She nodded. “Being a wolf sounds scary, and Mom said that when it happened, I wouldn’t be able to tell anyone because people wouldn’t understand. I would have to do it in secret. I don’t want people to think I’m funny or anything.”
I chewed on this. “That was back when you lived in Adobe Creek,” I explained. “The people there don’t know about our kind. But here in Silver Falls, there are a bunch of people like you and me. You’ll see people running around as wolves all the time. You won’t have to hide, and everyone loves it.”
“Really?” Grace asked.
I nodded. “Cross my heart.”
“Why did Mom leave here?” Grace asked. “I tried asking her, but she didn’t answer.”
For the first time, I hesitated. The truth was, I wasn’t entirely sure why Emma had left. On more than one occasion, I had wondered if it had to do with me, though I wasn’t entirelyconvinced that it wasn’t just my ego talking. The timing could have been a coincidence. Or it could have been that rejection had been the straw that broke the camel’s back after years of her feeling like an outcast.
Guilt wriggled through me. Not the first time I had felt it when it came to that night. But Grace’s question put that guilt into a new perspective. The timing from when we had sex and Emma leaving couldn’t be coincidental. Had I had more impact on her leaving than I had anticipated?
“I’m not sure,” I said. “Though I’m sure she had her reasons, and she probably had her reasons for keeping it from you, so I’d say go a bit easy on her when it comes to that.”
Grace shoveled another spoonful of cereal into her mouth as she considered this. A bit of milk dribbled down her chin, and she wiped it off with the back of her hand.
“Okay,” she said.
“What else do you like to do besides swimming?” I asked, trying to diffuse the tension.
“I really like drawing, too,” Grace said.
I raised my eyes. “Really?” That had been something I used to enjoy. I hadn’t done it in years, but I remembered sitting outside and drawing in the shade of some tree or another.
Grace nodded, her own eyes lighting up with excitement. “I asked Mom for this really nice paint set for my last birthday,” she said. “But she said we couldn’t afford it, so she got me a smaller set instead.”
“When is your birthday?” I asked, thinking that maybe I could get that paint set for her. Money wasn’t an issue for her anymore, after all. As soon as the words slipped out, I realized there was another reason I wanted to know. She was five andsome change. Emma and I had had sex six years ago. And we did have similar eyes. I’d be able to do the math from her birthday.
Even as I thought this, I told myself it was nonsense. Emma certainly would have told me if Grace were my daughter, right? I knew we hadn’t spoken much, but she wouldn’t keep this from me, surely, especially now she lived here again.
Grace opened her mouth, but before she could answer, Emma hurried into the room.
“Grace, sweetie, it’s time for you to get to school. You’ll miss the bus.”
“Do I have to?” Grace groaned.
Something like relief flickered across Emma’s gaze. It might have been my imagination, but I thought I noticed her shoulders had relaxed infinitesimally. Before I could read too much into it, however, the moment was gone.
“I’m afraid so. Come on, sweetie,” she said, ushering Grace out the door.
A few minutes later, the front door opened and closed. Emma reappeared in the doorway, having dropped off Emma at the bus stop. She regarded me, finger tapping against her opposite bicep. She chewed the inside of her cheek as she debated something.
“We need to talk,” Emma finally said, taking Grace’s seat, her face serious.
Just staring at her, being this close, sent a pang of want through me as her scent wafted toward me. That want and need hadn’t dissipated over the night. Half of me wanted to grab her and carry her up to the bedroom right now to consummate the bond and hopefully get rid of some of these distracting needs.
I forced those urges back down, trying not to growl in frustration.
“Yeah,” I said, pulling myself back to the present, trying not to think about how Emma had felt beneath me years ago. “What’s up?”
Her fingers tapped on the table as she studied me, chewing the inside of her lip as she debated how to say whatever it was she needed to.
“You and I need to figure out the terms of whatever this is.” She gestured between the two of us.
“What do you mean? We’re mates. You’re my luna.”
“I’m aware of that,” she said. “But you and I aren’t a couple in any way, shape, or form. We might be mates, but that’s it, and that’s entirely different.”
