“Oh, no, stay a bit longer,” Leonie said before Honey could agree. The head counselor turned to her, smile bright. “What with the kids, we’ve hardly had any time to talk. I want to hearallabout you.”
“Er,” Honey said, aware of the increasingly aggressive eye contact coming from the other side of the fire. “Not much to tell, really. Anyway, you read my application.”
“Yes, but there’s so much that doesn’t cover.” Perhaps it was just because Honey now knew that Leonie was a lion—at least mostly—but she couldn’t help feeling that there was something unnervingly predatory about the head counselor’s smile. “I wantdetails.”
“Er…” Honey groped for something safely neutral. “Well, I’m a teacher at a high school, but I suppose you already knew that. I’m originally from a small town in Minnesota, but I live in Chicago now.”
“What is Chicago?” Ragvald asked. “Another steading?”
“It’s a city,” Moira said, as though that was a problem. She was looking at Honey thoughtfully, the tiniest crease between her elegant brows. “A very big city. A fairly long way from here.”
Oh no.Honey’s instincts told her she’d made a mistake somehow. Were there no shifters in Chicago? Now that she thought about it, she couldn’t imagine that city life would suit people who turned into animals. Buck had mentioned that shifters tended to live in their own communities, where they didn’t have to worry about keeping their nature secret.
“I don’t really enjoy living in the city,” she said hastily. Somewhat to her own surprise, she discovered it was true. She’d lived with all the noise and crowding for so long, she hadn’t realized how much it grated on her soul. “That’s one of the reasons I wanted to come to camp. To get away from it all. Reconnect with nature.”
Leonie—who’d also been looking a touch worried for no discernible reason—broke out into her warm, open smile again. “You can certainly do that here. How do you like Thunder Mountain?”
“It’s wonderful,” Honey said fervently. Here, at least, was something she could be completely honest about. “The skies, the trees, the lake—it’s all so beautiful. And the air! When I was driving up to the camp, I was practically hanging my head out the window like a dog. Everything smells sogoodhere!”
“You,” Buck muttered, “have not set foot inside any of the boys’ cabins.”
“Oh, hush,” Leonie told him. She shot Honey a sly sideways glance. “Sooooo… tell us more about Chicago. Do you have a pack waiting for you back in the city?”
“A pack?” Honey said, baffled. “You mean like the campers?”
“No, silly.” Leonie gave her a friendly mock-swat on the arm. “Anactualpack. You know, other shifters?”
Honey hesitated for an instant, wondering whether to pretend that she did. Wolveswerepack animals, after all. Maybe wolf shifters didn’t live on their own. She didn’t dare glance at Buck for guidance.
“No,” she said, deciding that it was safer to stick to the truth than start inventing a whole fictitious werewolf community. “It’s just me.”
Leonie, thankfully, did not seem to find this too weird. In fact, she seemed oddly pleased by the information, as did Moira. The two exchanged covert, secretive glances, as though sharing some private joke.
Ragvald also seemed to have picked up on the mysterious subtext running under the conversation. He frowned at Moira.
“Why do you smile?” he asked with clear disapproval. “Surely it is a matter of grief that our shield-sister has no clan waiting for her back in her winter lands.”
“Oh, I’m sure Honey doesn’t mind,” Leonie said airily. “There’s nothing wrong with being a lone wolf, after all.”
Moira looked like she was trying hard not to smile. “One might argue that it even has some advantages.”
“No attachments,” Leonie agreed. “The freedom to go wherever the whim might take you.”
“Like, say, to summer camp.” Honey still didn’t see the joke, but she gamely attempted to join in. “I certainly couldn’t have run away from all my responsibilities like this in the past. My kids think I’m having a very late midlife crisis.”
She’d said something wrong. Moira and Leonie’s smiles vanished, wiped off their faces in an instant.
“Your… kids?” Leonie repeated, in a very different voice to her earlier light, teasing tone. “You mean your students?”
“No, I mean my actual kids,” Honey said, baffled by their reaction. “Though I suppose I shouldn’t call them kids, since they’re all grown up now. Two sons and a daughter.”
Moira had gone very still. “And their father?”
“Oh, we’re divorced,” Honey said, and was utterly bewildered to see both women release a longwhoooshof held breath. “Over a year now.”
Leonie relaxed, her smile returning. She patted Honey’s hand, fixing her with a sympathetic look.
“You mustn’t feel bad about it,” she said earnestly. “These things happen. Sometimes people drift apart. Especially when… well,youknow.”
