It was a protection that never wavered. Fang tried to hide it from Vane, but he wasn't stupid. He knew how many times his brother stayed awake at night, guarding his secret. How many times Fang had walked away from a fight even though it galled him to do so, so that Vane wouldn't be questioned or outed.
He was his brother's weakness and he hated himself for that.
"I'm sorry, Fang."
"For what?"
For everything. For robbing him of his birthright. Robbing him of his ability to challenge Stefan and Markus.
Most of all he was sorry that his brother had no idea just how much respect he had for him. But it wasn't in their natures to speak of such things.
"For being the thorn in your ass that prevents you from challenging him."
Fang returned to looking up at the dark sky. "Don't worry about it. It is what it is."
Perhaps, but the real question was, what could it be if Vane wasn't around to pull him down? But as Fang had said, it was what it was. There was no changing the fact that he was human and his brother was a wolf.
Sighing, he headed toward his sister.
Fang didn't move until Vane was gone. He lay there listening to the sounds of the insects and wolves while watching the sky above him. The Dark-Hunters had warned them earlier today that there was an enemy pack of Arcadian wolves in town and a group of Daimons who might be looking to augment their life spans by eating a couple of wolves. Their pregnant females were prime Daimon bait.
But Fang didn't fear them. He could hold his own in a fight and he pitied anyone dumb enough to call him out.
If only his father and Stefan would get head injuries that made them even dumber than normal. Oh, to fight them . . .
Closing his eyes, he returned to his wolf form. This was what he needed. It was the only thing that really comforted him.
But as he lay there, he thought of something else comforted him.
The scent and taste of an ethereal bear.
Put her out of your thoughts. She was as off-limits as anything could be. His father hated him enough. If he ever found out Fang was turned on by a bear . . .
They'd call out a hunt and he'd be slaughtered.
Aimee paused outside of Carson's door, gathering her courage. Even though it'd been a month since she'd last seen the wolfswain, she still couldn't get the taste or scent of Fang out of her mind or her thoughts. It was as if he'd somehow branded her and made her his.
That was the most upsetting part of all.
Since then, she'd been subjected to three more rounds of "find a sex toy, Aimee." And unfortunately, none of the bearswains had stirred anything inside her. Not even repulsion or distaste. She was completely numb to them.
All of them.
What was wrong with her?
She needed to talk to someone and didn't dare speak of her concerns to any member of her large family for fear of it getting back to her parents. Her mother would kill her. Dead. Mutilated. And it wouldn't be pretty either.
But Aimee had to understand what was wrong with her. Why wasn't she finding any bears she wanted to mate with?
Most of all, why was she haunted by thoughts of the most unacceptable male on the planet?
"Aimee?"
She cursed inwardly at Carson's deep voice coming through the door. How could she have forgotten that power? He knew anytime anyone came near his office.
So much for indecisive dawdling.
Hold your fishing pole at ready. . . .