Save You to Own You (To Reach You Book #4)

Chapter Four: Aftermath

Dylan-

There are times in life when you feel like rethinking that whole being alive thing.

The head of a college student hammering louder than a rock and roll drum set and the breath of a decomposed corpse is definitely valid invokers of such a thought.

So yeah. I can't really be crowned ad best decision maker after last night. Edith or Emerald or Enzme was flirting and I hadn't seen her since maybe middle school and she looked alright and I couldn't help thinking that maybe a night with a bombshell like that I'd let Tate go. I mean at least for a month.

After that particular train of thought I remember absolutely nothing but it's fairly easy to guess. I'd called her Tate and she actually had the dignity to walk away, unlike a several others before her.

This isn't me. Tate had done that though.

No. I correct. She hadn't. I had. I didn't find the balls to tell her how crazy I was about her. How that if she agreed to be my girlfriend I'd devote every fucking minute to make sure she was the happiest person on the planet. 13 years and not once had I even hinted. And when Jack fell for her, it wasn't just my affection for Tate keeping my trap shut anymore. Now so was my love for my brother.

And despite my affection for the pair making me a gutless loser, now when I thought of Jack it was usually accompanied with bitterness. He'd taken her from me. She was supposed to love me in the end. But apparently nice guys do finish last.

I get up off Ale's old bed too quickly and my arms and head punish me for it. My head spins and I groan reaching for what I know will be two Advil and the glass of water. Pens constant gift to me every morning for a good year now, ever since I'd begun to act out and hook up with girls all of which were no success in the initial goal of forgetting the one who owned my heart and would forever.

"You should get home," Ale says after his usual tea and donut cure for my hangover. Saying I loved him like a grandpa was an understatement.

I grumble something even I don't understand and he cocks an eyebrow. He doesn't have to make his disapproval vocal. It's wafting off him in waves. I try and ignore it before I end up snapping.

"They'll probably be looking for you by now," he points out and I do have to admit to that one making sense. Goody two shoes Dylan Monroe never stayed out unless his parents knew where and how to contact him in case of an emergency.  Not that the Monroe  family had much of those anyway.

Still, somehow, I doubted they'd noticed. I guess after I started thinking that I wasn't good enough for Tate's attention, I assumed that also applied to my family's. Nevertheless, knowing that I at least owe that poor old man that looked over me for the night one thing, I grab my phone and salute him with half a fake smile and get my lousy unworthy ass to my car.

Just as I get to the driveway, my wolf is on high alert. As if in anticipation of a threat or the urge to join a fight. A warning. A threat. The house looked as tranquil as it had ever been. Unharmed and undisturbed and yet my gut wouldn't rest. It wasn't just my wolf anymore. It was Dylan Monroe. Something was going on. Something big.

Whether it was a negative or positive... that was yet to be decided.

My body tense, both from the soreness that last night's actions led to  and the warning humming in my bones, I step inside.

It isn't some eiery silence that greets me inside. It's loud people buzzing around everywhere. Maids, butlers, members of the pack, friends of my dad, Cayne's beta. Everyone. And I know that if I looked hard enough I'd find my parents and siblings around here somewhere. But I didn't have time for that, thanks to my curiosity. I had to understand what the fuck was going on.

"Where the fuck were you?" Jack demands grabbing my arm. Anger and  this overwhelming urge to punch him right fucking now gets me so good and the logical good guy in me tries to keep them from blinding him. Because with all this chaos it clearly isn't the time.

"Sex and drugs bro, what else," I flash him a crooked smile and bounce on the inside when he wears that face, that face where he's trying to figure out if I'm joking or serious. Because whoever this guy his brother now was, we both knew that guy maybe would do both. With minor or no hesitation. Why am I so proud of that?

He changes the subject. What he says next removes all past and destroys any expected future. 

"The war's over,"

I freeze. How long had the Nymphs and Wolves been claiming lands, with the leeches calling neutrality?

Over?

And with what price?

"We won,"

Well, fuck.