Sage made a cross with two fingers. “Stay away. I’ll pass out if I see blood.”
Kit met Sage’s gaze. “A werewolf with hemophobia will nevernotbe funny to me.”
“My wolf isn’t afraid of blood—it’s just me that’s squeamish, and it’s a completely normal and rational fear.”
Kit’s lips quirked but he didn’t disagree. He swivelled his head. “Monty’s bothering the goats again.”
“Shit,” Quin said. “We better go stop him.”
Sage necked his beer and followed Quin and Kit along to the barn. Sure enough, Monty was scratching at the door. The goats were bleating, though they didn’t sound scared to Sage’s ear.
After Kit picked a squirming Monty up, Quin opened the barn door. The teeny pygmy goats were in a fenced-off area, boinging around like pinballs. Kit took Monty in to play with them under strict supervision whilst Mabel stuck close to Quin’s side.
Sage smiled as he watched a glowing Kit interact with the goats. “I’m so glad to see that the animal therapy ide—” he brokeoff when Quin tried to cover his mouth with his hand, but it was too late.
Kit stood beside them in a flash, hands on his hips as he looked up at the both of them. “Animalwhat?”
“Therapy?” Sage asked. The few beers he’d had were loosening his lips, but, judging by his expression, Kit’s question wasn’t one to be ignored either way.
Kit’s face bloomed with redness. Sage hadn’t even known that vampires were capable of blushing, let alone look like they might combust at any moment. “Quin,” Kit said, “you told me the goats were good for the ecosystem.”
“They are, baby boy.”
“So why is your cousin implying that they’re therapy animals?”
Sage started edging away from the two of them. “I’m going to”—he thumbed over his shoulder—“go over here so that I don’t have to listen to this disagreement that I very much did not mean to cause.”
“Sage, you can’t just leave me like this!” Quin complained, but Sage was already fleeing the barn. He’d been privy to the aftermath of their bickering before. The sight of Kit splayed over Quin’s lap on the sofa that one time was enough to dissuade Sage from sticking around, lest they see fit to resolve this argument in the same way.
Mabel followed Sage out, so he took her over to the pond. It was medium-sized, with an arched wooden bridge over the middle. Between the lily pads and reeds, he spotted clumps of shudder-inducing frogspawn.
The sky wasn’t fully dark yet; swathes of deep blue could be seen dotted in amongst the clouds. He tipped his face up to the almost-full moon. It was peeking through, casting little light, but Sage felt its effects all the same. He itched to run, to chase, to play.
He looked down at Mabel. “Shall we?”
With Mabel at his heels, Sage tore off towards the woods. It wasn’t the same as when he was in the skin of his wolf, but it went some way towards calming the beast that begged to be set free. He ran between the trees, dodging low-hanging branches and jumping fallen ones. Some of his hair escaped his bun, but he just tucked it behind his ears and kept on running.
He could run for miles without stopping. It wasn’t just because of his wolf—he ran in the morning most days to calm his racing mind. It was the only time of the day when he got solitude; living in one of the pack cottages meant people would drop in at all hours. Or, runninghadbeen his solo activity until recently.
But Sage didn’t want to think about that. Instead, Sage ran for longer, until the beer he’d consumed threatened to reappear. He’d taken Mabel in a loop, so they were back near the pond before it was pitch black. Kit waited there, cuddling a sleepy, docile Monty.
“Get it out of your system?” Kit asked.
Sage let loose a long breath, mirroring Mabel’s pants. “For tonight, anyway.”
“Full moon pregame, I like it.”
“Sorry about the?—”
“Don’t mention it,” Kit said, waving a hand. “I’m just old-fucking-fashioned in my views on the T word.”
“Therapy?”
Kit winced. “Don’t say it. It hurts my ears.”
“Ever heard of exposure therapy? If I keep using the word, you might get used to it.”
“You’re as bad as Quin.”
