“We’re glad you’re home too,” Lucas says.
“Even if you have been reading my books out loud in the living room,” she adds, eyes sparkling as she turns to me. “With voices.”
I choke on my stew. “Nate told you about that?”
“He said you’re very committed to the dialogue.”
“I was—it was for context! They needed to understand the—” I gesture helplessly. “The emotional beats!”
“Lucas takes notes, apparently.” Cara’s grinning now, turning to him. “Is that true?”
Lucas doesn’t even look embarrassed. “I’ve read them all twice. For research purposes.”
“Research,” Cara repeats flatly.
“Into pack dynamics. Very educational.”
Cara stares at him, then bursts out laughing. “I can’t believe—you two have been running a book club about my smut?”
“It’s notsmut,” I protest. “It’s emotionally complex romance with?—”
“Theo cried during the bonding scene in book three,” Lucas says.
“I had something in my eye!”
“For twenty minutes.”
“It was a very persistent something!”
Nate’s been watching this whole exchange with the long-suffering expression of a man who’s heard it all before. “I had to sit through the dramatic readings. Multiple times.”
“You didn’t have to stay in the room,” I point out.
“You followed me to the kitchen.”
“The acoustics are better in there!”
Cara is wiping tears from her eyes, still giggling. “I can’t—this is—you didvoices, Theo.”
“The dialogue deserves commitment,” I mutter.
She’s still laughing when she goes rigid. Her hand flies to her stomach, and the color drains from her face.
The shift is immediate. Nate goes alert, his purr cutting off. Lucas’s eyes narrow, slipping into doctor mode. I push back from the table, ready to move.
“I’m fine,” she says. “Just a cramp. I’ve been having them since this morning.”
“Since this morning?” Lucas is already reaching for her wrist, checking her pulse. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”
“Because I thought it was just... I don’t know. Travel stress. Emotional overload. Not—” She winces again, harder this time. “Okay. That one was worse.”
“Your scent’s been changing all through dinner,” I tell her. “Getting sweeter. Richer.”
“Pre-heat,” Lucas says. His thumb brushes her wrist, and she shivers. “When was your last heat?”
Cara’s cheeks flush. “Um. Ten years ago.”
The table goes still.
