And, to be honest, the poor pup often became agitated by the sounds coming from our room, misinterpreting our intimate moments as potential harm to his beloved goddess.
Thankfully, the solution had presented itself organically when Brummy latched onto “Alpha Toast.” By the second night, the pup was sleeping in Foster’s bed, over the moon to have him willing to share. Wolves denned together naturally, slept in puppy piles for warmth and comfort. For a lone wolf like Foster, who’d clearly been solitary for far too long, and a traumatized pup who craved safety, the setup was doing them both a world of good.
Foster’s impact extended to training Addison. Our father had trained us through pain and humiliation. He’d broken us down to rebuild us in his image, perfect weapons, obedient sons. Where Father would’ve had the boy doing knuckle pushups on gravel, Foster used gentle techniques, turning training into games and setting achievable goals. Addison gained confidence and started standing taller, speaking louder, and even smiling when mastering defensive moves under Foster’s guidance.
“Kids need to know they’re safe before they can learn to fight,” Foster shrugged when Ko admired his approach. “Fear’s a shit teacher.”
And I couldn’t help but wonder what our lives might have been like if someone like Foster had been there during our formative years. If we’d been taught to protect without being broken first.
#
At dawn one morning, I headed to the kitchen to fill my water bottle after my workout. Nodding a good morning at Mrs. Wentzel and Addison, I thought back to last evening’s session. I’d entered the gym to find Seri white-knuckling the chin-up bar, feet dangling six inches from the stool she’d kicked aside. She’d been panting, trembling with effort, as Koa had hovered nearby, spotting her with hands outstretched like she might shatter.
Reaching her limit, she’d dropped to the floor and turned hopeful eyes to Koa.
“Ten seconds,” he’d rumbled with a grin, and Zane had wolf-whistled from the weight bench.
“Call Guinness! World record for cutest core workout!”
“I couldn’t even do five last week,” she’d confided, breathless but glowing.
“You’re extraordinary,” I had told her, meaning every syllable.
Her pink cheeks had been reward enough, but the kiss she’d given me afterward, confident in a way her first kisses hadn’t been, suggested she was growing stronger in more ways than one.
Before I left the kitchen, I checked her chart taped on the refrigerator, my eyes skimming over the tiny bat stickers that marked her progress. Two other charts had joined hers this week: Foster’s caffeine intake, which she marked with frowning gray clouds for each cup, and Addison’s training successes, which she marked with wolf stickers. In the margins, she had doodled us all as superheroes and, above her chart, she’d written, “Proof I’m fighting!”
I watched her progress with a pride that bordered on reverence. Her BMI increased by 1.2 points, her muscle mass was improving, and her bone density scans showed early signs of positive change. Our Seri was healing, not just magically, but physically. Each pound gained, each successful repetition of an exercise, each nightmare-free sleep was a victory over what had been done to her.
As I saluted her artwork with my water bottle, Addison wandered over.
“Señor Lobo is outside with Foster,” he said in his soft voice.
I gave the boy a nod and went out the back door to find Foster sprawled on the lawn off the patio, Brummy flopped across his chest, both of them dozing in a patch of early morning sunlight.
“The fuck’s wrong with your wife, Cas?” His eyes were still closed, like the sun was too good to give up just yet.
“What do you mean?” I demanded, almost turning on my heel and going in search of her. “Did she tell you she was worried about something? Did she mention feeling sick? Did she—”
“Chill, Captain Catastrophe. I’m talking about the way she basically adopted me on sight. Who the hell does that?”
“Have you seen the rest of her menagerie of fuck-ups?” I scoffed as I sat down beside him. “Me, Zane, Koa. Addison. Brumous. Hell, she even tookFatherunder her wing!”
“That’s what I’m saying. A tiny nineteen-year-old girl with a traumatic past shouldn’t look at a giant thirty-year-old man with blood-stained hands and think, ‘Oh, yeah.That one’ssafe.’ ”
“You think it was any different for us?” I scowled as I reached over and stroked Brumous’ fur, earning a softwoof. “When she started doling out silly nicknames and kisses and letting us touch her? You think we didn’t know we were unworthy of it? I damn near had a panic attack the first time she told me she loved me.”
“Yeah. Still, you’re her husbands, and I’m just—”
“Her first friend.Ever.”
“What?” He cracked his eyes open and stared at me.
“You’re her first real friend.”
“I’m surprised you boys are okay with that.” The look in his onyx eyes was half challenge, half wonder.
“At first, I was afraid of her being disappointed,” I admitted. “Wasn’t sure you’d want to stick around. Didn’t want her to get attached just to have to tell you goodbye.”
