Rudolph was calling me.
With a small grin, I slipped away from my relatives and friends so nobody would overhear me.
“Where are you? Could you at least wave at me, Lucien?” I used his real name, saying it like some crazy, clingy wife.
That deep, husky chuckle distracted me for a second.
“Hello to you, too, Bunny Doc. Where are those famous polite manners you brag about all the time?”
His voice was rougher than usual, as if someone had punched his vocal cords. He’d probably been shouting a lot to cheer his team on.
“Stop pouting like that,” he admonished.
My jaw dropped. I looked around, trying to find him. The endless sea of faces wasn’t helping.
“Now I can addspyto the long list.” I rolled my eyes, and he laughed again.
“What list?”
“The list of your nicknames,Rudolph.” I rubbed my chest from the stress. Honestly, this game was going to put me in an early grave.
He snickered. “So. You enjoying watching your mate?”
My face burned. “You can’tpossiblyknow that!”
“I can see you from the crowd. You’re practically drooling all over him. Damn, Yvaine, I didn’t take you for that kind of girl.”
“Well, he’smine, so I can stare as much as I damn well please!”
“Sure you can,” he breathed out, slightly annoyed, “but you’re distracting him. It’s obvious from how he’s playing.”
I scoffed. “He’s not exactly flopping out there. Unless ‘playing well’ now means spending half his time turning my packmates into minced meat. And besides, what wouldyouknow, anyway? I thought you were an antisocial nerd, Rudy.”
“A nerd?” He laughed louder. “What makes you think I’m a nerd?”
“I have my sources,” I said haughtily.
“Sure, Bunny Doc. Sure.”
As there was neither a point nor the time to argue about that, I changed the subject. “Why did he attack Sillas? You think he knows I’m wearing his sweater? Maybe he smelled it on me and?—”
A snarl rattled through the speaker. I glanced across the stands just in time to see a whole bench rolling through the air, two werewolves scattering like pigeons. It was a typical wereball sight. Yet?—
“…Rudolph? Was thatyou?”
Muffled sounds erupted from the other line.
“Of course not.” His reply came smoothly. “Probably a crazy fan.” Then, sharper, “Why the fuck are you wearing his sweater?”
My brows shot up. “No need to be so rude!”
“Youlikeit when I’m rude. Or how else would you get to call me Rudolph?”
“Don’t change the subject!” I hissed. “Why does it matter to you what I wear?”
“You’ve met your mate, and you’re accepting presents from other males?Males?” He growled the last part.
“What present? It started raining on the way here, and my brother had nothing to give me but Sillas’s sweatshirt after he took it by mistake.”
