Alliance of Shadows, Book 4: DRESON

The Distance Between Us

Once again, I woke not knowing where I was as my gaze took in the room around me. The faint melody of a song drifted through the air, its unfamiliar words carrying a cadence I couldn’t place. At first, I thought I was imagining things.

Bolting upright in the bed, my eyes immediately found a tall, slender boy with dark ringlets. His lips barely moved, yet the song continued as if whispered by the walls themselves. Without stopping, he lifted a hand and pointed toward the desk in the corner.

On the table sat a tray of food.

My stomach growled, a quiet reminder of the Sage’s words earlier. Rising from the bed, I pulled the chair away and sat down. The cloth draped over the tray concealed a simple meal—steam curled from a bowl of chickpea soup, a fresh bread roll rested beside it, and a glass of water reflected the dim light of the room. A folded letter lay propped against the lamp, unopened and waiting.

I could feel his eyes tracking my every movement, silent yet present.

He laughed, his voice carrying a smooth Welsh lilt, rich and rhythmic. "Let me know what you think of it, aye?"

"Sorry, I'm not sure I understand," I told him.

He turned, and my heart skipped a beat. A strange pull tugged at something deep within me, as if my soul recognized him before my mind could catch up.

"The food," he replied, his voice carrying the unmistakable lilt of his accent—rolling, measured. "Here, we get everything we need by making, growing, or hunting for it ourselves. No technology, see?"

I nearly choked on my water. "D-did you… were you the one who made this for me?"

"Aye," he said simply.

Holy moly, the blush that crept across his face made him look even cuter.

Shaking my head, I pictured Neil in my mind, but, oddly enough, felt nothing. A small twinge of regret surfaced, though I knew it was for the best.

Picking up my spoon, I took a bite of the soup. The salt hit harder than expected, and I coughed. "Crap, sorry. It's good but maybe use less salt next time."

He groaned, exasperated. "Diawl! I’ll never get it just right, will I?"

"It's really not that bad, honestly," I reassured him. "I've tasted my brother's cooking, and he can't even boil water without running the pot dry. Trust me, this is miles better."

Gingerly picking up the letter, I carefully unsealed the envelope and pulled the folded pages from within. Opening them, I was faced with Mom’s flowing cursive, her words opening old wounds before sealing them all over again with her calm, quiet acceptance and assurance that I was never alone.

My Dearest Dreson,

Before you ever knew me as your mother, I met the woman who brought you into this world. I didn’t know what to expect when I saw her for the first time. I should have felt jealousy. I should have wanted to fight for what was rightfully mine. But I didn’t.

Tina was nothing like what I had imagined she would be. She wasn’t some cold obstacle standing between me and Rowan. She was kind, wise, and heartbreakingly self-aware. When she looked at me, she didn’t see a rival. She saw someone who would take care of what she would never get the chance to, someone who would pick up where she left off.

She knew long before you were born that she wouldn’t survive because her own Mate had been forced to break their bond by your grandfather to keep the line pure. That ass has some nerve, I tell you, and I’m glad you’re more like your mother than that bastard.

You see, Tina spoke about it with a quiet acceptance, as if she had made peace with her fate long ago, but in her eyes, I saw something else. Not fear, not regret, but the desperate hope that when she was gone, I would be there to make sure you were protected and loved as if she was here all along.

She asked me to wait, just for a while, just long enough to give Rowan time to grieve. So I did.

Not because I had no choice, but because I owed it to her to honour her last wish for peace. She wasn’t just a woman forced into a marriage she never wanted. She was a mother who had already chosen you over herself. A woman bent on safeguarding the only good thing she got out of a marriage of convenience.

She changed the way I looked at your father’s family. I had always thought my Mate’s family would accept his fated match, but Tina proved that wrong when she told me everything. In the end, she gave up everything so you could live, and I swore to her that I would make sure her sacrifice wasn’t in vain.

From the moment Rowan was ready to move on, I stepped into the role she left for me, and I never wavered. You were never just his son—you were my son, and Tina’s legacy. Not because I had to raise you, but because I wanted to after meeting you when you were two-and-a-half, sticky from gelato, and using your father’s shirt as a snot wipe. You were always so precious, so happy and free, and I wanted to honour your mother by making sure you had everything you could ever need in a maternal figure.

I wrote this because I wanted you to know she was never my enemy. She was someone I will always respect, always honor, and always carry in my heart because, like you, she could sway power with words rather than war. She gave you the gift of life and gave me the chance to ensure you never faced life alone while simultaneously making way for me and your father to claim our rightful bond as Mates.

Her love for you was a mirror for mine, permanent, all-encompassing, and unfiltered by the drama I strived so hard to keep you clear of. They will never taint a heart as pure as yours, baby. I will always stand with you and your brother, regardless of what the rest of the family thinks.

Forever and Always, Mom

I felt an ache in my chest, a pain that pulsed with each heartbeat as I fought to keep the tears at bay. Mom’s letter changed so much about my perspective—about my life, my family, and the quiet sacrifices woven into the years I had never questioned before. It revealed how deeply loved I was, even behind the fears she carried, even through the patience she endured before claiming my father and their bond.

“Wassit?” Leif asked, cautiously stepping closer. “A letter?”

I sniffled, wiping at my face with the back of my hand. “Yeah, from my stepmother. It explains so, so much about everything. Uh, sorry. Here I am letting this perfectly good food go cold, throwing myself a pity party, and I haven’t even asked your name.”

He breathed a laugh, the sound light but warm. “Nah, ya heard my uncle say it, yeah? Tis Leif Robertsson. Welsh-Nordic background, see?”

His face reddened more. So adorable.

"Dreson, how much do you know about why you're here this early? I mean, did my uncle tell you anything, or has he left you as in the dark as he's left me?"

"I'm in the dark," I said. "Want to help me out a little and tell me what he's seen? If you can, that is."

"First of all," the boy said in his sweetly accented voice, "Harper’s my mum’s older brother, but I live with him here now."

"Yeah, well, your uncle is a lying S.O.B. You know, I just realized—I’m the youngest one here, aren’t I?"

His grin faltered for a beat. "Remarkable perception, but I agree with you about my uncle. How old are you, Dreson?"

"Fourteen," I replied. "I'll be fifteen in May, which is about a month away. Try lying to a Werewolf. you'd never get away with it."

Again, he laughed softly. "I'll be sixteen on the sixteenth of July. My Golden year."

Sitting down on the bed, he sighed. "I heard what you confessed to him. I was in the hall, listening."

I snorted. "After telling my father, I'm not afraid anymore. Everyone else can hitch a ride to Hades, 'cause as long as I have my family, nothing else matters. The world can know I'm gay. I don't care."

He seemed shocked by my words, a deep-seated pain flashing in his eyes. "I see. So, your father’s right with the way you are, then?"

Something in the way he spoke sent a chill down my spine.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I know not everyone is so accepting, but my family has broken all kinds of barriers over the years. For instance, my father's Mate turned out to be a Werewolf. She's totally gorgeous, and I love her to bits. My little brother is a hybrid—half Werewolf, half Druid—and he's also half-black, half-white. I worked myself up for nothing when I came out to my family because they love me for who I am."

Leif sneered, his voice laced with bitterness. "Ah, lucky you, eh? Having such an amazingly happy life. Not all of us get that level of true acceptance, mind. Some of us get booted, told never to show our faces again. Some of us get hurt again and again by the people meant to love us unconditionally. They want to make us change, force us to fit into the mold, get over being gay—like we had a choice."

My eyes dropped to the floor. I pushed my chair back and stood. "Leif, I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you with my words." I whispered.

His eyes glittered dangerously. "You’ve no idea what it’s like to have your own father beat you, do you? No idea what it’s like to have someone look at you with pity and tell you they’ll pray the gay away in church next Sunday. You—what? Had a perfect, happy little life in a cozy house, with your little brother and your mum and dad loving you unconditionally? You spoiled little brat. And now you’ve the gall to look at me and say sorry?"