Comments of that sort were frequent, letting Willow in on quirks and backstories everyone else knew. It was considerate. It was overwhelming, trying to catalogue so much at once.
She quickly saw that the women weren’t “catching up.” None of their stories had happened more than a few days ago. Compared to Willow’s accustomed friend outings, which occurred maybe three times a year and tried to shove months of life updates into a couple hours, this gathering was…well, sort of strange and lovely all at once. These women had seen each other no more than a week ago. They knew each other intimately, minutely. They walked the path of life side by side.
Afternoon slid to evening, the sun sank, and the breeze cooled. Jeremy and Lucy departed to put their kiddos to bed. Arlo and Rebecca, active farmers in their eighties, retired early to rise with the sun. The easy chats among most others showed no signs of stopping. Around nine, Trevor and Rhett brought out roasting sticks, pie irons, s’mores ingredients, a plate stacked with slices of overly-buttered bread, and a deep dish of sliced apples soaked in syrup.
Soon everyone was claiming either marshmallows or “pie crust” and apples. Willow stepped back from the bonfire, and Ezra rounded it to join her.
“Ready to say good night?”
He was a lifesaver, but… “I wanted to stick it out until the end.”
“Oh, that could be another four hours. Wolves don’t like to end pack socialization.” When she gaped and blinked in exaggerated dismay, his low chuckle rumbled. “They expect me to head out early sometimes.”
“Well, I’m…I’m pretty tired, if that’s okay. Can you smell it?”
“Tiredness doesn’t have a scent of its own, but it can mute a person’s signature. And yes, Wil, it’s okay to be tired.” He tucked her into his side. “Let’s go.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
The conversations around the fire pit were layered, none too loud, but when Ezra turned his head in that direction and Malachi stood up, Willow didn’t need enhanced hearing to know the alpha had said something to her wolf.
“Okay,” Ezra said. He kept Willow close, led her toward a picnic table that sat away from the fire, cloaked in twilight. “Malachi wants to talk to us before we leave.”
She had acclimated to him, had learned history from him, and no longer felt intimidated by his presence. Yet this sounded serious. “Did I somehow overstep today?”
“No, nothing like that.”
Willow’s mouth dried, and a shiver caught her that had nothing to do with the coming nightfall. “Maybe I’ve used up my invitation. Maybe it’s just for the weekend.”
“That’s not it.”
He sounded sure, so she kept walking.
Malachi had already left the bonfire and sat alone at the picnic table. Willow didn’t see him until she and Ezra had nearly walked into him. Then she understood: Ezra had never been in danger of a collision, and Malachi wasn’t sitting in the dark, not to his own eyes.
“Y’all have night vision,” she said.
“Yep.”
“You forgot that one when you told me the list.”
“Oh, I guess I did.”
She and Ezra sat on the picnic bench across from the alpha, who gave a thunderstorm-level growl that sounded pleased, not put out. That was something.
“Please don’t worry, Willow,” Malachi said. “An offer of sanctuary lasts as long as it’s needed.”
“Oh.” She let out a shaky breath. She wasn’t being turned out. She was still welcome here.
“I do have a few questions about your family.”
It all came back. Dad’s awful words, the dull thumps of his fists striking Ezra full-force. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
“To your knowledge, has your father ever assaulted anyone else, other than Ezra?”
So the alpha knew about that. Well, of course he did and should. Ezra’s arm encircled her with warmth and protection, and she nestled close to him on the picnic bench. “He’s always hated wolves, since I was little. It’s just always been talk, abstract until now. My parents don’t know any wolves personally.”
“Do you believe he’ll try again—to harm Ezra or to force his point in other ways?”
