Christian blew on his coffee, clearly waiting for it to cool—and just as clearly waiting for Tristan to stop talking. Because the second his story ended, he spoke.
“Diablo looks good. Appreciate it.”
And then he took a swig of his coffee, which looked like it scalded his mouth, as Tristan’s eyes widened slightly at the unexpected thanks.
Dave couldn’t blame him. Usually, Christian dressed up his gratitude as something like, ‘You can look after him again.’ Maybe Christian was trying to be different with everyone, not just Dave. Or maybe… maybe he wasableto be different now.
Certainly, Karl was studying him closely, and Dave didn’t think it was just the bruising and remnants of swelling on his face he was seeing. Dave studied Karl in turn, because the normally indefatigable wolf had dark shadows under his eyes and new tension around his jaw. He wondered what the hell had been going on while they’d been away.
“I’m guessing no one told the two of you we have security cameras in place now,” Karl said, spearing his last piece of bacon. “I wiped the footage, but I don’t want to have to do that every day. Maybe find somewhere else for your ‘meditating’ in future?”
Ah. Dave didn’t blush—exactly—but Christian’s snort didn’t help.
Tristan looked horrified. “Wait—you mean, yousaw—”
“Yes,” Karl said, pushing to his feet. “Now imagine how I feel.”
The laughter spread fast, just as Matt and Jesse walked in. Matt clocked Christian’s face instantly and stopped mid-step. “Fucking hell.”
“It looks worse than it is,” Christian said, unfazed, raising his coffee cup in salute.
“Well, good. Cause right now, you look three days dead,” Jesse said.
Matt shook his head, and headed for the coffee machine. “You’re back. That’s the most important thing. We’ll get the whole story later. Right now, I need caffeine and something with protein in it before I fall over.”
They looked like they’d come straight from the airport—creased clothes, and the bleary air of people who’d had just enough sleep to feel worse than if they’d had none.
Matt eased into his seat with a sigh that was practically a full-body exhale, mug of coffee clasped like it was more precious than gold. Jesse hung over Jason’s frying pan, snagging a piece of bacon he immediately tossed from hand to hand, swearing at the temperature.
“Where’s Bryce?” Tristan asked. “He said he and Tom were coming back with you.”
“Probably outside, still kissing,” Jesse said. “Either that, or stuffin’ their faces with the cinnamon rolls we picked up.”
“Should we be concerned about why you’re trying to bribe us?” Karl asked. Because cinnamon rolls were like catnip to the pack. If the pack had been cats, that was.
The roughness in Karl’s voice had Dave studying him again. He sounded like he needed sleep, but he didn’t usually sound like that after a night on patrol. He was leaning one hip against the counter, arms crossed loosely, his eyes somehow distant.
Christian also tracked him for a second, then flicked a glance at Dave. Yeah, they were thinking the same thing—they’d check in with him later, when no one else was around.
“We come bearing gifts,” Bryce announced, barging in from the hallway, and did a double take when he saw Christian’s face. “Fucking hell,” he breathed, in unconscious imitation of Matt. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Fuck that. Where’re the cinnamon rolls?” Christian demanded.
Jesse didn’t even bother asking, simply held out a hand like Bryce was his savior. Bryce deposited a white paper bag into it with exaggerated reverence, then put the others in the middle of the table.
As the scramble to snag the rolls subsided, Dave looked up at the other newcomer. Tom. Tall, dark-haired and easy in his body, like he’d read the room and was comfortable with it.
Tom nodded to them all, receiving a wide grin from Tristan and a friendly smile from Colby. Catching Dave’s gaze, he extended a hand. “You must be Dave. Thanks for the loan of Bill while you were away. He must be the sweetest-natured horse I’ve ever ridden.”
Dave smiled. “Yeah, he’s a good one. At least as good as the real Bill the Pony.”
“FromFellowship?” Tom’s eyes lit with recognition.
Dave nodded. “Bill’s not his official name, though. My naming rights got revoked after I christened Asfaloth.”
“Can you actually blame us for that? The name’s longer than the horse,” Bryce said.
Christian, meanwhile, was giving Tom a slow once-over—not hostile, but watchful. Like a wolf circling a new scent. Tom either didn’t notice or was polite enough to ignore it, helping Bryce set out a fresh round of coffee and catching up with Karl in a low-voiced exchange. Interesting how easy he already was with the pack, and they with him.
