Standing at the foot of the bed, Cyprus watched his mate sleep. Candlelight from the ensuite bath spilled into his bedroom, flickering across stone floors and curved walls, anointing her with golden light. Not that he needed it to see her. Night vision pinpoint sharp, he saw every detail: the soft turn of her pale cheek, the messy tumble of her blond hair, the tilt of full lips still swollen from his kisses.

Satisfaction welled inside him. Goddess, she was adorable.

On her back, arms flung wide, legs askew beneath the sheet, Elise slept the same way she made love—with complete abandon. Nothing held back. No shyness to be seen. Just a gorgeous female in repose, totally exhausted after spending a full night and day with him. Time well spent. Gratification guaranteed. His mouth curved. He hadn’t left her alone. Hell, he hadn’t been able to, making love to her over and over, delving between her thighs so many times her taste was now imprinted on his heart.

Buckling his belt, Cyprus touched his tongue to his bottom lip. Fuck, he could still taste her. Wanted to strip away the sheets and lick her until she screamed again. Temptation stampeded his willpower. His body reacted, hardening behind his button-fly. With a growl, he stepped around the corner of the bed and—

Cyprus shook his head. Nay, not again.

Planting his feet, he held himself in check. Perfectly fucking still. He needed to get a grip on his urges before he took another step…and did something foolish. He might be ready for another round, but Elise wasn’t in any shape to take him. She required time to recover, to rest muscles he knew must be sore as a result of his insatiability.

Not that she’d been any better.

He could still hear her breathy moans. Still felt her slick heat surrounding him. The memory of her under—and over—him turned him inside out. She’d ridden him like she owned him the last time, as though she ruled, leaving him to follow. He huffed in amusement. Such a bold lass. So beautiful she made him want to pull his clothes off and crawl back into bed with her. Again.

Too bad he couldn’t stay. Not tonight.

Cyprus backed away from the edge of the bed. His gaze landed on the covered tray he’d left for her. It wasn’t much, a couple of croissants, some berries, sliced cheese along with an energy drink, but it would do…for now. Until he returned from a night hunting Grizgunn and fed her himself.

With a sigh of regret, he headed for the door. Footfalls muffled by thick area rugs, Cyprus crossed the open space, mind churning, worry rising as he sensed his brothers-in-arms presence inside the lair. Already gathered in the great room, prowling around like a pack of wild dogs, his warriors awaited him, thoughts of killing rogue males on their minds.

Even from across the lair, he felt the tension. The threat of violence churned in the air, broadcasting the lethal slant of each warrior’s mood.

Cyprus grunted. On a normal night, he would’ve approved, but…shite. Tonight promised to be anything but normal. Clusterfuck might be a better word to use. Deadly was no doubt another, but—no help for it. He couldn’t stall any longer. The truth needed to be told and past sins uncovered.

With his mate now in play, he stood at a fork in the road. Turn right or go left. Keep his secret or choose a healthier way forward: a future for himself and Elise without the threat of discovery hanging over his head, without his past tainting everything it touched. Cyprus knew coming clean was the right thing to do. Felt it deep down. Had known it for years, but the uncertainty of his warriors’ reaction had kept him silent.

Hell, it still worried him. Unease picked him apart as he tried to anticipate what his brothers-in-arms would say. He frowned. How would they react to his confession—with understanding or censure? With calm acceptance or gut-wrenching violence? Cyprus swallowed past the tightness in his throat. It could go either way. The males he commanded were honorable, so strong none backed away from a challenge. Or allowed dishonesty to stand. A tight spot to be in considering the lass asleep in his bed.

Concern formed a knot in the center of his chest.

Goddess help him…Elise. She was part of his mess now too. His female would be affected by his decision. She could be hurt by what happened next and—

Fucking hell. He’d only just found her. Didn’t want to leave her. Would end his own life before harming a single hair on her head, but the fact remained. His warriors held the power to condemn him. He’d committed a cardinal sin that night—executing his sire without pack approval. Aye, he’d had good reason. The law actually stood on his side given the foul nature of his father’s crime. His uncle and cousins lay dead, ashes scattered across highland moors, the horror of it his sire’s doing.

Cyprus flexed his hand around the door handle. The metal knob crumbled in his palm as he shook his head. He must accept responsibility for his part in it. Laying the blame at his da’s feet didn’t exonerate him. Or excuse his actions. Sometimes doing the right thing wasn’t always the best thing. Which meant…

Time to face the music.

Pulling in another deep breath, Cyprus opened the door and slipped into the hallway. Careful to be quiet, not wanting to wake Elise, he pulled it closed behind him. The lock clicked into place. He raised his head and—

Stopped short.

Dark purple eyes narrowed on him. “About time you got yer sorry arse out of bed.”

Cyprus snorted. “Fuck off, Tydrin. You’re no better. I can smell Ivy all over you.”

Arms crossed, leaning against the wall opposite the door, his brother grinned. “She’s not up yet. Won’t be for a while.”

“Elise, either,” he said, pride for his mate rising. “I wore her out.”

“Good for you.” A knowing gleam in his eyes, Tydrin pushed away from the wall. An inch shorter and less broad of shoulder, his brother raised his fist and thumped Cyprus on the chest. The love-tap resonated, pushing through to the back of his spine. “Better for her.”

“Shite, I hope so.” He might be newly mated, but Cyprus wasn’t stupid. He knew where his priorities lay, and pleasing his female topped the list. “There a reason you’re out here waiting for me? Or are you just being annoying.”

“I live to annoy you.”

“That’s because you’re an arsehole,” he said, affection in his tone.

Tydrin chuckled.

Cyprus pivoted right, leaving his doorway to stride down the hallway. Light globes reacted to the shift, bobbing against the ceiling, highlighting the chisel marks in ancient stone walls. Hundreds of years old, the lair settled around him like a favorite pair of jeans. Well-loved. Worn in spots, comfortable despite its age. Rolling his shoulders, he let his home soothe the ragged edges of worry as his brother kept pace, walking alongside him. Silence stretched, nothing but the sound of boot soles striking stone in the underground tunnel.

Minutes passed before he threw Tydrin a sidelong look. Odd. His brother wasn’t usually so quiet. The change in behavior signaled trouble, the kind Cyprus refused to ignore.

Slowing the pace, he nudged Tydrin with his elbow. “What?”

His brows furrowed, his brother met his gaze. “Something’s wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“With you. Something is wrong with you.”

Cyprus scowled. Perceptive wee runt, wasn’t he? To be expected. He couldn’t hide much from Tydrin. As blood brothers, their connection ran deeper than pack bonds, tying thoughts and emotions together, allowing him to sense Tydrin and Vyroth’s moods…even when he wasn’t with them. A gift, most of the time. Tonight, though, he wished the link wasn’t so strong. It might’ve saved Tydrin some heartache.

“I’m all right, lad.”

“You’re unsettled, Cy. I feel it…can sense yer struggle with every breath I take. And now you’ve called a formal meeting of the pack, which you never do.” Gaze intent on him, Tydrin scanned his face. “What worries you, brother?”

“Grizgunn—”

“Nay, donnae lie. Not to me. ’Tis more than the thought of a feud. We’ve had rogues in our territory before without it unsettling you.”

His feet slowed. He halted in the middle of an intersection. Four tunnels converged, then spiraled in different directions. Cyprus stared straight ahead, seeing the hallway in front of him, but not really. Time to decide. What should he do? Tell his brother, or wait to confess in front of the entire pack. Indecision warred, pitting fear against courage.

Bowing his head, Cyprus cupped the nape of his neck with both hands. “Fuck.”

“It cannae be that bad, brother.”

“It is that bad, Tydrin.”

“Then tell me,” he said from right behind him. “So, we can fix it.”

“It cannae be fixed.” Guilt rose, clogging his throat. “Or undone.”

Grabbing his shoulder, Tydrin spun him around. “Tell me.”

He met his brother’s gaze. Son of a bitch. It should never have come to this. He wanted to protect Tydrin. The eldest shielded the youngest, only natural, but…goddess forgive him. He couldn’t shield his brother from the truth, from a secret so devastating it held the power to shatter his pack.

Which meant Tydrin must be told first.

Blindsiding him in front of the other warriors wasn’t a good idea. His brother might be smart, but he owned a temper. An explosive one that, once unleashed, needed time to cool. Tydrin deserved more than silence from him. He needed the truth before anyone else heard it. Anything less would be cruel. The betraying bastard had been his sire too, after all, so…

Cyprus nodded. “It has tae do with Father and the night he died.”

“What about it?”

“I am responsible for his death,” he said, his voice cracking. Christ, it sounded bad when said out loud, something he’d never dared do before now. “He orchestrated the ambush that killed our uncle and cousins.”

Tydrin flinched and stepped back, away from him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

The question opened the floodgates. The truth spilled out in a messy rush.

“He was in league with Rodin and the Archguard, Tydrin,” he rasped, tasting bile as he tried to control the volatile swirl of his emotions. “Father believed he’d been chosen tae rule by the Goddess of All Things…that command, position, and privilege had been stolen from him. After the ambush, the pack was in turmoil. The chaos was absolute and—”

“I remember,” Tydrin whispered, looking as pale as he felt. “I was in the kitchen with Aunt Vivian when she collapsed.”

And died.

Tydrin refused to say it. He didn’t want to either, but the harshness didn’t make it any less true. The instant his uncle—her mate—had drawn his last breath, she had too.

Raking his fingers through his hair, Cyprus drew a shaky breath. “I went tae find Da, hoping he would know what tae do. I found him with Randor—Grizgunn’s sire—on a hill above the battlefield. He’d watched it all. Watched our kin and commander be slaughtered and did naught tae stop it. When he saw me, he laughed…he fucking laughed, Tydrin. Was so pleased, he boasted how well his plan had worked and—”

“You lost your temper.”

Shite. If only he had. If only he could use loss of control as an excuse, but…

“I cannae claim anger as a defense,” he said, being honest, refusing to hide anymore. “I knew what I was doing when I chased him down. I showed no mercy. I executed him with a clear mind and a vengeful heart. His blood is on my claws, brother.”

His words hung in the air.

Cyprus closed his eyes. He couldn’t look at his brother. Couldn’t bear to see—

The fist caught him on the cheekbone.

His head snapped to the side. Blood splattered over his temple as he stumbled backward. His spine collided with the wall. The pain hammered him next, exploding between his temples, rattling his teeth, piercing his heart. Fucking hell, his brother knew how to hit. Packed one hell of a wallop in a knuckle sized package. And as Tydrin hit him again, catching him under the chin, Cyprus snarled but stood firm, refusing to fight back. He deserved to be punished. Deserved each punch Tydrin threw, but as he braced for the next, something odd happened.

Tydrin stepped back, denying him the third strike. “There. I have drawn first blood and taken my due. Grevaiz has been accepted and satisfied, commander.”

Flinching in a surprise, Cyprus regained his balance and looked at his brother. Grevaiz, the settling of accounts between warriors. An ancient Dragonkind ritual, the offering of first strike when one male wronged another. A way for the offended to be assuaged and the offender to be forgiven. Cyprus exhaled, the sound rough and raw. Jesus. Leave it to Tydrin to trot out tradition in the face of overwhelming emotion.

Tears stinging his eyes, he stared at his brother, wonder spinning him toward gratitude.

“It’s over, Cyprus.” An unyielding look in his face, Tydrin met him head-on, all warrior, no sign of sympathy. “You are forgiven.”

Relief nearly brought him to his knees. “I thought you would hate me.”

“You thought wrong,” he said. “I was there too, you know. I am not blind. Father was mentally ill, Cyprus…so mad near the end, his part in our kin’s murders doesn’t surprise me. You did what needed to be done, sparing the rest of us the pain of it. That takes strength and courage, brother…is the entire reason you were chosen to lead our pack after Uncle’s death.”

“But—”

His brother snarled at him. “How many times did you shield me from da growing up, Cy? How many times did you step between us? How many times did you protect me when I couldn’t protect myself?”

The memories slammed into him like surging waves. All the verbal abuse. All the raised fists. Every bruise meted out in anger. “Tae many too count.”

“Well, now it’s my turn to shield you. I will stand beside you when you tell the pack what you just told me. I have yer back, brother, and always will.” Stepping in close, Tydrin gripped his nape. Dark purple gaze aglow, he held him steady, then gave him a little shake. “Never forget it.”

Not knowing what to say, Cyprus palmed his brother’s shoulder. He squeezed. His brother accepted the unspoken thank you, standing chest-to-chest with him as the bonds of brotherhood snapped back into place. All good. The past out in the open, and his brother on board. Now, to face the rest of his pack.

Drawing a deep breath, he patted Tydrin again, love and affection in the touch, and released his hold. His brother reciprocated and drew back, giving him space to turn and continue down the corridor. True to his word, Tydrin matched him stride for stride, walking shoulder-to-shoulder with him toward the great room where his warriors—and fate—awaited.