Reuniting with Malcolm had been just as painful as I’d been expecting, I could still feel he bone deep ache running through my body, my limbs heavy and my eyes stinging from the dried tears I kept scrubbing at. I knew I was going to cry seeing him again, I’d laid awake all night trying to prepare myself, deciding that I’d probably be okay if I just didn’t look at him, but he was a stubborn man.

It was a given that he would want to see me, he would want to talk to me and hug me, kiss me like he’d done, making my knees weak as I clung to him, but it couldn’t go any further than that. I was married to my chosen mate, doing anything with Malcolm would be so wrong, even if I wanted to. We’d made a promise…

Not that he honored that promise, considering he completely rejected his chosen mate. I could understand that he’d simply blurted the rejection out without thinking, he’s always been rather spontaneous and impulsive, but it still upset me. Not just because he hurt someone, and himself in the process, but now he had no mate, no heir, he was alone.

In a way, both of us were miserable. I was stuck in a loveless marriage with a mate who despised me and my son, and Malcolm had no connections at all. Maybe if I had rejected Priscilla when we met, then it would be easier for us now, but who knows how Amos would have reacted to that? Maybe get so angry he threw me out. I didn’t know.

In terms of appearance, Malcolm hadn’t changed too much. He still had the same few inches on me as he’d had when we were younger, meaning still taller than me, and his hair was darker than his fathers, a more noticeable golden blond color, and his intense gold eyes still had that familiar sheen of mischief and determination that made him a good friend, and an even better alpha I was sure.

He’d filled out some, his shoulders were broader and his arms built with more muscle, I can’t even imagine how much training he’d put himself through when I’d left just to distract himself. He was that kind of guy, making his muscles burn just to forget something that was bothering him. My coping was to bury myself in a book, which made me smart I guess, but bodily I was kind of a wimp.

Okay, I was that hopeless, I could carry around at least seventy pounds without getting too strained, but I wasn’t built for fighting like Malcolm was. My strength was for when wolves got the shit beaten out of them and they couldn’t jump onto the observation table by themselves, leading to me having to pick their heavy asses up so I could look over them.

I was standing at the island counter spreading Nutella over Rebel’s pancakes and layering freshly sliced strawberries and bananas on top of it while Malcolm sat across from me, one elbow propped on the counter with his chin sitting in his hand, watching me with a curious expression that I tried to avoid. The silence was a little uncomfortable, but I could deal with it.

“You always cooked with mom, I remember, but I never expected you to end up enjoying it,” Malcolm stated, reaching out like he wanted to steal one of the bowls of fruit, and I slapped his hand with the back of the knife, making him draw back while pouting heavily at me.

“Well I didn’t exactly have a personal chef, so I made due and learned to cook. It’s called responsibility. If I don’t cook, I don’t eat,” I chuckled a little at the way Malcolm wiped the Nutella from his hand and licked it off his fingers, “Shaede cooks sometimes, he has mad barbeque skills.”

Malcolm paused with his tongue on the back of his hand like he was a cat, which is a funny thought, frowning at me, “Shaede? That creepy redhead?”

“A lot of people say he’s creepy,” I sighed, rolling my eyes and setting the plate of pancakes in front of the stool at the end of the counter, “He’s not really. He’s a former lone so he’s a little unsociable, and doesn’t get along with anyone from the Paige Clan, and never usually talks to people who aren’t me, and he can be a little violent….,” I trailed off before shrugging, “Okay I see how he seems creepy, but he’s a really good guy.”

“He’s got a strange aura, it seems off, I can’t really explain it,” Malcolm said, rubbing his neck and staring at the counter, tapping his fingers against the smooth surface, “Maybe it’s his eyes?”

“They are different,” I agreed, “but trust me, he’s not dangerous. I owe him a lot,” I smiled at that, and Malcolm lifted his eyes to me, appearing somewhat suspicious, so I cleared my throat and finished preparing a second plate of pancakes before pulling a third plate closer, “You just like pancakes with butter and powdered sugar, right?”

“Yea. I can dress it myself,” he smiled brightly and took the plate I handed him, eyes inevitably meeting mine.

Heat bloomed over my cheeks and I dropped my eyes so I could concentrate on cleaning up. I was just pulling orange juice from the refrigerator when the sound of little feet on the carpet had me smiling, instinctively lifting the glass and carton of juice above my head as Rebel slid across the tile and slammed into me, wrapping his arms around my legs and grinning up at me.

“Morning daddy!”

“Hey baby. Did you sleep well?”

“Uh-huh. Breakfast!”

“Already got your plate ready,” I turned, the smile fading a little when I caught sight of Malcolm with a forkful of pancake partway to his open mouth.

He appeared to have forgotten he was eating and was outright staring at the little boy clinging to my legs. I winced a little and lowered the carton and glass before smiling down at Rebel, who’d turned and was staring at Malcolm with wide eyes.

“Rebel, sweetie, this is an old friend of mine. His name is Malcolm,” Rebel looked up at me before scrambling behind me and hiding, peering around my leg towards Malcolm, making me laugh nervously, “He won’t hurt you, baby.”

“Who…,” I looked back over at Malcolm, who’d set his fork down, still staring at Rebel, “Who’s the kid?”

“Rebel,” I introduced, reaching one hand down to push his black hair back with three fingers, still holding the glass, “He’s mine.”

“Yours…,” Malcolm repeated, stunned, “You… have a kid? You’re a dad?”

“Yea,” I answered, turning my head when Shaede stepped back into the kitchen, hands stuffed in his pockets, “I made you breakfast,” he mumbled something incoherent and grabbed a plain pancake from his plate before leaning against the wall and tearing off pieces as I looked back down at Rebel, “Come on, you need to eat.”

He just shifted around and ducked further behind me, making me sigh, “He’s… pretty shy, huh?” Malcolm asked, and I hummed a little.

“He can be, usually around strangers, or others from the Clan…,” I frowned a little.

The entire reason Rebel was so nervous and scared around most people is because every time before when he would try to say hello to the older wolves or play with pups, they would just scowl, yell at him, hit him. It was no wonder he was so scared of Malcolm, even though he’d seen the picture of him in my locket.

“You’re okay, baby, he won’t hurt you,” I cooed, and Rebel looked up at me, holding his arms up with a heavy pout on his lips.

I set the glass and carton of juice down before bending over and picking him up, letting him hide against my neck, arms around me and little hands squeezing my shirt. I rubbed his little back and rocked a little on my feet as Shaede tipped his head back, eyes on me.

“He normally doesn’t cling unless the priss is around,” he observed, narrowing his eyes over at Malcolm, “Maybe it’s a sign.”

Malcolm snapped his head to the side to glare back at him, and I sighed in irritation, “Shaede.”

“Just saying,” he mumbled, tearing another piece of pancake off and stepping further into the kitchen, slipping behind me, probably to try and tempt Rebel into eating.

I could hear him whispering to my son, and smiled, turning my head to watch Rebel peek over my shoulder and reach out to take the pancake, nibbling on it, “What did you say?” I asked Shaede, grinning as he stepped up beside me, smiling softly.

“It’s a secret.”

“Oh please,” I snorted, turning, “Feel better, hun?”

Rebel nodded, “Juice.”

I set him back down, but he continued to cling to my leg, staring over at Malcolm as I poured him a glass of juice, handing it down to him, “Both hands, don’t drop it.”

Rebel nodded and took the glass as Shaede walked over to the counter, keeping eye contact with Malcolm as he slowly and deliberately dragged a stool from beside the alpha and pulled it around to the other side, as if making it blatantly obvious Rebel would be sitting as far away from him as possible. Malcolm seemed to understand it and bristled as Shaede pulled the plate of pancakes over in front of the stool and turned to us.

“Come on little man, breakfast. Your dad worked hard.”

Rebel shuffled over and Shaede took the glass of juice, putting it beside the plate of pancakes before scooping Rebel from the ground and sitting him on the seat, ruffling his messy black hair. Malcolm was still glaring at Shaede, so I sighed and grabbed two coffee mugs, carrying them over to the counter and sliding one in front of Malcolm, smiling when he turned to regard me.

“You brought coffee, right?”

His lips pulled into a crooked grin and he nodded, “Mom said it was awful though, she poured out almost all of it.”

I squinted, “Maybe I should make a new pot, then.”

“What, you don’t trust my coffee?” Malcolm asked, pulling the thermos in front of him, “I made it with love.”

“Yea, but not flavor,” I chuckled, “I think I trust Cecilia’s judgement,” I took the thermos from him before he could complain and unscrewed the top, smelling the steam that rose up and wrinkling my nose, dumping it into the sink and shaking my head, “Yea that’s not happening.”

“Hey I already had a cup of it and it tasted fine to me.”

“Is that what you’ve been doing for eight years? Poisoning yourself with bad coffee?” I clicked my tongue at him, but he was grinning, “Can’t leave you alone for a second, can I?”

“Guess not,” he shrugged, but he didn’t appear too guilty about it.

“You want any?” I asked over to Shaede, who wrinkled his nose in distaste.

“I hate coffee.”

“Ah, right, you’re a tea only wolf.”

“Weak palette,” Malcolm stated, and I winced, looking over my shoulder to see the two of them were glaring heatedly at each other yet again.

“Seems like you have no palette at all,” Shaede replied, and I sighed before turning to the coffee maker.