“Good thing you’re not in wolf form,” I said with a laugh. “You’d look like a cotton ball.”
In his wolf form, Dante was gorgeous—a huge white wolf. I knew that he went out for runs on his own in the state parks, streaking along at full speed. I had seen him transform over the years, but it had been a little while.
“That’s just what I need. You should see me during shedding season,” he added.
“I have. A few years after I moved in with you, remember? You were shedding so bad that you asked if I’d brush you. That was fun, actually.”
I’d been around seventeen, and Dante was miserable. It was spring shedding season, and even in his human form, he’d felt weighted down by the fur. I offered to groom him and so he’d changed and I’d taken the brush to him. First, though, I gave him a bath with a de-shedding shampoo, and then I’d used a heavy-duty blow dryer on him. He’d blown coat like crazy, and—after a good go-round with the brush—I was standing next to a pile of fur big enough to make another wolf.
“I remember,” he said, with a laugh.
“Who gives you a bath and blowout now?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I haven’t had one for awhile. I could use one. In the Packs, we take care of each other that way. But, for lone wolves? No such luck. You know, someone could make a lot of money if they opened a business dedicated to grooming wolf and dog shifters when they were in their alt forms. What about Benny? He could use a steady job.”
I stared at him. “You’d be willing to let Benny rub you all over and give you a bath, even in your wolf form?”
Dante hesitated, then cleared his throat. “I see what you mean. But if you know anybody who can do the work, it might be worth mentioning.”
I picked up the menu. “If you want, I can give you a blowout this weekend.”
Dante met my eyes. “You wouldn’t mind?”
“I wouldn’t mind. It’s a date. Do you know what you want to eat?” I asked.
“I’m good with anything. Even pineapple,” he said. “I wouldn’t mind a beer to go with the pizza.”
“I’m on it.” I approached the counter. We’d been here a number of times and we knew the owner. He was half-human, half-wolf shifter, and his parents were from Italy, so he was first generation American. “Hey Ricard, how are you doing?”
“Business is good,” he said. “The wife is good, health is good, what more can I ask for?” He was short and thin, wiry you might call him, and he wore round John Lennon glasses. The voluminous apron he wore seemed to swallow him up, but it was clean as a pin—the pizzeria had always passed its health inspections. “And yourself?”
“It’s going,” I said. “I want a large pizza. Sausage, pepperoni, and extra cheese. Pineapple on half, olives on the other half. One beer, and a glass of red wine.”
I paid and, taking the number board that Ricard handed me, returned to Dante. As I placed the number board on the edge of the table, a waiter came over and set us up with plates, silverware, and poured us water. She scooted over to the counter and returned with our drinks.
“Your pizza will be up in about fifteen minutes,” she said, adding a basket of bread sticks and a trio of dipping sauces to the table. “Enjoy!”
As we relaxed with our drinks and the bread sticks—which were Parmesan flavored—I let out a long breath. The ambience, the soft background music, the aromas, and of course—Dante—all brought together an atmosphere that took the edge off.
Another thunderclap hit and I counted to three. “Storm’s close, but not right over us.”
“We can use it. It will clean the air,” Dante said. “So tell me, how are things? Really? I know we talk about them in the office, but how are you doing with all of the chaos that’s happened over the past couple of months?”
I sighed. There were two people in the world that I couldn’t lie to—Penn and Dante. They caught on every time I tried.
“To be honest, I’m still feeling a little overwhelmed. First my uncle, then a brother and a father, and now…I’ve integrated a part of myself that I kept at arm’s length all my life.” I hesitated a moment, then said, “I had a breakthrough with Devon.”
“How so?” Dante asked.
I held his gaze. “I remembered something that happened when I was just four years old. That event was the point where I split off—pushed my demon side down and caged her.”
Dante shifted position, leaning his elbows on the table as he cupped his beer in his hands. “Okay, tell me.”
So I told him about my mother and her boyfriend, and how I’d killed yet another man who was intent on taking advantage of me and hurting me.
Dante blinked, and I could feel his wolf rising. “The bastard tried to kidnap you?”
I nodded. “He did. And I knew he was dangerous. So, apparently I killed him. I have no clue what happened. I’ve been trying to find some notice about it in the newspaper archives, but so far, no luck. But I know it happened. I wish I could ask my mother, but I’d have to hire someone who could call up her spirit. Penn warned me not to try—that sometimes we find out things we really don’t want to know. I’m not sure what could be worse than that, though.”
