Emma throws her arms in the air and does a ridiculous little victory dance right there in her chair. I want to crawl under the table. Or maybe relocate to another state.
“I lose!” she sighs. “But it doesn’t matter. I just want you to be happy. Now we need to strategize, because this bite changes everything. You’re bonded now, Sav. That’s serious pack stuff.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, eyeing her like she’s lost her mind.
“You can’t keep running from this. You’re marked by an alpha you used to belong to, and now you’re staying in theirhouse for another two months. That’s not a coincidence. That’s fate handing you a neon sign with flashing arrows.”
"You really are a shitty best friend, Emma," I say quietly, but there's no real heat behind it. Just emotion sitting heavy in my chest.
Emma’s grin softens. She leans forward, her voice gentler now. "I know you haven’t been happy in a long time. I thought... maybe if I brought you here, things might shift. I mean, yeah, I want my happy ending too, but more than that? I want you to get yours, Sav. I’d do anything for that."
Beatrice Montgomery chooses that moment to arrive with her tray of cake samples, her knowing smile suggesting she heard enough of our conversation to fuel gossip for months.
"Well now," Beatrice says, arranging the plates with practiced efficiency. "I was wondering when one of those boys would finally work up the courage. Logan's been pacing Main Street since you got back to town."
"Mrs. Montgomery," I start, but she waves me off.
"Honey, I've been watching pack dynamics in this town for sixty years. That bite mark says more about your future than any wedding planning ever could," Beatrice continues.
Emma practically bounces in her seat. "See? Even Mrs. Montgomery knows this is huge. So what's the plan? Are you going to talk to him? To all of them? Because this affects the whole pack dynamic."
"There is no plan. Last night was..." I search for words that won't reveal how completely Logan wrecked me in the back seat of his jeep. "It was a moment of weakness. Temporary insanity brought on by cat rescue heroics and eight years of unresolved sexual tension."
"Bullshit. That bite mark says it was a lot more than temporary insanity," Emma counters.
I touch my neck reflexively, feeling the tender skin pulse with awareness. The mark feels different in daylight, more real somehow. More permanent.
"I don't know what it means," I admit. "I panicked this morning and ran because I don't know how to face him. Or Griff and Xavier. What am I supposed to say? 'Sorry I let your pack mate mark me in a moment of passion, please pass the coffee?'"
"You could start with 'good morning' and see where it goes from there," Emma suggests.
"Emma, this is serious. I'm supposed to be here planning your wedding, not getting tangled up with my ex-boyfriends who collectively broke my heart eight years ago," I point out. “We still need a venue. And that’s one big thing, that is messing everything up at the moment. Especially because you keep adding more people to the invites.”
"Maybe it's time to find out if they're ready to put it back together," Emma says softly.
"Don't change the subject, Emma. I mean it."
"Everything will be cool. It’s all in hand. Something will happen, I know it."
She crosses her fingers, and I hope this is a joke because she needs to do a lot more than that, the way the numbers are growing.
Before I can respond, my phone buzzes with a text. Logan's name on the screen makes my stomach do acrobatics that should probably require a medical evaluation.
Logan: We need to talk. All of us. When you're ready.
Emma peers over my shoulder and grins. "Well, looks like the universe just made your decision for you."
Thank you, universe, for turning a simple cake tasting into a life-altering conversation about pack dynamics and mycompletely nonexistent ability to make rational decisions about men who bite first and ask questions later.
19
SAVANNAH
I'm back at the house by seven, standing on the front porch like some kind of coward who's afraid to face the consequences of her own life choices. Which, let's be honest, is exactly what I am.
I'm also a little tipsy, which is probably not the best state to be in for this particular confrontation, but after spending the afternoon with an anxious Emma spiraling about how not a single one of her pack bothered to turn up for whatever "pack bonding" thing she had planned, I wasn't about to say no when she shoved a glass of wine into my hand. And then another. And another. She talked, I nodded, and somewhere between the second and third glass I stopped counting. Not my wedding, not my problem… except apparently my liver disagrees.
The bite mark under my scarf throbs with every heartbeat, a constant reminder that I let Logan Pierce sink his teeth into my neck like I'm some kind of supernatural chew toy. I might be fuzzy around the edges from the wine, but even that can't dull the heat curling low in my stomach every time I remember the way his breath felt against my skin. My hands shake as I reach for the front door handle, which is just perfect because nothingsays "confident, independent woman" like trembling at your own front door.
