Slow Shift, Nazarea Andrews [english love story books TXT] 📗

that, but I mean, I was pretty motivated and changing spells is something I’ve been doing almost since I started learning magic, and it’s actually really cool. It’s kinda like in Sleeping Beauty when the castle is surrounded by briar patch to keep the Prince out, except this is mistletoe and aconite and belladonna—werewolves like avoiding that, right? So it funnels them where I want. And it’s dangerous, ok—that’s partly why Caitlyn didn’t think I could do it, I think? Because that kind of magic takes a lot, more than a shaman or a druid should be able to channel, but I don’t fuel the spell—my magic doesn’t. It’s the Standing Stones. I’m just the middleman, but it’s still a lot, you know?”

“Chase,” Tyler says tightly.

The boy sighs. “I had to, Ty. We’re too small to hold the land, but we have to. Not just because it’s Reid land. I’m tied to the Standing Stones and that means the Pack is, too. We have to protect it.”

~*~

Tyler is at the grocery store waiting for Chase in the frozen aisle when he meets her. She’s pretty, startlingly so, and he stares at her, holding a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream in one hand.

“Hello,” she says, a smile bright on her lips. He wants, almost desperately, to taste those lips, wants to spend hours lost in her, wants to drag her to his bed and claim her.

“Hi,” he breathes, and her smile is shy and sweet, and she’s fucking perfect.

“Any good?” she asks, nodding at his ice cream.

He blinks at it. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. She laughs and it’s the best thing he’s ever heard. A whine builds in his throat and she glances at him as she selects a box of Dove bars.

“Do you want to—”

“Tyler,” a sharp voice barks, and he flinches. That voice, he knows it, knows it’s safe. Who—

“Stay,” she murmurs, and his thoughts drift, fading as he leans into the touch on his arm.

Fury rips through him, and it’s so strong, so achingly protective and familiar that it makes him whine. A hand clamps down on the back of his neck and Chase snarls, “Get the fuck away from him.”

She falls back a step and it makes him whimper, makes him take a step toward her before Chase’s grip goes tight, holding him still, and Tyler turns into his boy, because he doesn’t know why he wants her, but he knows Chase.

“It would be easy,” she says, taunting. “I could take him from you with nothing more than a few words.”

Chase laughs. Power ripples around him and the fog, the want, is dissipating, leaving only startling confusion, a furious shaman, and a woman he doesn’t know, doesn't want.

“Bitch, he’s been mine since I was fourteen. I could die and you still couldn’t take him from me.”

A dark smile curves her lips, nearly covers the anger still lurking in her gaze.

There is a tendril of want now, tugging at him, drawing him to her. Gentle, familiar fingers are on his jaw, turning him down and away, tucking him into the curve of Chase's throat, his voice a crooning murmur. Tyler shudders as the foggy want melts away. He doesn’t look up, though, doesn’t move away from Chase until long after her heels clack her retreat and Chase murmurs, “C’mon, big guy. Let’s go home.”

~*~

Tyler knows that Lucas is angry, and he knows that Chase is too warm, laying curled protectively around him. He thinks he should probably talk, figure out what the hell she wanted—why him— and what they’re going to do about it. But he feels safe here in Chase’s embrace, his brother’s fury buffeting the warm little cocoon he’s tucked himself into, comforting and right, so he doesn’t let himself think.

“He doesn’t need our anger, Lucas. Not yet,” Chase says, and Lucas snarls but slides into the bed, pressing against Tyler, pressing his scent into him.

“You’re safe,” Chase murmurs, and Tyler closes his eyes.

~*~

Chase is watching him when he jerks out of a nightmare, and Tyler stares at him. For a moment, he isn’t sure what he was dreaming—Mia or the woman in the store, and suddenly, it’s burning against his throat, everything he hasn’t told Chase about Mia and the accident. And Chase is still there, patient, whiskey-gold eyed acceptance.

“She was a librarian,” Tyler says hoarsely. “I was seventeen and she—she was a librarian, Chase.”

Chase pets a hand through his hair and Tyler whines. “She kept checking on me, after I broke up with my girlfriend. She said she was worried about me, said I looked sad and lonely, said that I could trust her. And I was a fucking idiot. I did, Chase, I trusted her. I knew she was from the Drake coven, and she used me. I fucked her and she killed them.”

“Hey,” Chase says softly, drawing Tyler up, forcing him to meet his eyes—eyes that are soft, sad, and loving. “She was psychotic, Ty. She was always going to kill them. She used you—”

“I loved her,” Tyler whimpers.

“You love the lie that she created,” Chase says, “That person? The one who listened and cared about your mental wellbeing, who kissed you and flirted with you? The one you thought you were sleeping with? None of that was real. It’s what she wanted you to believe. You were a kid who trusted the wrong person, but there is nothing wrong with trusting, Tyler. You didn’t do this.”

“I feel like I did,” Tyler whispers.

Chase nods. “I know, baby. I know you do.”

He’s quiet for a long time, then quietly asks, “Why—why did she do that today? Why do they always try to hurt my family through me?”

He can hear the uneven beat of Chase’s heart and it occurs to him how wrong it is, putting this on Chase’s shoulders, but he can’t pull away.

Not yet.

“I don’t know,” Chase admits softly.

~*~

The pack doesn’t leave.

Chase burns hot to the touch and remains grumpy, but after that night in Tyler’s bed, he’s