“Are you the alpha here?”
Aaron Reed’s eyebrows shot up. “What? No.”
“Then why did he obey you instead of me? He’s known me all his life. He’s known you four weeks.”
“He didn’t—”
“If you’re not the alpha, he doesn’t have to obey you. I know how it works.”
“Will you hear me out for a minute?”
He hadn’t earned a hearing, not by any means. Then again, she might learn something she could use later. She gave a nod.
“I didn’t order Quinn back into the house. I gave him permission, not—” he raised a hand as her mouth opened— “because he can’t act without my permission but because he was making himself stay out of politeness, and it was getting to him.”
“Getting to him?”
He roughed a hand over the few-days growth on his jaw as he studied her. He seemed to be trying to decide what to say, or perhaps how much. For the first time since he’d opened his door, both of them were silent long enough to look fully at each other.
He wasn’t unpleasant to look at—the lazy wave of his black hair, the sturdy lines of his face, the firm lips…and his eyes. His eyes were dark too, dark as black coffee. Forthright, piercing. A scar interfered with his right eyebrow and must have nearly taken his eye out, the way it also grazed the top of his cheekbone.
If Claire couldn’t hypnotize, he couldn’t either. So Ember was staring of her own free will.
He wasn’t indisputably gorgeous or anything, but while Ember looked at him, Aaron’s chest heaved once, and his lips pressed together, and a quiver passed low through her body. She didn’t want to breathe, to blink. She wanted to look at Aaron Reed for another hour.
He stood and took a step toward her.
She blinked, and the eternity of maybe three seconds was over. She cleared her throat, and he pushed his big hand through his hair. Ridiculous, gazing at him, letting his chest and his lips distract her. Probably some kind of lupine strategy to avoid fair questions.
“Quinn,” he said, as if reminding both himself and Ember.
Yes. Quinn. Focus, woman. “He doesn’t love conflict, but…”
“Right,” Aaron said.
As if he’d known that detail already, as if he knew Quinn well after four weeks. Ember forced herself not to bristle.
“And now he can smell conflict. Between animals, between people.”
She felt her mouth fall open. Of course they had beastly senses, but she’d always imagined them catching the scent trails of wildlife or smelling fresh blood. Beastly things.
“You know the old adage, animals can smell your fear?” He shrugged. “We smell other moods too. So far stress has been the hardest thing for Quinn to adjust to. He can’t really handle that scent yet.”
“But you can.”
A grin flashed. “Let’s hope. You reek of it at the moment.”
“And you just called yourself an animal.”
“Fourteen percent lupine, that’s me.” The grin didn’t resurface, but his mouth twitched up at the right corner, and a dimple formed.
Quinn. Focus. “You still haven’t told me who’s responsible for my sister’s misunderstanding.”
“And I’m not going to.”
Ember gritted her teeth. How had she been ogling this man less than two minutes ago? “I have the right—”
“You don’t even have the right to be here, Ms. Grant.”
