I switch forms, because we generally keep our wolves in the woods, as I walk toward him.
His dark eyes glitter in the night, like constellations made of fate and fire, and only for me.
“Thought you were pretty much done with me,” I drawl as I approach.
“I’d like to be,” he retorts.
That doesn’t hurt. We’re not in that space—not right now—and anyway, I know he’s lying.
“It was pretty dire last night.” I shove my hands in the back pockets of my jeans as I take my time walking toward him. “I was pretty sure I was going to get the silent treatment until the new moon.”
“I can’t stay away from you, asshole,” Ty growls at me. “You know that.”
I used to think it was just that fated thing of ours. Some power that drew us to each other despite everything. Even all the way across the country, settled deep in all that concrete in New York City, I felt this pull to him. I always feel it.
Like we’ve been chained to each other from the start.
I’m beginning to wonder if fate has anything to do with it. Maybe it’s just us.
“If you could,” I say quietly, “that might go a long way toward soothing other people’s feelings in the pack. They might not spend so much time worrying about whether or not I’m disrespecting you.” I pause and lift my eyebrows at him. “My liege.”
He smirks at that title that no one calls him, ever, then pushes himself off my front door in another effortless show of grace and offhanded athleticism. Like he does.
“You’re definitely disrespecting me,” he assures me. “All day and all night, far as I can tell. Good thing you’re hot.”
I tip my head back as he comes closer and keeps coming, until he’s towering over me. “How hot?” I ask. “Exactly? Feel free to give examples.”
I smile as he growls at me. Then I laugh as he picks me up, tosses me over his shoulder, and hauls me into my cottage to toss me face down on my very soft bed.
Where he spends a very long time showing me exactly what he means byhot.
6.
Cold Moon, Last Quarter Half-Moon
It’s a week of more lectures in the same theme from my brothers, snide comments from pack members when I can’t avoid them in town, and Ty in one of his moods—which means a whole lot of wild sex and very little talking.
Historically, this sort of mood occurs when he knows that one of us will be unhappy with whatever conversation he’s avoiding. Also historically, the upset one is me, so I’m in no rush to push him into saying things I don’t really want to hear.
Super healthy as always, that’s us.
I focus on work. The trolls demanding tithes on the California border and hiding in the rocks that line Siskiyou Summit, pelting anyone who dares try to pass with debris and the odd explosive. I practice for the upcoming wolf week by keeping my expression neutral—very queenly and demure—when my brothers bitch at me. I allow random pack members to growl at me and only smile sweetly in return. Not because I’m so diplomatic andgood, as I might like to pretend, but because I know they find it annoying.
By the time Saturday rolls around, I’m ready to step away from all things pack for a minute. So I’m practically gleeful when I catch Winter in the kitchen that night.
“It’s like you barely live here anymore,” I say, leaning against the counter. There are so many things I want to tell her. Mostly about the dead offerings that still keep popping up. Or the fact that I’ve hadseveralconversations with Briar this week, all ... pleasant. Friendly, even. Not to mention, Winter is the only person I’d consider talking to about my experience at Savi’s house. And the somehow startling news that she’smarried.
This is kind of how I felt about my college friends, except they didn’t know what I was hiding from them. Winter knows exactly who I am. Before this fall, I had no idea it was possible to have nonpack friends.Realfriends. We used to get warned against forming attachments to any humans in school, since nothing could ever come of them.
“Tell me about it,” Winter is saying, pulling out the bread she freezes and rations, then prying off a couple of slices with a knife. “I had no idea that my poor grandmother was Dear Abby for every last creature that slithered out of the slime.” She remembers who she’s talking to, and her mouth curves. “Or from a very nice, upscale den, I’m sure.”
“Do you have to serve coffee drinks while providing prophecies?” I ask. “If so, you should charge more.”
“I’m basically one-stop shopping.” She puts her bread into the old-school toaster and presses the lever down. “Caffeine to get you peppy, cards to make you mopey, and a selection of vampire bodyguards who actually hate everyone and everything to keep us all honest. It’sgreat.”
“I didn’t know you had coffee-stand guards.”
“Don’t we all have guards?” Winter asks with a laugh.
