The driver stepped into the lobby, and the kitchen staff silently carried the food out to the car. Willa slid across the floor toward a darkened hallway, then stopped and looked back.
“I’ll keep my husband away from you for now, but don’t go back into the woods again. It took everything I had to hold Darius back from tracking you down the other night. It’s hard to get an angry alpha under control, and even I have my limits.” She winked before disappearing into the shadows, her rose-scented perfume lingering in the air.
The four of us stood around a loaded table, the scent of mesquite and rubbing spices filling the house. Austin and Roscoe gawkedat the buffet, drooling, while Adam turned to me with a suspicious squint.
“Well well well,” he said with a sharp-toothed smirk.
“What?”
He slapped my ass hard. “I’ve done my share offavorsfor things, but there’s like a thousand dollars’ worth of meat here, and I know you can’t afford it.”
“Just what the hell are you insinuating—”
“Hell yeah,” Roscoe interrupted as he shifted through the paper bags. “If yer gettin’ fucked for this much free food, we gotta capitalize on that.”
“I am NOT—” I paused and shot him a disgusted glance. “Did you really suggest I whore myself out just so you can have free brisket?”
Roscoe took in a deep sniff, closing his eyes. “Brisket’s soooo good.”
My disgust turned to something more threatening.
“I’m just jokin’,” he said, nervously scratching his head. “I hid that bag after you left, so don’t get any funny ideas.”
“If you didn’t screw some werewolf chef, how did you get all this?” Austin asked, pulling out a chicken quarter and tossing it into his mouth, bone and all.
“Mosavi’s wife.”
Roscoe and Austin froze, but Adam kept rummaging through the food.
“Getting kind of chummy with the mayor, are we?” the half-turn asked jokingly as he piled food onto his plate. “What’s wrong with everyone?”
“Nothing. Let’s eat,” I said, grabbing a paper plate.
“There’s something weird going on here.” He flashed his sharper teeth for a second. “If we’re all going to be thisfamily, don’t keep treating me like I’m on the outside.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Austin said, with an unusually compassionate tone, “after dinner.”
The werewolf’s dark, orange stare widened before turning baby blue as if waiting for my approval. I nodded, which prompted an immediate tail-wagging response. Part of me wished I could turn off the vironoct effect, but for whatever reason, I couldn’t with Austin. He was either way too willing or Mosavi’s magic was permanent.
“How ‘bout you guys talk in the living room, and Cody and I’ll eat in the bedroom,” Roscoe said, balancing a ridiculously high pile of food on his flimsy paper plate.
“The food’s not going anywhere, Roscoe. You can always come back for more,” I said, handing him another plate to reinforce what he was carrying. “And we’re not eating this mess in my bed.”
“Didn’t say nothin’ about the bed.” He gave me a familiar mischievous grin before padding toward the hallway. “I got a surprise fer ya.”
“Oh fuck me,” I muttered.
Roscoe and his surprises. I followed him into the bedroom. The first thing I noticed was a curtain of hanging beads in the doorway followed by a musty smell, like cloth that had been left out in the rain and then left out in the sun—for a month.
“What. The. Hell. Did you do?” I asked, looking around the room, though most of my attention focused on an old loveseat pushed against our bedroom wall. It was a vintage dark brown, orange, and tawny flower pattern I hadn’t seen since childhood. The fabric was faded, and the cushions had a thin layer of what I assumed was either mildew or dirt. There were also slight tears along the tops and sides, like they had been clawed by a housecat.
“Would you believe someone was just throwin’ this treasure away?”
“Of course I would!” I shouted, causing the larger werewolf to slink backward, his ears falling. “It’s disgusting. What the hell is wrong with you? Why do you keep bringing other peoples’ garbage into my house?”
“Yer gettin’ all bent out of shape, and you haven’t even tried it out,” he said before pushing a loud switch on an old nineteen-inch CRT television that had been in our closet since we moved here. It sat atop the dresser with aluminum foil capped rabbit ear antennas that weren’t actually hooked to anything. They wouldn’t have worked anyway since the stations were digital now. Next to it lay an ugly faux wood-paneled VCR and a stack of VHS tapes, their labels stained brown with writing in faded blue ink.
“This whole room needs to be doused in bleach.” I stared at the boxy television and shook my head. “Why do you even still have this?”
