“We’re out. I indulged a little too much last night when you were getting chased by beasts around the wood. I still slept like a baby when you got back, though.” He grinned at me.
I scowled, took a sip, and leaned against the clean but chipped stone countertop. “Whose turn is it to go to the marketplace today?”
“Yours, thank the lovely goddess.”
“What’s up with you?” I looked at him over the lip of my mug as he went about kneading bread. He was the useful one in our family. He’d essentially taken over for Mom, cooking and sewing and woodworking and doing all kinds of other handy stuff—he was the master of all trades. My abilities were limited to healing, hunting, fishing, gardening, and narrowly escaping the beast of the Forbidden Wood. It was partially why I needed to take all the risks. This family could not survive without Hannon. Not even for a little while.
He rolled his eyes and stopped his kneading for a moment. “Daphne.”
I felt a grin creep up my tired face. “We all need admirers.”
“Yeah, well…” He shook his head and went back to his task. After a moment, he spilled his guts. “She knows I had my twenty-fifth birthday last month.”
My grin widened. “Prime mating age, yes. Go on.”
“She has something she wants to ask me.”
“No…” I pushed forward gleefully. “Is she going to propose?”
“Women don’t propose, Finley. I think she wants to ask me to propose to her, though. She’s not been subtle about her…desires.”
I could feel my toothy grin. Hannon was not like most guys in our spit-wad of a village. He didn’t chase skirts and visit the pubs after dark to fornicate with succubi. He liked to get to know a lady before progressing to the next level. Because of that and his stout frame and gingerific good looks, he did seem to get to the next level （banging） every time he put the effort in. He just didn’t put the effort in very much.
And that drove the ladies wild.
“Women aren’t supposed to hunt, either. Or wear ill-fitting men’s trousers. Yet here I am…”
“You’re different.”
“You just think that because I’m your sister. Boys aren’t supposed to cook and look after their families, and yet you excel at that better than most women. Maybe she’s your true mate.”
He snorted. “Yeah, right. True mates aren’t possible.”
“You know what I mean.” I recited it as if to a dunce. “Maybe she’d be your true mate if the curse hadn’t suppressed all our animals, and we could actually function like real shifters.”
He paused for a moment. “I don’t think true mates ever existed. I’ve read the histories, same as you, and none of them confirm they’re real.”
“First of all, our library is small and limited, and before the curse, people weren’t looking to learn about their shifter traits from books. They learned about that from their peers. So it makes sense that we wouldn’t have many volumes on shifter functionality. I know that because I whined about it, and that’s what I was told. Second, those that are carried are histories focused on the nobles and kings and queens and important people. They marry for money and power. They don’t give a shit about love. Common people like us have a better chance at finding our true mate.”
I didn’t actually believe that, but I loved to play devil’s advocate. I knew for a fact that my brother did wish to meet his true mate. That he would honor his animal’s choice （should he ever meet his animal, locked inside of him）， and mate her as nature intended.
I, myself, did not believe in destined anything. I wasn’t the type to allow anyone to push me around, even if it was my own primal side doing the pushing. Nor did I give a crap about love and mating. Not anymore. Not since I’d gotten my heart ripped out and stomped on two years ago. My ex had dumped me and then quickly gone on to mate a toothy girl dedicated to needlepoint and looking after him.
His reasoning for the breakup? He needed someone ready and able to run a house. He wanted a “proper” wife.
Apparently in his eyes, and in the eyes of most of the people in the village, a proper wife didn’t hunt better than her husband, or at all. She didn’t tan hides, play with knives, and wear trousers. Nor did she look after villagers ailing from the curse’s sickness more than she would tend to her husband’s less-than-dire needs. This was because she would’ve （apparently incorrectly） assumed her husband was an adult and didn’t need a nursemaid to wipe his mouth and assure him he was the master of the universe. Silly her.