Wolf 193

Chapter 193 

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Steam still clung to my skin as I padded down the stairs, hair damp, fresh clothes clinging in places I wished they wouldn’t. Dinner was already in full swing, voices, laughter, the scrape of cutlery and the smell of roast chicken and garlic bread hit me before I even reached the dining room. Everyone was here. Mum sat at the head of the table, her eyes sharp but warm, keeping the chaos just barely contained. Xavier and Haiden flanked her, muttering about something pack–related between mouthfuls. Noah and Levi were across from them, already locked in some good–natured argument about who made the better ribs. Aleisha and Tommy were chuckling with Nanna and Pa, who were sipping their wine and looking far too smug for grandparents. Reina and George sat close together, plates piled high, whispering something that made George’s ears turn red. And then, of course, the quads, Dorian, Kieran, Felix, and Lyra were all wedged on one side of the table, bickering over who’d stolen the last bread roll, with our poor cousin Joe looking like he was already over the chaos. Elias was at the far end, smirking like the devil himself as if he hadn’t spent the last hour racing with Elliot and me. And speaking of Elliot…The only empty chair left was beside him. Of course. 

He sat hunched forward, elbows on the table, head down like he was suddenly very interested in the peas on his plate. It wasn’t shame, not exactly. More like he was using the vegetables as a shield from the grilling he’d just endured. Judging by the way Mum and Dad’s voices had been rising earlier, I didn’t doubt the heat of it. Totalling a bike was one thing. Totalling it because you’d been racing? That was asking for a death sentence. For once, I was glad the spotlight was on him instead of me. I slid into the chair, keeping my eyes on my plate, grateful for the cover of clinking forks and loud chatter. Still, I could feel him, Elliot, sitting just inches from me, all tense shoulders and quiet storms. And even though he hadn’t said a word, my skin prickled with awareness. Great. Just great. 

Beside me, Elliot didn’t move, didn’t even glance up, just kept pushing peas around like they’d personally wronged him. The table was alive with noise. 

“Joe, sweetheart, use your fork,” Aleisha fussed as her son scooped mashed potatoes onto a piece of bread with his fingers. 

“But it tastes better this way,” Joe argued, cheeks already stuffed, making Tommy laugh so hard he nearly spilled his drink. 

“Gods help us all,” Nanna muttered with a dramatic roll of her eyes, though she still reached over to wipe Joe’s chin with a napkin. 

Across the table, Dorian and Kieran were still elbowing each other over the last bread roll. Lyra reached out, snatched it without hesitation, and bit into it with a smug grin while her brothers groaned. 

“Every time,” Felix sighed. “You don’t even like bread that much.” 

“I like winning,” Lyra replied sweetly, chewing like royalty. 

Haiden snorted into his drink, while Xavier muttered something about “hellhound brats” that earned him four identical glares. 

For a moment, I let myself sink into it, the noise, the warmth, the chaos. This was home. This was normal. Well… our version of it, anyway. Then Elliot shifted beside me. Not much. Just enough that his shoulder brushed mine, deliberate in the smallest way. His head stayed bowed, his voice so quiet I almost missed it under the clatter of forks and the quads‘ squabbling. 

“I’m sorry for before,” he murmured. His words were low, rough around the edges. “I just… I can’t stand the sight of anyone trying to hit on you like that, Mace.” 

I froze, staring at my plate like it might save me. 

“You’re worth more than what those dumb kids would subject you to.” 

The words sank deep, right under my skin. Too raw. Too honest. My throat tightened, and for half a second I wanted to turn and demand -Then what am I worth to you, Elliot? What are you really trying to say? 

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13:54 Sat, Oct 4 

Chapter 193 

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Instead, I stabbed a piece of chicken and shoved it in my mouth, chewing like the food was suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world. Because if I looked at him now, if I gave in to the way my chest was pounding… I wasn’t sure I’d come back from it. 

$74 

I forced a laugh, too loud, stabbing at my mashed potatoes as if they’d personally offended me. “Joe, seriously, you’re going to choke if you keep shovelling food in like that.” 

His wide brown eyes blinked at me over a mouthful of bread and potato, and the table erupted with laughter. 

“Spoken like a true cousin,” Aleisha teased. 

“Spoken like a nag,” Joe countered once he’d swallowed, grinning like he’d won some great victory. 

The quads immediately took his side, chanting, “Nag! Nag! Nag!” in unison, banging their spoons against the table until Nanna smacked it with her hand. 

“Enough,” she barked, but her mouth was twitching like she was two seconds away from laughing herself. 

I leaned into the noise, smirking, letting their antics drown out the heat still clinging to my skin from Elliot’s words. The ridiculousness of it all, the bread roll war, Joe trying to eat like a wolf pup, Lyra wearing her tiara at the dinner table, gave me just enough cover to keep my face neutral. Out of the corner of my eye, Elliot was still staring at his plate, silent, shoulders tense. 

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to laugh along with Joe as he stuffed another forkful into his bread. “Gods, you’re hopeless,” I muttered. 

It was easier to tease a kid than to acknowledge the way my entire world tilted from one quiet apology whispered beside me. I shouldn’t feel this way. I shouldn’t care that Elliot’s shoulder brushed mine, or that his voice had gone soft just for me. I shouldn’t replay his words in my head like they meant more than an overprotective brother trying to scare off guys he disapproved of. Brother. The word tasted bitter. Because that’s what he was supposed to be. That’s what he was on paper, on every family tree, in every whispered reminder of who we were and how we’d grown up. My brother. And yet… he’d never felt like just that. Not to me. Not when I was small and sneaking into his bed to chase away nightmares. Not when I was older and catching the way his gaze lingered a beat too long. Not now, with his words still burning against my skin like a brand. It was wrong. Twisted. Messed up in ways I didn’t even want to name. But gods help me, it didn’t stop the way my chest squeezed when he spoke like I was the only thing that mattered. It didn’t stop the way I’d noticed how his jaw clenched when other guys looked at me. It didn’t stop a part of me, the reckless, selfish part, from wondering what would happen if I stopped pretending and just let myself want. 

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