“Oh,” Ember said, blinking for the first time since Aaron entered the house. “Let me.”
“I’m sorry I scared you,” Quinn said as he handed her the spatulas. “I’m really sorry, Aunt Em.”
“No, Quinn. I had no right to be there. I trespassed on something private.”
Something private. What kind of description was that for what she’d witnessed? Aaron nearly howled, couldn’t move even another step into the kitchen.
“I’m glad the food’s still good. You said you’d get back between eight and nine, so I went ahead and started it, but… I just thought maybe if I…” Ember sagged against the counter, and one spatula came to rest against its skillet. Then, before Aaron could speak, she straightened her spine and turned from the stove to face both of them. “I don’t know why I thought cooking would help.”
“It’s okay,” Quinn said.
“It’s not. I’m sorry. I didn’t know, but—but I should’ve. I didn’t—I didn’t respect…” Her bottom lip wobbled, and Aaron wanted to hold her until she believed what she’d done was forgiven.
In the same heartbeat he wanted to howl in her face, pour all his shattered trust into the sound until she understood that no, cooking breakfast would not help. She had looked on him under the full moon. She had seen his helplessness to resist the curse. The pain of it doubled him over, and he braced his hand on the counter.
“Aaron?” Her voice trembled.
He had to talk to her. His voice came nearly as rough as Malachi’s. “Give us a little while, pup.”
“Okay, Aaron. I’ll put in my earbuds.” Quinn snatched up a plate from the table and added at least half the eggs and one of the steaks. He was already forking his first bite as he disappeared into his bedroom.
Ember shut off the stove burners. While Aaron continued to hunch over the counter, she prepared a second plate.
“Can you eat?” she said quietly.
He’d begun to shake with fatigue and hunger, and his legs were ready to collapse. He nodded but couldn’t lift his head. Ember’s small hand supported under his elbow and steered him to sit at the table. When she set the plate before him, his body responded. He forked bite after bite, hardly swallowing one before shoveling in the next. Of course the scrambled eggs were perfect, neither runny nor dry. The steak was medium rare, the sear exactly right. But he couldn’t pause to savor.
At last not a speck remained on the plate. His body drooped forward, one need met, another asserting itself. Time to sleep.
No. Not yet.
He forced his head up. From across the table Ember watched him, a baffling lack of horror in her gaze.
“Thank you,” he said.
She nodded. For a long minute they looked at each other.
“Why?” His voice rasped again. The single word brought the howling back into his chest. He couldn’t draw a full breath.
“It was the one thing you couldn’t talk about, the one thing Quinn…I thought he might need me to be there for him or protect him or—”
“Protect him from what? His pack? His alpha? Me?”
She bowed her head. “No, Aaron, not you. I—I didn’t know what it was. I thought the only way to know was to see for myself.”
“I told you he was safe with us, with me. Lucy told you.”
“Quinn said it was the worst part of what he is. He didn’t…he didn’t sound safe to me.”
He held his head in his hands. This was too much. He was too tired.
“I never meant—”
“You left the scent of blood and fear behind you, and the pack couldn’t move away from it.” He shut his eyes. “It kept us restless for hours. It was excruciating.”
She didn’t respond this time. Good. He needed her silence. He needed her to hear him. Just hear him. But he’d run out of words.
“You were the dark wolf,” she whispered. “The one separated.”
