I find myself in the kitchen; the doors to the bustling dining room are swung wide open. Shifters pack every corner—more than I've ever seen at once, which makes sense considering Grayson called everyone into the heart until the witch situation is resolved. But I knew that would be the case before we got here, so I stop and hug strangers, slowly making my way through the busy crowd.
Elder Cora traps me in conversation for almost an hour. When I try to pull away, she demands my presence at Grayson's next monthly gathering with all the elders in the meeting hall, so she can begin my apparent Luna training and educate me on the clan's history.
Kellen saves me, and I suspect he'd have done it sooner if he weren't a little afraid of the old lady with blue hair. I try to ask what the hell Luna Training entails, and he responds with, "Don't ask."
When we move on, I have to pause for hugs and awkward questions about fertility, forcing a smile as strangers invite me to dinner, like I'm some divine emissary.
You are Moon Goddess blessed. It is not a gift toyou—it is a gift tothem. Be kind and be gracious.
Internally, I sigh. Beep's right. It's still uncomfortable, but I'm learning to accept it.
Eventually, with Cynthia clearing a path—she's significantly better at pushing people away than Kellen, I suspect she outranks him—we make our way through the doors to the back of the kitchen. It's even busier here—there's a vibrant thrum in the air, yelling and clanking and steaming, the wonderful aromas of food rising above it all.
Hilde spots me from across the room and gives me a quick wave, but she's clearly juggling a million things, so I skirt to the edge, trying to stay out of everyone's way. A girl a bit taller than me, with the same copper-colored hair as mine, struggles with a pot of water nearly half her size.
"Can I help?" I ask, but to my surprise, she hefts the full pot up and onto the industrial stove without spilling a drop. I stand there uselessly until the girl takes pity on me and nods toward a mountain of turnips waiting to be peeled and chopped. Knife in hand, together we tackle the monotonous task of prepping, first turnips, then carrots and potatoes.
Her name is Ivy, she's nineteen, and she worships Hilde, wants to take over the kitchens someday. I ask her about her life and am grateful when she fills the silence with chatter. She tells me about her neighbors and gossips about her co-workers.
"That is one good thing about Andrea being in here—oh, damn, I'm so sorry—"
I wave Ivy off. "Seriously, don't worry about it. Keep going."
So she dives back into this story about two betas who got into an argument over the menu a couple of days ago. And Andrea stepped in, and with one snarl, they mended their differences and came to a compromise.
"Having an alpha in the kitchen—I mean, who would have thought how helpful that would have been, right? Hilde can be scary on her own, but that's just her personality. Andrea?" Ivy lets out a whooshing sound and shakes her wrist. "So intense. It was great."
As much as I enjoy listening to Ivy, she runs out of tasks to give me, so, not wanting to get in the way, we say goodbye for now and I slip away, heading toward the back doors. I wave across the room at Kellen, indicating I'll meet him outside in a second.
Weaving through the chaos, I'm so distracted I don't notice until it's too late—I collide with Andrea, the pan in her hands wobbling, the contents threatening to spill across the floor. Thankfully, she has quick reflexes and rights the pan before I make a mess.
"Shit. I'm so sorry—"
"Watch where the fuck you're going," she snaps, slamming the tray down on a nearby table. She brushes a strand of her blonde hair with the back of her hand off her forehead, and that's when I see it—Andrea looks… tired. Made worse when I see her nostrils flare as she leans in slightly. Grayson. I know she can scent him on me. Maybe she can tell we had sex. And now I feel even worse.
Beneath her anger, exhaustion radiates from her, as if there's an empty, hollowed-out space inside her. The alpha fire, typically blazing, is cooling to an ember. I can feel it calling outto me. Something tugs at me—this bizarre compulsion to wrap my arms around her and somehow fill that void, to reheat it.
I hold myself back, but it does make me wonder if this is what everyone else feels around me, but in reverse. Like I'm some kind of emotional reservoir, and touching me refuels them.
Beep says softly,You can sense her needs, yes. It is the same as when others approach you and ask for hugs. It feeds the same thing inside them, inside us all.
"I'm really sorry, Andrea," I say, keeping my voice steady. "I should've been watching where I was going." I let out a self-deprecating laugh, trying to remember what Hilde told me about Andrea. Wolves live a very long time, and that's too long to hold a grudge. "I'm just getting in the way while you're all trying to feed the entire clan."
Andrea's eyes flash with anger. "God, you are so fucking sanctimonious."
"What?"
"You ran into me and now I'm telling you to fuck off. So just fuck off. Stop trying to make peace with me, it's bullshit."
"I'm not—"
"Save it. Like I didn't just feel your omega magic trying to claw into me. I don'tneedyou. I don'ttrustyou. You show up and suddenly we've got threats everywhere, and instead of being out there with the patrol—" She snatches up the tray, knuckles white around the edges. "I'm trapped inheremaking goddamn casseroles."
"Andrea—"
Andrea, what? What am I going to say that makes it better for her? I'm sorry? Cooking is important? Get over it? You beat the shit out of me, this is actually all your fault? None of that will do any good, for her or for me.
She whirls to face me, eyes narrowed, jaw ticking. "What?What could you possibly have left to say to me?"
