My Lycan Mate of Suicide Forest

Chapter 311 - Ghosts

Graeme entered the last room on the left where he knew there were always clothes available. The outpost was used by every guard and perimeter runner, every scout at some point in time. Given the nature of their work shifting to and from wolf form, they were often in need of extra clothes.

The door was already open and when he walked through the doorway, he stopped. He wasn't sure why. But it was like the ghost of a memory hit him as soon as he walked in. And there was the most enchanting scent…

He stared at the bed for a moment before he walked to the closet, which looked like it had already been rifled through tonight. He pulled on a pair of joggers and a tee shirt and then sat on the bed, stumped about what to do next. Why had he blacked out? Why was Greta messing with him about a mate? Had she put this intoxicating scent in here to lure him into believing he had a mate?

He had sworn off the whole idea of a mate after what went down with Violet. When she had gotten pregnant, it was like his whole life flashed before his eyes, and it was all one massive disappointment. And when Violet had the miscarriage, it somehow made him feel even worse. Not only had he gotten a female pregnant who wasn't his mate, but he felt relieved when she lost it.

He couldn't be trusted with this pack and their progeny or their success. He couldn't be trusted with the delicate emotional lives of his people.

And now he was getting nostalgic and emotional in the bedroom of the outpost. This is why he stayed away and focused on tracking strays. This was no way for an Alpha to feel or act, and he didn't want to be reminded of how much he fell short when measured up against his father. He didn't want the stares of lingering hope that he got from pack members. He wasn't the Alpha, and he never would be. The council was doing just fine.

"I'm going to the treehouse for the night," he said after trudging down the stairs into the living room.

"Graeme," Sylvia tried, approaching him. "I wouldn't lie to you, son. Would I?"

He looked at her—the worn, concerned look on her face. Sylvia had been through so much. He knew that she hoped he would return and change his mind, just as many of them did. But would she lie to him?

"No, Sylvia. I know you wouldn't lie to me," he admitted, resting his hands on his hips and staring at the hardwood floor. She deserved respect. In his mind, she was as good as an elder in this pack.

"Then please hear me," she said, walking a few steps closer to him. "A lot has happened that you don't remember. Greta is telling the truth, son. It is Samhain. And your mate was just taken."

He swallowed, trying to process this. Why would Sylvia be in on this? Had the whole pack gotten together and decided how to manipulate him into returning?

"I really can't do this right now," he said, and he walked outside.

The air—the season. It was all different. It was cooler. More of the leaves had fallen. He could smell the coming winter. And there was something else… the growing feeling of loss. But that was usual when he visited. He felt the loss of his parents, of Maggie, and of all the alyko so acutely that it nearly gutted him if he lingered on it.

Greta and Sam followed him out the door and saw him frozen on the lawn. He shook his head and started jogging toward the treehouse, leaving the three of them behind.

The smell of a bonfire hit his nose as he ran. His body realized the truth before he did. It registered the time of year by the level of moisture in the air, the scent that accompanied the fallen leaves and their decomposition, the waning energy of the plants around him that were beginning to curl up and go dormant for the winter. It was much later in the season than he thought.

Was it actually Samhain?

His heart started tugging at him, pulling him back—telling him not to run away from those who held the truth to what had occurred here. But he was stubborn, and he kept running until he was at the bottom of those steps that he had climbed a million times throughout his childhood.

He looked up at the old tree, the one that Maggie had enchanted to protect them. It was an old friend. He missed the tree and the treehouse as much as he missed Greta when he was away. Sometimes he imagined that the tree held a piece of Maggie—that she was there, living inside of it, looking out for him and welcoming him home. It was at least partially true, because her enchantment lived on. He could feel it when he got close—the beautiful invisible barrier that let him walk through.

He took the steps four at a time, running up the winding staircase he knew so well that his feet could anticipate the next steps without him even looking at them. There were odd scents here this time, but he didn't take time to analyze them. He had been gone a long while. Perhaps others had wandered up here. Perhaps Greta had been here with others while she was watching over the place, as she always did.

The front door creaked slightly when he pushed it open, and then the most beautiful scent met him. It was the same scent that had lingered in the bedroom of the outpost. His pulse quickened, and his body started aching for her. He didn't know who she was—the one who this ache belong to—but he felt the truth of her being light within him. She had been here, in his favorite place. In the place that was the closest thing to home for him.

He walked through the darkened rooms, not bothering to turn on any lights. She was in every room. She was in his bed. She was in the bathroom. And if he was honest, she was inside of him. He stopped when he crossed back into the living room, turning to look out at the pool that was shimmering in the light of the full moon.

"I have a mate," he murmured to himself, entranced by the light bouncing off of the water.. "Moon," he whispered.