“What are you doing up at this time of night?” I ask. “You should be curled up in bed.”
“Ah, young master, my bones don’t like to lay still these days,” Susan replies. “Too much pain in my joints. I figure if I can’t sleep, the best thing to do is be useful.”
“Susan, let me help. I can find a healer—”
“We’ve talked about this, Kit,” she says sternly. “I’ll take my aging with grace, thank you very much. I’ve got no problem with growing older, or slipping into the shades, for that matter.”
I nod, not saying anything. There was a rumor that Grandmother and Grandfather kept themselves young with dark magic, and it was their involvement with sorcerers that eventually got them killed.
“I’ll take a few,” I say, reaching out for a handful of warm cookies. “I’ll never complain about cookies.”
“There you are, then,” she says, holding out the tray. “Eat up as many as you like.”
The sweet, crumbly cookies melt on my tongue, and a tingle rushes through me. As I was growing up, Susan was my only comfort. Mother and Father simply told me to obey Grandfather. Grandmother had little interest in me beyond status and grooming me for power. It was Susan who patched me up after fights, listened to me cry, and hugged me when I needed it the most.
“Young master, have you thought any more about the council’s directive—”
“Oh, Jesus,” I groan through a mouthful of buttery cookie. “Not you, too.”
“It’s more than time, young man,” Susan insisted. “The line was skipped to elevate you instead of your father. You need heirs, or your position is not secure.” Her features softened as she looked at me. “Besides, you seem so lonely, young master. A woman in your life could change things for the better, I promise you.”
I sigh and shake my head, not wanting to answer. Even looking for a woman is pointless. None of them can be the one I want.
I went and screwed that situation as hard as I possibly could. I wish I could explain, tell her the truth somehow. But she’s gone… and I don’t deserve another chance.
“Looking very serious there, young master,” Susan remarks with a smile. “Got a woman in mind, then?”
“No,” I sigh, getting up. “I really don’t. I’m going to the den to rest a bit before I go to bed.”
“Alright, then. But you think about what I said. It could mean a pack war if you don’t solidify your position. Your Grandfather was harsh, but he kept the peace. Don’t forget that.”
I grind my teeth together to stop myself from screaming.
The only thing worse than Grandfather’s cruelty is how the entire pack still tries to justify it and make him out to be some kind of god!
“Yes, Susan,” I say, trying to keep my voice flat. “Goodnight.”
I leave the kitchen with a handful of cookies, my mind reeling at the idea that Susan—and others of her class—looked up to Grandfather and practically worshipped him, even though he treated all of them like dirt.
Service class—completely disposable to him. He literally didn’t give a fuck about them, and most of them didn’t care!
As I settle into my favorite chair in the den, I shove another cookie into my mouth and realize that Susan is right. I’ve made a lot of changes to the pack since I took control, but I’m nowhere near done. If a rival overtakes me, all my good work could be undone, and the pack would return to its militant, bloodthirsty ways.
I have to find a mate. I have to prove to the pack I’m serious about it. Otherwise, this could get messy.
While I work my way through the cookies, I go over my options. I can’t stop thinking about Galen and how happy he is with Clara.
Maybe I should try this… Potter’s service? Is that right?
I pull out my phone and search “brides for hire.” It seems so ridiculous, I expect to get completely bogus results. But to my surprise, the first link is “Porter’s Brides for Hire!”
Our phones really are listening to us.
I tap the link and end up on a site with a big pink button at the bottom. The chatbot asks me a few questions, asks for my payment information, and then goes to a loading screen.
What the fuck am I doing? Am I actually signing up for this shit?
Thrills of panic tease the edges of my guts, making my hair stand on end. I don’t want to meet a woman—just anywoman—but I don’t want to go another day without a partner, either.
