cliff breathed deeply like he was going to square up but then took a knee. "I humbly request your audience to ask for Robyn's hand as my wife—and my mate."

The three Muscleheads behind Bill traded curious glances. I thought I saw one of them smirk, but that had to be a trick of the light because Bill never allowed people around him to have emotions. Anything less than furious domination wasn't acceptable. That was when I noticed the way their eyes danced with inky black threads made of wispy silk.

Oh, no, I thought with horror. Not them, too.

Bill stepped toward Cliff, who was still prostrating himself. Though Bill carried an air of sophistication, I could see the typical clumsiness of possession in him. His upper lip curled, making his voice sound like it had a heavier drawl. His limp was subtle but obvious for someone who knew he never sprained his ankle in his life. There were black eyes, of course, which happened in every possession, but a lot of individual possessions had tell-tale signs, too, like the ones with Bill.

"You think I can forget how dirty you did us?" Bill asked. "No, I can't forgive you. I won't hear another word."

The moment I opened my mouth, Bill was at my throat, holding my shoulders tightly with a sinister smirk on his face. Mischief flashed in his eyes. On him, that looked dreadful. "Where are you going, Darling?"

"I just think you should hear him out."

"I'm not hearing a damn word about an Alpha who doesn't care," he said without losing his smile—but the sharpness of his voice made me flinch. "Clifton isn't welcome here. He's not allowed to see you. Understand?"

I started to speak when I heard Cliff get to his feet. He clapped his hands together as though he were shaking off dust—or maybe it was flour. "I'll leave. We'll talk later, Robyn."

Bill turned to face Cliff without leaving my side. He stayed close enough for me to feel the heat wavering off the surface of his skin without touching me. That was another sign of our Alpha being possessed. He constantly had a fever even though he didn't look sick.

"Sure," I managed to say. "Here, take my number…"

After trading contact information, I walked Cliff to the door. Sydney came with us, clutching my hand as we stood in the doorway and waved at Cliff.

"Mommy, is the funny man coming back?" she asked me in a low voice.

I caught Bill's ominous glare with his black eyes glossed over like onyx stones.

I gulped. "No—" I forced a smile, "—but we can always go to him."