Ally took a step toward him. “I know your instinct is to hunt Rory and eradicate the threat to your mate, but it won’t be that simple. For one thing, he’s your twin.”
“Don’t think that means anything to me right now,” Zander rumbled. “Blood doesn’t make family. Rory isn’t my family. Never was. Gwen—she’s everything. If I have to kill him to keep her safe, that’s what I’ll do.” His wolf was behind him all the way.
“Gwen won’t like to think that you killed your twin for her,” Ally gently pointed out. “She’s the type of person who’d worry that it killed something inside you and that you’ll one day hate her for it.”
“She’s also the type of person who fully understands that sharing someone’s DNA doesn’t have to mean anything.”
Ally inclined her head, conceding that. “While we’re on the subject of Gwen . . . have you decided when you’re going to tell her that you believe she’s your mate?”
He sighed. “I’m working up to it.”
“She’s a lot more relaxed with you now. She seems really happy.”
Bracken slipped his hands in his pockets. “Do you think it will be hard to convince her to leave here and move to pack territory? She works for Yvonne and her soon-to-be brother-in-law, and she keeps a close watch on the whole family. She might feel like moving away would be abandoning them.”
“I worry about that.” Ally paused to swat at a mosquito. “But Marlon and Yvonne will bodily throw her out if it comes to it—they want her happy, and they think Zander can give it to her. I haven’t told them that she’s your true mate, just in case you’re wondering.”
“She’ll join the pack,” said Zander, confident.
Derren tilted his head. “What makes you so sure?”
“She’s full of questions about the pack, our culture, the laws we abide by.” She quizzed Zander daily. “In my opinion, she’s always been fascinated by wolf shifters for a reason—deep down in her soul, she knew she belonged to one. She subconsciously knew she’d be part of a pack one day. She’s ready for it. Hungry for it on some level.”
“He’s right,” said Ally. “When she’s with us, when we’re together as a group, something in her sort of . . . settles. I can’t explain it. But it makes me think that joining our pack won’t be a big problem for her. Leaving her family will be, though. You can’t ignore that, Zander. You have to face it so you can think of the best way to deal with it.”
A cool breeze slid over Zander, bringing with it the scents of wet grass, salty water, and . . . human males. He stiffened. “We have visitors.”
Derren nostrils flared, and then he tensed. “Where’s Gwen?”
“She’s inside the house; she’ll be fine,” said Zander.
Bracken lifted his brows. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Suds splattered on the ground as Gwen scrubbed the side of the truck with the wet sponge. Soapy water pooled at her feet and dotted her legs. Her tank top and denim shorts were wet with soap and water, but the air was so hot and dry that they wouldn’t be damp for long. Her sunglasses protected her eyes from the shards of sunlight that bounced off the wet, clean paint.
Washing her truck was not her favorite pastime, but she’d needed something to do. She was used to new guests arriving at least once a week—used to having rooms to clean, linen to launder, Welcome Hampers to prepare, and people to take on tours around the marsh.
It was strange to have so much time on her hands. Hell, she’d been so bored, she’d even cleaned her own room. Marlon and Yvonne had made it worse by fussing over her. Needing some air and space, she’d turned to her dirty truck.
Having something to do also helped distract her from thoughts of Kenny and the Moores. On the evening of the day she’d met with Kenny, Geena had called to say that he’d seemed very happy after the meeting. He’d supposedly contacted Ezra Moore and instructed him to back off.
So far, his instruction had worked. There had been no more attacks or problems. Gwen wasn’t confident that things would remain so calm, though. Not when the people in question were laws unto themselves.
Zander’s tension hadn’t eased either, but she suspected that was partly due to the lingering threat that Rory presented. She wasn’t worried about that moron because, well, he was a moron. But she could happily shoot him right in the dick for toying with Zander and using her to do so.
It was laughable to be protective of someone who was a gazillion times stronger than she was. If anyone could take care of himself, it was Zander Devlin. He didn’t need her. It was both strange and . . . uplifting to be around someone who didn’t need her to be the strong one.
Hanna, Yvonne, Julie, and Marlon had all used her as a crutch to some extent. Hanna was a lost cause, but Gwen had shaken free of her as a child. The others didn’t need her so much anymore. Julie now had Chase, and Marlon’s inner strength had bloomed once he’d admitted he was gay and stopped forcing himself to be something he wasn’t. Now that Yvonne no longer had her husband browbeating her, she was better too. Oh, she still liked burying her head in the sand, but she didn’t lean so much on Gwen anymore.
Gwen loved her family, had no problem being there for them, but she’d never really realized just how tired she’d been of always being their rock. Not until Zander came along, offering his support, protection, and strength. It had been so tempting to just accept what he offered and let him take the weight of everything, but she’d resisted at first. Really, he’d just seemed too good to be true—definitely too good to be truly interested in someone like her.
She’d given up resisting, and she felt lighter for it. She still thought that a female shifter might suit him better, but who was she to tell another person what was or wasn’t good for them? Or what they did and didn’t want? It was insulting, really. Zander was a full-grown man who had his own mind.
Done scrubbing the window, she swiped her forehead with the back of her hand and then dropped the sponge in the bucket. Iridescent bubbles slithered down the red paint and onto her shoes. Nice. Picking up the hose, she turned it on. Water blasted from it, rinsing the soap from the car and dripping on the ground. It was as she turned off that hose that she heard the chuckles. Familiar, irritating chuckles.
Gwen spun on her heel. Brandt was leaning against Marlon’s car, arms crossed, smirking smugly. He obviously knew about the deal she’d made with his father, and he was here to gloat. Yeah, she’d figured he’d do something stupid sooner or later. He just couldn’t help himself.
Rowan and Mack stood a few feet behind him, eyeing the hose nervously—they apparently had the sense to consider that she may want to use it on them. Brandt . . . he was too caught up in this “I have the upper hand” moment. It pissed her off that she’d have to let him think he did. Inside her, pride warred with the need to be smart, and smart barely won out.
Brandt lifted his hands. “I’m not here to give you trouble, Gwen.”
Well, that would be a first. “If you have any sense in your head, you’ll leave now.”