“Aunt Em doesn’t make bad food,” Quinn said, but he didn’t smile.
Aaron couldn’t begin to thank Ember enough for dinner. She hadn’t asked again about the full moon. She had made pot roast with more flavors than he’d known existed, creamy garlic-and-cheese mashed potatoes, sweet roasted carrots and crispy brussels sprouts. It was the quietest dinner they’d shared in nine days, but once he realized her questions about the change and the paddock would not be asked again, he had found himself truly relaxing with her and Quinn. Dinner hadn’t felt awful the way most pre-change dinners felt.
This minute she was there, in his home, and when the night was over she’d still be there. And then they would figure out what came next for them. He would figure out once and for all how to show her how he felt, who she was to him—to his heart, his soul, and…his body.
Now he was the one needing a distraction.
“What’s your guess for the surprise tomorrow? Sushi?”
For a moment Quinn fought the smile, but he couldn’t pull off stubbornness for more than a second or two. “Dessert. She’ll make a lava cake or something.”
Some long-buried fact surfaced in Aaron’s mind. “But people who bake don’t cook, and vice versa, right? Savory and sweet are different skills…or something.”
Quinn laughed. “Tell her that. She’ll be impressed.”
“Not if it’s a myth.”
“It isn’t. She has three go-to desserts, and that’s it. So I can tell you we’ll be getting either chocolate lava cake, carrot cake with cream cheese icing, or snickerdoodle cookies.”
“Do we get a vote?”
Quinn’s eyes widened. “No way, man. I can’t even ask which of the three things it is. Ruins the game. You have to pretend it could beanything, cupcakes or tiramisu or whatever, and be super surprised when it’s lava cake, carrot cake, or snickerdoodles.”
Laughter bubbled in Aaron’s chest. How he loved this woman. “I’ll play along.”
“You have to or I’m busted.”
“Never fear.”
Quinn’s scent had leveled, and they completed the rest of the trek surrounded by the sounds of the forest. The scent of raw beef hung in the air along with the gamey odor of wolf. Tonight their collective odor was at its heaviest, drawing them to their pack with a pull nearly irresistible. At last Aaron and Quinn hit the end of the trail, which emptied into the paddock. They stepped into the man-made square clearing and crossed the always-live border of the invisible fence. They wouldn’t leave until morning.
An age-old precaution, they headed first thing toward Malachi for their collars. The alpha stood under a grandfather of a pine tree at the edge of the paddock, back to the broad trunk, collars looped over his hands. His mouth lifted at the corners when they approached.
“Aaron, Quinn.”
Aaron set a hand on Quinn’s back and gave him a gentle push. “You first, pup.”
Quinn blanched, but he stepped forward and took the collar Malachi gave him. His fingers shook as he opened the clasp, looped the collar around his neck, and closed it. It hung loosely, fit to the size of his neck in his wolf form.
Aaron put on his own collar, and Malachi nodded. Another precaution: every wolf had to fasten on his collar while the alpha watched.
“Thanks,” Aaron said.
He hadn’t seen Mal since the night of the bear attack, and he itched to tell his friend how much he’d finally been able to say to Ember. Malachi knew the difficulty for him, would see the progress. But Quinn’s scent overflowed with dread, and Aaron’s first responsibility was to the pup. He returned a wave from Jeremy but shepherded Quinn away from the loose congregation of other wolves.
“It’s okay, Quinn.” He set his hands on the pup’s shoulders.
Quinn tugged at the collar as if it were too tightly fitted, then ran his thumb over the transponder. “What if I run into the fence?”
“Have you ever before?”
“But what if I do this time?”
“Most of us have.” And no longer did, the boundaries having long been ingrained in memory. All these words he had said last month, but he’d say them as many times as Quinn needed to hear them. “It’s just a zap. It doesn’t harm you.”
“I never want to. My whole life, I hope I never run into it.”
Aaron hoped the opposite but wouldn’t say so. The sooner Quinn collided with the fence, the sooner he’d realize dread was needless. He spent a little longer with Quinn, talking him through his fear of the fence, then his second source of fear. The change.
