My Lycan Mate of Suicide Forest

We are OFFICIALLY CONTRACTED!!!! YAY! Thank you for all your support in comments, reviews, and votes - it helped get this book contracted pretty quickly (especially since I'm a new writer). I can't tell you how excited I am to share this story and this WN journey with you all! I'm releasing an extra chapter tonight in celebration! [[Happy Dance!]]

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Just as Greta was alighting on the bottom step of the treehouse after leaving August with Sylvia, her phone rang.

"I've been waiting for this call. What took you so long?"

"What do you mean? I just saw you," Graeme replied on the other end.

"I mean about what happened at the council yesterday. How did it go with the grumpy old men?" she chuckled.

Graeme grunted in response. On the way to the pack house, he had stopped at their parent's home to check on its condition. Greta had kept everything clean and cared for like always, and he couldn't help but feel a swell of gratitude for the resilience she had inside of her that he lacked. It was difficult for him to step in here even briefly now due to all the memories that threatened to overwhelm him, but this was the best place for a private phone call with his sister where others couldn't eavesdrop.

"You're at the house, aren't you?" Greta asked after his prolonged silence.

"Yeah," he said simply. They were both quiet. Sometimes it felt like his sister could sync with his thoughts even from afar. He remembered early on when Sam and Greta had just discovered that they were mates—how Sam bristled every time Graeme was around. There were several uncomfortable years when Graeme felt like he had lost a close friend in Sam and even had to keep at a distance from his own sister, because Sam was jealous of how entangled their thoughts seemed to be.

"Only mates should be that close," Sam had told Greta at one point. Greta had tried talking some sense into him, but it was ultimately time that brought ease to Sam's heart. That and seeing how unhappy Greta was without that relationship with her brother.

"This is really the first opportunity I've had to call you. I got home last night and had some weird stuff happen with August," he said finally.

"Yeah, she mentioned it after you left," Greta replied.

"She did?"

"Well, I asked her what happened. I could tell something was off." Greta looked at Sam who had just gotten down from the treehouse and threw him the keys for the Jeep.

"Is she okay?" Graeme's voice turned anxious.

"Yes, yes—she's okay. Sam and I are just leaving, but Sylvia is with her. She just seems… tired. I think the reiki will help a lot. But are you okay?" she asked.

"I am. I feel better than I have in a long time. Whatever she did—I feel like it freed something in me. I just hope it didn't hurt her," he groaned. He recalled how he had held August while she quietly cried herself to sleep and then how she had looked so tired when he returned to the deck this morning to give her the broth. "If she helped me at her own expense…" he couldn't even finish the sentence.

"Okay, I'm glad you're okay. We'll figure it out," Greta said in her reassuring way. "We're all here for you, okay? Both of you."

Graeme swallowed and looked down at the counter he had spent every morning of his childhood at. Eating breakfast and laughing with his family. "Okay. Thanks," he mumbled. "Thank you. I mean it. For calling Sylvia and just… for everything."

"Of course," she replied softly. "Tell me. What happened with Andreas?"

He sighed, wriggling out of the immediate concern for August and returning his thoughts to the day before. "It's… disturbing, Greta. I don't know what to make of it."

Graeme told his sister about Zosime and her team. About the map. About the alyko files with the horrible stories of past alyko. With every detail, Greta felt her stomach plummet a little bit further until Sam was glancing worriedly at her from the driver's seat, feeling the weight of it like she did—as if it were his own.

After Graeme had told her everything he could recall, he sat staring again at his hands. They were like his father's hands. The thought vaguely registered with him as he sat suspended in the silence from Greta on the other end of the call.

"It's a good thing you've come home, Graeme," Greta finally mumbled. "This is bigger than anything I would have imagined. And they're not telling you everything. There's no way they would give you everything on the first day when they believe your mate is a witch."

Graeme's eyebrows threaded together at this. Greta was right. Of course she was right. He had thought so much himself.

"Why is this young stray heading a team like this? What were they thinking?" Greta muttered. Her and Sam had finally returned home, but she didn't follow him out of the car. She sat in the passenger's side lost in her thoughts. Sam circled around the front of the Jeep until he was leaning against the passenger door, watching her mind work as she stared into the distance.

"They couldn't have fabricated all of those stories in such a short time," she mumbled. "But something isn't right, that's for sure. I've never heard anything about this. It will be interesting to see what you learn today. Just remember—they are in control of everything you see right now. And we already know how they feel about August."

Graeme blew a breath out of his nose. "Right."

"Be careful, big brother."

With that, Graeme ended the call and stalked out of the house.

The pack house was lively as usual, although the voices grew noticeably quieter when Graeme entered. They could feel his presence before they saw it. It was something Graeme had become accustomed to from a young age—the way everyone in his pack made themselves smaller when he walked by. He came to appreciate those who were brave enough to challenge the instinct his presence bore in them, because sometimes he just wanted to… be. Be regular. Be normal. Be one of the pack. Not someone who was feared or who made their eyes gleam with hope. He saw it even now—the way their eyebrows arched over watery puppy eyes that strayed his way as if desperately awaiting something he had denied them. They were always waiting. Always expecting. He felt their hopeful gazes like claws down his back.

It took everything in him at that moment to curve his lips into a smile for those who were looking on. They needed to be reassured. His presence instinctively meant safety to them, and he didn't want to deny it. He gritted his teeth and climbed the stairs before turning toward the medical wing where Zosime's office was.

"Alph—Graeme, good morning," Zoe stood from behind her desk and bowed with her hands clasped in front of her. Graeme wondered how Zosime regarded him—if the instinct that his pack felt around him was similarly felt by her. It wasn't a common occurrence for strays to be welcomed into a pack where an Alpha wasn't present. She was full of confidence and an impressive amount of intelligence for her age. But how did her lycan instincts react in a pack setting? If she were sequestered in a secret research team within the pack house… well that was unprecedented.

"Morning, Zoe," Graeme responded, maintaining his broad stance as these questions assailed him. He shouldn't betray any weakness around her, that was for sure.

Zoe didn't seem affected. "I have your parent's file in a private conference room. Andre sent it from the archives. Follow me," she said cloyingly.

It was too sweet. The tang of her voice grated on him, and suddenly he knew. This was all some kind of elaborate setup. As he followed her out of the office and down the brightly lit hallway, a muscle feathered in his jaw. The elders hadn't invited him back when they knew he had a mate. They were worried she was a witch, but… that paranoia had begun with them. They were the ones to accuse Maggie. They were the root of all of this. The map. The alyko files. Right…?

Once he entered the conference room, Graeme's thoughts clouded and his eyebrows pinched together. "Is it foggy in here?" he turned to look at Zoe who was standing in the doorway.

Zoe smiled with the beginning of a giggle sputtering from her lips. "A trick of the light. That particular density of glass and the angle of the sun at this time of day creates an illusion of fog. It should clear in a minute when the sun rises a bit higher," she giggled.

When Graeme turned back to the table where his parent's file sat, Zoe's eyes flashed.. "If you need anything, I'll be down the hall," she said and closed the door behind her.

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