Page 72 of Secret Pucking Unicorn

I look at the ceiling, my cheeks heating. Scrubbing a hand through my hair I blow out a heavy breath. “Sophie would plan these fake weddings. Miranda would be the bride. I’d be the groom. One of the boys or sometimes Sophie would be the officiant. Out in the gazebo. We did it dozens of times.”

“Did you say vows? Were you pronounced husband and wife?” she asks, urgently.

I’m getting freaked out now. Cocking my head, I slowly say, “Yeah…”

“And you’ve slept together? Had sex? Not back then, of course. Now.”

My face flushes. I’m a grown man, I don’t want to discuss this with my mother.

Dad chuckles. “He’s beet red, Nora. You know he has. Are you going to tell him, or should I?”

“Tell me what?” I demand.

Ma reaches out and pats my hand. “Declan, darling, you are already married. According to shifter law, you recited vows, were acknowledged as husband and wife before witnesses, and consummated the union. You’re married. If you want to have it civilly legal and sanctioned by the Church, you’d need to do what is necessary there, but you are married, and Miranda is under the protection of our pack now.”

“Beyond shifter law, you’re handfasted,” Dad says. “You’re both Scottish and Irish plus a shifter. You’re married to Miranda six ways to Sunday, lad.”

I’m momentarily elated knowing Miranda truly is my wife, but that quickly fades when I realize what has happened.

“Miranda can’t know this. I want her to choose to be with me, not just accept the situation. She isn’t a shifter, she isn’t bound by the law the same way I am. Her future can’t be decided by a childhood game. Does Sophie know her ceremonies were binding?”

Ma shakes her head no, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Good,” I say. “Don’t tell her. We were children, how could they be binding? Isn’t there an age of consent or something?”

Ma gently squeezes my arm and gives me a sweet smile. “Declan, darling. The binding happened when you consummated your love. You were both of age then. You’ve been married since New Year’s.”

Well, this is the suckiest honeymoon ever, then.

“But if Miranda doesn’t want to marry you in a traditional ceremony you’d still be married in the eyes of the Pack and the Unicorn Council,” Dad says. “You couldn’t marry anyone else unless you had your shifter marriage severed. You’re a unicorn. It’s not done.”

“It’s Miranda or no one for me. There will be no one else.”

“What are you going to do?” Ma asks.

“Short term, I’m going to give her space. She needs to decide what she wants for herself. The PHL All-Star game is in Florida next week. She will be there for that. I can’t play because of my hand. My spot has been given to someone else. The time apart hopefully clarifies things for her. Long term, I don’t know. I can’t picture a future without Miranda in it. I’ll have to get traded or quit hockey. Give up having a farm. I can’t be here and not be with her. My wolf will go insane. I’ll go mad. I can’t watch her date someone else, marry someone else. Have the life that should be ours.”

“You’re married,” Ma reminds me.

“Yes, I’m married. She’s not. Not in her world. I’m not going to trap her or take her choices away. She’s had that done to her most of her life. I love her and I’m letting her go, trusting the universe to bring us back together. I did it when she graduated and announced she was going to New Zealand. Then she came here and fell in love with me. I will do it again and hope she still loves me. But this is the last time.”

27

MIRANDA

It’s like I’m a leaf blowing in the breeze, flitting from here to there at the whim of the wind, not able to choose its own course. I’m tired of living my life like this. I want to choose my path and where I land. I need to decide what I want and what is best for me. If Declan fit into that life, it would be wonderful. Even though I’m still a bit muddled from what my mother—gah, I hate using the word—put me though, I know I love Declan. I want the future we dreamed of.

“Do you want wine, Miranda?” Kendall holds up the bottle.

We’re in the living room of her condo and it’s almost like when we were roommates in college, relaxing in our jammies on the couch, gossiping.

I shake my head. “No, sticking with soda.”

“Pepsi?” Carter asks, popping his head above the door of the fridge.

“Yeah.” I grab another slice of pepperoni pizza from the box on the coffee table.

Trev places my glass on the coaster next to the pizza boxes and settles in the spot on the couch next to me. I’m sandwiched between Carter and Kennie, enjoying being safe with my best friends. We spent many nights like this in college, the three amigos chilling out, eating pizza and watching movies.

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