Her Lion Guard - The Complete Series Box Set (BBW Shifter Romance) (25 page)

So far, it had only involved various arrangements of lettuce and beans and a great deal of wine. Joel might be a Shifter, but she was pretty sure a bottle and a half of Merlot in under an hour would go to anyone’s head.

All in all, Mary-Lou was having her doubts about this so-called “alliance” before it had even begun.

“Nonsense,” Joel scoffed, disregarding Mary-Lou’s words with a casual wave of a long-fingered hand. “Tonight is to be enjoyed! Besides, I do not do business outside of my office, and especially not when I am covered in soot and ash.” Joel winked in Mary-Lou’s general direction, then raised his once-again empty cup. A waiter appeared at his elbow immediately, almost tripping over his coattails in his haste to refill the Prince’s glass. Joel did not so much as glance at the man.

Mary-Lou was really, really not liking this.

“In that case, we thank you for a rare evening of peace.”

Mary-Lou cut her gaze at Irma, biting back decidedly more cutting words. Irma was smiling, but her eyes were cold and focused; Mary-Lou took her mother’s forced politeness as the warning that it was and subsided in her chair.

“So, Joel,” Mary-Lou said, just barely catching a sigh of exasperation, “Tell me what it is like to be a Prince among supernatural beings.”

Joel laughed and launched into a story with as many turns as the number of glasses of alcohol he had consumed.

Later, in the safety of Sasha’s no longer shiny car and far away from the remote restaurant to which Joel had led them, Mary-Lou finally allowed herself to ask the question that had been plaguing her since meeting the man:

“Who the hell is that guy, and what is his deal?”

Jonas glanced at the front seat. Irma remained silent, eyes on the darkness that surrounded the speeding car even as her thoughts wandered far away. The Tigress obviously had something to say on the subject – there was no other reason for her to travel with them instead of Jonathon in their car – but the time had not yet come. Jonas turned his attention back to Mary-Lou.

“Joel Harrington,” he began, “is the heir of the last surviving royal Shifter family in North America. He made quite the headlines in his youth: A spoiled rich boy, always in some scandal or another. A heartless playboy. A lousy drunk.” Jonas smiled grimly, “The death of a great line.”

“Definitely not a social-movement type of guy,”  Mary-Lou surmised.

“Not at all.” Jonas frowned, correcting himself.. “At least, not until his parents passed away two years ago. Since then, he has been seen at various New Order events. Rumors about his supporting a change in the current system have been circulating for a while now.”

“You don’t believe them,” Mary-Lou guessed. Jonas shook his head, lips set in a hard line.

“Why?” Mary-Lou wondered.

“Because it makes no sense! Why would he of all people – a man with no skills and no prospects if stripped of his status – support a movement meant to quite literally dethrone him?” Jonas shook his head again, deflating slightly in the face of Mary-Lou’s baffled gaze. “It just – it just makes no sense.”

“You seem very passionate about the topic,” Irma observed, voice calm and detached. She did not look at the Lion Shifter as she addressed him, eyes still as  peaceful as they regarded her own reflection in the passenger’s window. “About Joel. Are you being completely fair, Jonas? Or are you letting the past cloud your judgment of the present?”

“The past?” Jonas laughed; a low, sad sound that made something tighten in Mary-Lou’s chest. “What happened – what that bastard
did
…” Jonas lowered his head, the last of his words a mere growl, “I will
never
forgive him for that, Irma. Don’t ask it of me.”

“I am not.” Now  Irma turned in her seat, focused sharp brown eyes on Jonas and her daughter both. In the driver’s seat, Sasha remained quiet. “I am, however, asking you to share your pain with your pack.”

Mary-Lou laid her hands against her mate’s arm, offering silent comfort. She did not wish to pressure Jonas into anything – especially not something that would hurt him, tear at wounds that were obviously far from healed. Mary-Lou had long wondered about Jonas’ past, about his relationship with Wiley; that knowledge was but her right, given the ease with which Wiley manipulated Jonas and the often-painful consequences the Wolf’s unchecked actions had for her. Furthermore, Mary-Lou firmly believed that holding onto anger, onto pain, was not healthy – that given enough time, such things could rot a person from the inside out. She did not wish to see Jonas become bitter, hateful, unhappy – Wiley, in other words. 

Still, it was Jonas’ story to tell. Mary-Lou would not ask this of him, not if he was not ready to give it.

Jonas felt Mary-Lou’s love and respect through their bond, her warmth against him. This was real – not the past, not the ghosts that haunted him to this day.

Hesitantly, Jonas nodded his head. “When we return home,” the Lion Shifter rasped.

Mary-Lou leaned fully against him. After a moment of hesitation, Jonas enveloped her in his arms and pressed her close to his chest.

Nothing more was said for a while.

Sasha curved the car into the familiar parking spot in front of their building. He killed the engine brusquely, movements uncoordinated and jerky. Mary-Lou narrowed her eyes at her wristwatch, wincing to see one small hand point at a roman two. It was past two in the morning, and they had been up since before sunrise. It was a wonder Sasha had not crashed the car.

Jonathon pulled in beside them a moment later. Cara stumbled out of the passenger seat, swaying slightly on unsteady legs. Katy and Jenna came out next, the two leaning against each other as they made their way up the front steps and into the house proper.

“I am making coffee,” Mary-Lou announced. The human woman smiled at the resulting chorus of exhausted thank-yous, watching the rest of the pack sprawled over every cushioned surface available in the small living room. When Mary-Lou headed for the kitchen, she was not too surprised to hear a set of heavy footsteps in her wake.

“Espresso or Joe?” she wondered aloud; after a moment’s hesitation, Mary-Lou plugged in the regular coffee maker. She preferred espresso, but it was a bit late for that much caffeine. “Would you grab the coffee mugs?” Mary-Lou asked Jonas over the sound of running water; even with the grand-sized glass pitcher, it would take at least two batches before everyone had a cup.

Jonas did so without a word. Soon, eight mismatched ceramic mugs lined the table; for several moments after that, the only sound in the room was the quiet buzzing of the coffee maker.

Jonas did not speak until the final cup was filled with thin, dark liquid and placed on a large wooden tray. Then, he stayed Mary-Lou’s hands – caught them in his and tugged gently, grabbing his mate’s attention and arresting the movements of her body. Mary-Lou went willingly, curious green eyes focusing on a flickering blue gaze. Jonas could not look at her, she realized – could not quite hold her eyes. She bit her tongue against a question, waiting for her mate to speak.

“I did not want to keep it from you.”
Jonas’ voice was barely audible over the voices coming from the living room, over the rumble of the fridge and the buzzing of the forgotten coffee maker. “I am sorry.”

Mary-Lou swallowed, voice stuck somewhere painful. “No need,” she offered, the words heavy and bumbling and much too little in the face of Jonas’ uncertainty.

After a moment, Jonas nodded and released her. He took the tray off the table, balancing the heavy load with effortless elegance. Mary-Lou held the door open for him, trailed behind his large body and wondered how much more pain Jonas would be made to feel before the night was over.

Once everyone had a cup of coffee to cradle,  Jonas had lowered himself on the floor and Mary-Lou sat beside him. There was nothing else to do but talk.

Jonas did not keep them waiting.

“I come from a large family,” he began. His voice was clear, steady, but his eyes betrayed him – a glassy, wavering blue that saw through them all, to a time long gone. Mary-Lou listened, and felt her heart break a little more with each passing moment.

Jonas came from a large, loving family – picture-perfect, childish memories untarnished by time and knowledge. There were four children, two boys and twin girls, and seven cousins from an assortment of aunts and uncles. Jonas remembered his grandmother, his grandfather’s wrinkled smile – remembered his mother’s arms and his father’s bellowing laugh, the piercing cries of his sisters and gentle voice of his older brother. Jonas had been the baby, the youngest, the smallest of them all.

It was what had saved him, in the end.

Jonas still did not know where they had come from, the men with guns and silver-tipped bullets. One summer night, they just appeared – like ghosts, like ghouls straight out of a nightmare. They overran the house, surrounded the backyard where the family had gathered for a late night picnic and—just—

“They were too quick,” Jonas gasped, muscled body hunched in on itself – a phantom of a child huddling in the dark, too scared to run or raise his voice for help, “Too many. The adults did not know whether to shield the children or fight. In the end, it didn’t matter.” Jonas took a gulp of air, leaning ever so slightly to Mary-Lou’s side. No one said a word.

“Father threw me in the well, while they were not looking,” Jonas laughed – a strange, hacking sound. “I broke my hand, and my ankle on the way down, but I survived. The only one. They set fire to the house, when they were done – to the farm, the gardens, to my family and their comrade’s fallen bodies. Everything burned. The smell,” Jonas’ chest heaved, “I wanted to die. There was a rock, a small protrusion along the well’s wall. I held onto that to stay above the water, and wished that I was brave enough to let go.

Hours passed before the police came. By then, there was nothing to be found, nothing to do except hose down the fire and collect unrecognizable lumps of flesh. I didn’t dare call out – I didn’t want them to find me. I didn’t trust them, didn’t think I would trust anyone ever again,” Jonas smiled, a thin, wry thing. “Of course, I then went and put my entire belief in someone completely untrustworthy.”

“Wiley,” Mary-Lou blurted out. Jonas shook his head at her silent apology, not minding the intrusion – not seeing his mate’s presence as such. “Yes,” he said.

“Wiley –
Will
– found me a couple hours later. His family owned the farm down the road. They had,” Jonas swallowed, “They had gotten to them first. Will lived with his mother and little brother, Harry. After his father’s passing, he was the only male alpha in the family. It— their loss hit him hard. Broke him. I could see it, the change, the moment he pulled me out of that well. Will was the most stubbornly kind person you would’ve ever met, once upon a time. After,” Jonas closed his eyes, “After, even his smile was wrong.

But at the time, I didn’t – couldn’t care about that. Will was the only person I knew, the only person who knew
me
. That was enough. He promised to take care of me, if I stuck with him. Told me that he would make everything right one day.

I wonder,” Jonas whispered, “if that is what he thinks he is doing now.”

“And Joel?” Irma’s voice was thin, brittle with barely concealed pain. She would not disrespect Jonas by offering him pity, Mary-Lou knew, even as she could not help but pity the golden-haired man.

Jonas remained silent for a moment longer, collecting his thoughts. He was still reluctant to share, wished to tell only as much as needed. Knew that if he let himself, he would talk for hours – drown in his own miserable words. He began anew, words a bit faster, tone a bit more hurried.

“For a while, it was only the two of us. We survived by scavenging around the countryside, by fishing and hunting small game. It was awful; I don’t remember most of that first year. But we survived – the winter, the snow, all of it – and the following spring, Wiley decided to move us to the city. A city – not this one, it is not important where,” Jonas shook his head, as if dispelling a bad dream.

There,   Wiley – he made a pack, of sorts. A group of lost kids – just two or three at a time, nothing permanent, nothing big. He was twelve at the time, and couldn’t do more if he tried. But how he tried.” Jonas smiled, a bit ruefully,  then let the meager joy of those memories disintegrate in a long sigh. “There were a lot of orphaned Shifters back then. Families were lost to disease or accident, but a number of them – several of the kids that we found – they had stories just like ours.”