Chapter 21: The Secret

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I wasn’t sure what I had been expecting when I had thought of Atticus’s secret room. Maybe a lover or two. Maybe some kink he was too scared to show me, but that wasn’t what I found at all.

Instead, I found instruments. All kinds of hand-crafted instruments hanging on the walls, on displays with lanterns highlighting them. It was stunning.

The room was closed in except for a single skylight, painted a deep red all over the walls with black music notes painted along them.

There was wooden paneling on the ceiling and floor. A small platform was in the corner where there was a chair, lanterns, and a guitar against it. Parchment sat on the side table with a charcoal pencil. I went over to it, smiling down at the music Atticus had been creating.

I couldn’t read the music, but I knew it would sound amazing.

I turned and looked at the different kinds of instruments.

There were wooden drums with leather pulled over the top displayed together in a pattern. And so many string instruments—big and small, with different woods to make them up. Some were painted, some were not.

And I knew they were all made by Atticus.

He was so talented, and he had said nothing.

But I had no idea why Atticus would want to hide something like this. It was beautiful.

I ran my fingers over one of the instruments, plucking the string as I went.

The sound that came out was literal music to my ears and instantly calmed my soul.

I let out a deep breath, my eyes fluttering closed as I listened to the sound of the string.

When the sound drifted off, I opened my eyes, smiling down at the instruments. I went to look at the next one, stopping mid-step when I saw Atticus leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes shimmering as he looked at me.

I knew I was in trouble. He had warned me I would be. I blushed, guilt chewing at me for invading his personal space. I should have let him be the one to show me this.

I hung my head and peered up through my lashes, trying to see just how furious he was. He had every right to be.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, turning my hands over.

Instead of saying anything, Atticus went and sat on one of the two leather chairs in the middle of the room. He sighed as he looked around the room.

“What is this place?” I asked softly.

Atticus rubbed his hands over his face, then met my eyes.

“This is my secret, Fox. I inherited some of my mother’s powers.” My eyes shot up at that revelation, but he continued before I could ask about it, “Not much and not the song. I think that only happens to the female heirs. But I can channel magic through my instruments. Through the music they make.”

I thought that was awesome, but one look at his face and I knew he didn’t think so. His face was pinched like he was bitter about the gene he had been given.

I went over to him and climbed on his lap, my arms going around his neck.

“Do you want to talk about it? I’d like to know,” I whispered, kissing his lips tenderly, trying to stop them from pursing.

He kissed me back, holding my face like it was as fragile as glass—then pulled back.

“I don’t want it to affect your decision.”

I shook my head. “It won’t.”

“You say that now, but I suppose it is something I should tell you in case after vampires, naked servants, and secret doors haven’t pushed you far enough away.” He was joking, but I still didn’t like the fact that he was mentally putting himself out of this choice.

“I haven’t made any decisions, Atticus,” I whispered.

He smiled tightly, then sighed again, looking around the room. When he looked back, his eyes met mine. “My mother is being generous when she speaks about why she lives far away. Yes, she doesn’t want the wolves to lose their free will, and it helps her control her voice, but that is because the wolves demanded that of her. She was shunned from the wolves. They are rude and rarely interact long with her because they are scared of what she can do. At one point, on a full moon, they wanted to kill her for it. I couldn’t let that happen.” He reshuffled me on his lap, bringing me closer and tucking me into him.

“How did you stop them?” I whispered, the air full of dormant sadness that was almost suffocating.

“I became a better Alpha. I made sure they respected me enough to leave her alone. I kept them happy, became their friend and their leader. I gave them everything they needed, I counseled them, I listened. And I put my mother out in the forest, promising that she would only leave twice in the lunar cycle for trading. I exiled her, Fox.”

Oh. That would have been the hardest decision to make. Harder than the one I was making, at least.

I cupped his face. “But now they are happy, Atticus. Are they not?”

He nodded. “Yes, Fox. They are all happy. And ever since then, I have hidden this part of myself. The part I used to be proud to get from her. This room has been locked for a long time,” he said, his voice fading away as he looked around. “It’s a mask, Fox. A constant half of me that I give them because if I show them what I truly am, or the gifts I truly have, they will not accept it, just as they didn’t accept her.”

My heart ached for him, and I held him tight, the comfort in the embrace carrying even the slightest hope of making him feel better.

But I knew that wasn’t what he needed.

So I stood up and went to one of the instruments hanging on the wall. I picked it off and carried it over to Atticus. He frowned at it and then at me.

“Play something for me? I’d like to hear it.”

He grabbed the instrument and looked over it, then shook his head. “I haven’t played in a long time.”

I leaned down and pulled his face to mine, “I don’t want you to wear a mask for me, Atticus. I want to see the real you.” I kissed him.

When I pulled back, he locked eyes with me, “I’ll play. You sing.”

I tensed and shook my head. Mine wasn’t a mask. It was fear. “I’ll hum. I’m not ready for the voice part yet.”

He hesitated, then nodded. He put the instrument on his knee, the neck of it in his hand, then placed his fingers on the strings at one end.

I wasn’t sure how well my humming was going to go, and I wasn’t sure what power was going to come out from us creating music together, but I was excited to find out, even if it was only to see behind the mask that Atticus put on.

He put his fingers to the strings and looked up at me. I smiled and nodded.

He strummed his fingers down the strings and began to sing, and I began to hum.

The second we did, I felt it.

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