“You cook pretty damned good for someone who follows the caveman method,” Silas told Boone. “This hits the motherfucking spot.”
Willow chuckled. Boone can make six or seven meals, and every one of them includes at least two kinds of animals. One has beef, pork, chicken,andduck — along with rice and lots of soy sauce. He says the mushrooms count as vegetables. It’s good though.
Kenny smirked. “It’s like he wants a food fight to happen in everyone’s mouth. I mean, would the chicken scare the buffalo? Or would the buffalo eat the chicken?”
“Not a fight,” Boone argued. “It’s a conversation. Beef brings the base, the deep growl. Chicken brightens it, balances the fat. Buffalo kicks it up, leans into the wild. And the spice…” He gestured with his spoon. “The spice tells ’em all to get along or get the fuck out of the bowl.”
Willow grinned, the conversationandfood warming her from the inside out.
Silas was grieving, but food made with love and care, eating it with family, would help him heal, one bite at a time.
She saw Boone take a drink, checked bottles, and stood to get Silas and Boone another beer.
Chapter 13
The following day, Willow stepped into Kenny’s home office, closed the door, stripped her dress off, folded it onto the credenza, and waited quietly two steps into the room in inspection pose, her fingers laced behind her head, tits up, back arched, feet spread.
Her pulse beat at her throat like a warning drum because she had no idea why she’d been summoned, only that he’d texted her during her archery session with Boone.Come to my office when you and Boone finish.
Was she in trouble?
She mentally scanned the day. Nothing came to mind. No forgotten chores. No broken rules.
If he wasn’t happy with her housework, he usually walked her to it, one hand gripping her hair, face inches from the issue, his voice and demeanor dangerously calm.“Tell me what you see, little hawk.”
He’d called her here after the tracking app showed she’d driven ninety-five on the interstate. That time, she’d had to kneel up on the floor in front of his desk with her fingers laced behind her head for nearly an hour, muscles burning, while he delivered a quiet, brutal lecture about value, caution, and the damage a crash could do to something he owned.
He’d reminded her of the Atlanta Alpha’s mate, decapitated in a crash. Werewolves can’t come back from losing their head. Neither can hawks.
She’d kept it below seventy-five since then.Mostly.
And it wasn’t like everyone didn’t know about the guy in Atlanta. Wolves mate for life. When you lose your mate, that’s it. Except he’d fallen in love again a few decades later. How can that story not have gotten around, even to the other shifter groups?
But Kenny’s words had hit home. He’d be devastated if he lost her. She had to be more careful.
Tonight, her arms burned after an hour with the bow, but she held them at the back of her head and breathed through it while she waited for him to acknowledge her.
Long minutes passed before he saved his work, finally shifted his eyes to acknowledge her presence, and spun around sideways at his desk.
“Three feet in front of me. Spread kneel.”
Her breath caught and released in relief. Not just because she could lower her arms, but because this position didn’t point to her being in trouble.
He always chose more vulnerable postures when he wanted to make a point. Her fingers were usually grasped behind her head or stuck up in reverse prayer behind her back when he dressed her down.
Palms up on her spread thighs might mean everything’s probably okay.
She settled into the pose, heart drumming louder from the closer proximity, but also because the position put her on the floor below him, looking up into his face, subjugated. His willing fucktoy at his feet.
He waited a few beats after she’d settled fully into the pose before saying, “I worked closely with a Strigorii vampire in theweeks leading up to the Big Battle. He’s one who stayed when Abbott moved to Alaska.”
His tone was clinical, detached. Willow stayed motionless, spine straight, thighs spread, trying to calm her racing thoughts.
“I had a talk with him about how difficult it might be to take your speech from you for a short time, and apparently, doing so for around twelve hours is a cinch. Blocking the teleportation pathways is a little more complicated, but doable.”
The air in the room shifted, her stomach dropped, and she froze.
Her fantasy.
