“Want to sleep?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Don’t want to wake up and have it all be a dream.”
“It’s not,” I said. “You’re here. You’re home.”
She smiled, small and tired. “So are you.”
I kissed her knuckles, then her lips, then pulled her onto my lap, just holding her. We stayed that way a long time, the world outside fading to nothing, the only sound the slow, steady drum of two hearts trying to remember how to beat together.
Eventually, she fell asleep, arms around my neck, breath warm against my cheek. I stayed awake watching her, memorizing every detail. I’d lost her once. I would never let it happen again.
The sun rose higher, cutting long shadows through the blinds. I blinked against the light, but I didn’t move.
For the first time since I could remember, I wanted the day to last forever.
“Church” didn’t always mean God; sometimes it meant a table full of eggs, sausage, and the people who’d pull you out of hell. Bronc called the meeting for 6:45 sharp, which meant everyone was there by 6:30, hair damp and eyes red, but shirts tucked and boots shined.
Pearl herself manned the kitchen, refusing all help, and if anyone complained about the noise she made with the pans, she’d threaten to serve them grits with no butter. The air was thick with the smell of coffee, frying bacon, and the softundercurrent of wolves and a mix of vanilla and jasmine. I’d never loved a place more.
The long table was packed—Bronc and Juliet at the head, Wrecker to his left then Parker, and Doc was next rounding out that side. Big Papa sat to Bronc’s right with Aspen next to him (Oscar was perched upright on the sugar caddy, looking dapper). Harper was happily filling her plate next to Aspen, and I was doing to same on the other side of her. And then Gunner sat at the end, cowboy hat and all.
Bronc started with the food. “Eat,” he commanded, and nobody argued. Plates clattered, biscuits passed from hand to hand, gravy ladled until it ran off the edge of the plate and pooled on the tablecloth. For ten minutes, it was just eating, no talk except the occasional “pass the salt” or a low chuckle when groaned at how good everything tasted. That was tradition. You never did business on an empty stomach.
I watched Harper through it all, making sure she got enough to eat, enough coffee, enough warmth. She’d woken up stiff and bruised, but by the time she finished her second biscuit, her eyes had a little spark again. She even nudged me under the table when Gunner told one of his famous dumb jokes.
Aspen and Big Papa sat hip to hip, every so often exchanging little grins like they shared a secret sweeter than the cinnamon rolls. I’d never seen Papa so relaxed. Even Oscar looked happier, his tiny paws folded primly in his lap.
Wrecker demolished four eggs and a mountain of bacon, glancing at Parker every so often to see if she’d say anything about it. She didn’t. Instead, she typed on her phone with one hand and shoveled grits with the other, multitasking in a way that only made sense if your mind held so much information that you constantly needed it moving.
Once everyone was fed, Bronc wiped his hands on a napkin and got down to business.
“All right,” he said, voice dropping a full octave. “Who did we kill, and how are we going to explain it to the Council so they don’t come for us?”
Nobody laughed. Not even Gunner.
Wrecker leaned back, crossing his arms. “The official list is twenty-two Renault wolves, plus Steiner, plus two civilians who tried to interfere. Unofficially, there’s three or four we didn’t confirm. Could have run, could have bled out.”
Parker spoke up without looking away from her phone. “Cameras were on a loop. The only live witness was a French cop who’s in Rafe’s pocket. As long as we play it right, nobody in the States ever has to know. Well, except for the dead Alpha of the Morgantown Pack. I mean. We kinda did it again. What’s our tally now? Three dead Alphas, two dead kings? Hot damn! We’re on a roll!”
Bronc gave Parker a look that said he was not amused.
She kept the grin on her face but at least tried to look contrite by lowering her head. “Sorry, Alpha.”
Juliet poured another cup of tea, no coffee for the pregnant Luna, and asked, “What about the Council?”
This was my cue. “We did what we had to do. Steiner was the real target, and the Renaults were acting as his proxies. The French wolves will confirm that, if we need them to. Plus, it was the French who actually made the kill officially. Steiner was trafficking on French soil.”
Big Papa cleared his throat. “We still have two women in protection, Nanette and Brie’s gonna need a more permanent place to stay.” He trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.
Bronc raised a brow. “As long as Brie wants to be here, she’s part of this pack. Nanette too. We take care of our own.”
Aspen squeezed Papa’s hand. Oscar said, “Hear, hear,” and the whole table cracked up.
Wrecker looked at Bronc, then at me. “You want to patch Rafe in for the rest of the debrief?”
Bronc shrugged. “We need to. Let’s do it.”
Wrecker connected his laptop to the big TV on the wall, and in seconds King Rafe appeared, suit pressed, hair perfect, eyes twinkling like he’d just won a bar fight.
