CHAPTER 209: _ LEARN TO SHARE

The clock strikes nine, though the morning light still lingers soft and gold through the high windows of the Bellamy study. Dust motes swim lazily in the air, gilded in sunlight, but the energy in the room couldn’t be further from calm. Four wolves, four sons of Alpha Tobias, are yet, still gathered in a room too small for their pride, their tension, and the centuries of blood that run thick in their veins.

Darien stands at the center, his brothers beside him like a general surrounded by volatile soldiers. He’s the still point in a storm of shifting power. His shoulders are square, his jaws are set, and his eyes are steady. The fire behind them has dulled to embers, leaving the air warm but still charged.

Amias speaks first now. "It’s obvious I can’t make my involvement known. Not when I’m supposed to marry Lira in less than two weeks." He’s pacing near the shelves now, running his hand over a stack of old law books that smell of dust and disuse. "But Heidi’s not just another case. If the pack moves against her, I’ll do anything—anything... to keep her out of it. So, we need to hatch a plan. Fast."

Darien feels something unclench inside him. At least, with Amias, they can make actual progress even though it’s obvious the dude’s lost his mind.

"Good. Finally, someone’s using their brain instead of their ego." He nods approvingly.

Morgan lounges back on the armrest of the couch, balancing his cup of whiskey like it’s a weapon. He scoffs. "Speak for yourself, commander. Because I, for one, am not teaming up with my rivals to save the girl you’re all trying to steal from me."

Darien stares at him like he’s lost his mind. "You’re joking."

Morgan spreads his hands, smug grin widening. "Do I look like I’m joking? Grayson and I can take care of Heidi ourselves. We don’t need your overbearing leadership, Amias’s guilt, or another lecture about responsibility."

Grayson lifts an eyebrow, still lounging near the window. "I’m sorry—we can take care of her?"

"Obviously," Morgan glares at him. "You’re my twin. You have no choice."

Grayson tilts his head. "No choice?"

"Exactly. Twins stick together."

Darien exhales, long and loud. "You two couldn’t even decide who got the last chocolate croissant without setting fire to the kitchen."

"That was an experiment," Morgan corrects, pointing a finger. "And technically Grayson started it."

"I started it?" Grayson’s voice is filled with disbelief. "You’re the one who threw the lighter!"

Darien pinches the bridge of his nose. "This is why the council thinks we’re unstable."

Kairos chuckles darkly in his mind. "He’s not wrong."

Darien ignores him and glares at Morgan. "You don’t get to play lone wolf. Not when this involves all of us. She’s our responsibility."

Morgan shrugs nonchalantly. "She’s my mate too, remember? I don’t need permission to protect her."

"She’s our mate," Darien snaps. "And if you think your showboating can outmatch the pack council, you’re even dumber than you look."

Morgan’s grin fades. He sets his cup down with a soft clink. "Careful, brother. You’re not the only Alpha in this room."

With that, the aggressive energy spikes. It’s not visible, but it feels like a weight on the chest. Alpha pressure presses against Alpha pressure, invisible but tangible, like colliding storms. The temperature seems to drop, breath frosting between them.

Grayson sighs, leaning against the windowsill. "You two done comparing whose aura’s bigger, or do I need to get the silver hose?"

Morgan turns to him for backup, expecting the usual brotherly alliance. "Grayson, tell him I’m right. We can handle this ourselves. We don’t need..."

"No," Grayson interrupts. "Darien’s right."

Morgan’s head snaps toward him. "What?"

"We need to be united," Grayson says, arms crossed. "For once in our chaotic lives, we have to act like a family. The pack is bigger than us separated. And if we don’t hold the line together, we lose her. Simple as that."

Morgan looks genuinely betrayed. "You’re siding with him?"

Grayson shrugs. "Somebody has to be the adult."

"Since when are you the adult?"

"Since you started acting like a toddler with fangs."

Darien can’t help the small, dangerous smile that tugs at his lips. "So that solves it then."

Amias exhales like a man relieved to see some sense return to the room. "Finally."

Darien turns toward them, his tone shifting from sharp to steady. "Here’s how this works. The first step is that our jealousy further divides us and pits us against each other. To solve that—temporarily, we have to come to terms with how to share her amicably."

That sets the room off like a spark in dry grass.

"Share?" Morgan’s voice cracks in outrage. "You’re insane."

Grayson bursts out laughing. "You’re saying we can’t kill each other over her, but we can schedule her like some kind of supernatural custody arrangement?"

"Exactly," Darien says flatly. "We can fight later. But if she dies before that, there’ll be no one left to fight over."

Amias groans. "Moon help me."

Morgan’s mouth twists. "You expect me to just... what? Stay away when she’s with you? Pretend I don’t care?"

"Yes," Darien affirms. "That’s exactly what I expect."

He knows that’ll be a hard pill for his brothers to swallow. It’s equally painful for him to come to terms with. However, if she dies unjustly, then what’s the point?

They might all just go down with her.

Morgan’s laugh is disbelieving of Darien’s proposition. "You’re telling me to do what? Sit still while you play the protective Alpha?"

Darien’s voice drops. "I’m telling you to let whoever’s with her have peace. If one of us is with her, the others stay away. No interruptions. No games. No power plays."

Grayson looks half-amused and half-doubtful. "You want us to call dibs?"

Amias pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath that sounds like a prayer for patience.

Morgan slams his palm against the desk. "This is ridiculous! You’re talking about sharing a mate like a rotation schedule!"

Darien’s eyes flash gold again. "Do you have a better plan?"

Morgan opens his mouth, shuts it, then points accusingly. "Yes. I plan to win. Permanently."