YOU AGAIN?

Chapter 6

Daemon

Maybe it’s for the best…

That was what I told myself as Seymour steered me towards the two-storey cottage. The fresh country air gradually brought my breathing under control, while the cool breeze felt pleasantly soothing against my overheated face, helping me regain at least a semblance of rational thought.

Along with the relief came a faint hope that I was still able to control my body and wouldn’t turn into some wild animal in the next few minutes, hell-bent on escaping in search of its mysterious prey. Then again, after everything that had happened, I wasn’t entirely sure of anything anymore.

“What brings you here, you freeloaders?” Our mentor greeted us in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest as usual. “And what’s with the long faces?”

“Our little boy’s feeling poorly,” Seymour explained our shameless intrusion, pulling an exaggeratedly pained expression.

“Oh, you’ve finally gone and had a baby?” Ragnar beamed, stepping aside to let us in. “Congratulations. What did you name him?”

“Not after you!” we snapped in unison.

“Ouch. I’ll get over it, though.” The elder clapped us both on the shoulders and headed towards the sitting room. “Whisky?”

Seymour immediately sprawled across the sofa, accepting the offered glass of amber liquid. I declined the drink, figuring that after yesterday’s little adventure, my body might take even an innocent sip of alcohol as a personal insult.

“Spill it,” Ragnar ordered, settling into the armchair opposite us and swirling the ice cubes in his glass.

“Yesterday he practically folded in half right in the street.” Seymour nodded towards me. “He started transforming.”

“Details.” The elder frowned, shifting his gaze to me.

As Seymour recounted what had happened, I found myself replaying the events of the previous evening over and over in my head. The moment I thought of Diana, my body betrayed me before my mind could catch up. Heat raced down my spine, and the beast inside me stirred restlessly.

“Daemon picked up some scent and followed it until he ran into a girl. The second he saw her, he started shaking; the beast took over and nearly broke through. I had to drag him away and call a doctor. We promptly pumped him full of sedatives and put him to bed,” Seymour concluded his report succinctly. “And today it happened all over again.”

“You’re certain it’s the girl?” Ragnar continued studying me intently.

“Absolutely. We found her. The second Daemon caught her scent again, it all kicked off. I scooped him up and brought him here.” Seymour paused to take a sip of whisky. “Something’s wrong with his beast.”

Ragnar placed his glass on the armrest and rose to his feet. He approached me slowly. I flinched when he suddenly lifted my head, gripping my jaw hard with one hand. Instinctively, I grabbed his fingers and tried to wrench them away from my face.

Seymour hurled his glass aside and lunged towards us, but Ragnar sent him sprawling across the floor with a single sharp movement.

“So, you’ve decided to put all of us at risk by transforming in front of humans?” he snarled in my face.

I froze, bewildered, and lowered my hands.

I had never seen Ragnar like this. Normally, he could tease us to his heart’s content, hand out his customary head-thumps and make his sarcastic little remarks, but beneath it all there had always been the calm confidence of a man who knew that, whatever happened, he could keep the situation under control.

There was none of that now.

Seymour had already scrambled back to his feet and lunged towards us again, but I stopped him with a gesture. We had already overstepped the mark enough as it was, ignoring the hierarchy and continuing to behave as though the man standing in front of us were not the elder of the clan but simply our mate who happened to enjoy arguing with us over a glass of whisky.

Ragnar tightened his grip, forcing me to look directly into his eyes.

“And all this over some girl?” His eyes began to turn yellow. “Forget her! You’ll never see her again!”

Everything inside me went cold. My wolf let out a piercing howl, as though it had heard not a threat but a death sentence. Diana’s image flashed before my eyes: long black hair, a turquoise dress, and a calm smile.

My bewilderment instantly gave way to blind rage. I shoved Ragnar away and straightened, ready to attack. Seymour arrived just in time, throwing himself between us in a single leap and holding out his arms like a referee trying to separate two fighters in an octagon.

I could no longer think. I wasn’t considering the consequences at all. I was actually about to attack the elder.

Baring my teeth, I stepped forward until my chest pressed against Seymour’s palms. Unlike me, he had already assessed the situation and understood perfectly well how badly this could end.

“Move!” I demanded.

I leant forward, barely restraining my rage as my claws pushed through, completely forgetting that Ragnar, thanks to his pure-blooded lineage, could flatten me without breaking a sweat and take Seymour down with me if he happened to get too close.

“Have you lost your f*****g mind?” My friend grabbed me by the front of my shirt, shielding Ragnar with his own body. “Get a grip!”

“Seymour, back off!”

I grabbed him too, trying to shove him aside.

That was when our argument was interrupted by laughter. We turned towards the sound in perfect unison and froze, staring at Ragnar.

He was laughing. Standing there with his hands in his pockets, he was absolutely cracking up, wearing the same familiar, genuine, completely disarming grin we knew so well.

Seymour slowly lowered his hands and turned his whole body towards him.

“What the hell is going on here?!”

Ragnar ambled over to the bar. He took out a clean glass, poured some whisky, then held it out to me.

“Easy, boys. It was just a little test,” he announced, still grinning.

I was still breathing heavily and made no move towards our mentor.

Apparently, that was a test…

My fingers were still trembling, and my claws showed no intention of retracting. The beast wasn't exactly sharing Ragnar’s amusement either.

“Oh, f**k off… Both of you!” Seymour finally broke the silence and headed for another drink, raking his fingers through his hair as he went.

The tension gradually ebbed away, giving way to irritation and the familiar sense that the entire situation was completely ridiculous. At last, I calmed down and accepted the glass Ragnar was holding out. I knocked back the whisky in one gulp. It burnt its way down my throat, dragging me back into the real world.

Ragnar returned to his armchair and settled comfortably, studying the golden reflections dancing in his glass.

“I had to put on a little performance to check something.”

The elder looked perfectly calm again, as though five minutes earlier he didn't deliberately push me to the point where I was ready to throw myself at him.

“Brilliant. You’re wasted on us. You should be on the stage,” Seymour grumbled. “Give some serious thought to an acting career.”

“And abandon you two to your own devices so you can carry on doing whatever idiotic thing comes into your heads? Not a chance!” Our mentor was openly enjoying himself at our expense.

“Thank you. We’re touched by your concern…” my friend shot back.

I snorted in agreement.

“And what exactly was the point of that little test?” Seymour asked, still sulking.

Ragnar turned his gaze towards me, and a mysterious smile appeared on his face.

“To make sure Daemon has met his true mate.”