“Angelina,” I growl. “Why the fuck can’t you use her name? She’s a shifter, due at least that much respect.”
“Fine. As I was saying, Hayden says Angelina reminded him of Marla. Blonde hair, blue eyes.”
Was she similar? No. Marla had dark blonde hair, and blue-green eyes, nothing like Angelina whose eyes make me think of the open sky and freedom. A freedom I haven’t known since… fuck, since Marla died.
My wolf growls at me, and for once I agree with him. This isn’t about Marla.
“Maybe I haven’t been myself. And Christmas…” I force myself to take in the tree, with the decorations the teens have started hanging. Garland made from baby pine cones, and the occasional red, silver, and blue ornament. I wince when I see a silver ornament, like the one Marla had fawned over in Devil’s Peak.
“The kids are in charge of decorating this year,” Damien says, as if it’s a neutral topic he can use to calm me. “This should be interesting.”
Christmas held meaning to me when I was young. Marla and I traded gifts each year. Small trinkets usually, like a whittling knife for me, a hair clip for her. Even when she refused to blood-bond, she gave me a Christmas gift, a fishing hook. A week before our fight. A week before she died.
“That was Marla’s idea,” Damien continues. “Letting the teens take over the decorating, so they’d feel more important.”
“That’s what she struggled with. Feeling useful. It’s why she asked me to train her how to infiltrate.”
“It wasn’t your fault. It was no one’s.”
He’s finally stopped saying it was Marla’s fault for not listening. He doesn’t get it. Yes, she disobeyed orders, but that changes nothing. She’s still dead. Fuck…
I tilt my head, looking up to the top where there’s no star, just the perfect cap of a fifty-foot pine that towers over the houses surrounding it. Despite its majesty, one of a million others in our forest, it’s the decorations that reflect who we are as a pack. Straightforward, simple, with a penchant for stepping beyond the norm as required.
This is one of those times.
“I’ll get it together, Damien. My wolf and I are… somewhat disconnected.”
“Not feral?”
“Not even close. We’re at odds right now.” And I’m not sure why. That’s the puzzling part.
“You can’t be that at odds.” He motions toward the guardswho chased me. “It took them a full three minutes to catch up to you. I take it you ran them in circles.”
I appreciate the hint of pride in his voice. No one wants a screw up in the family, even a second cousin.
“That’s the thing about an infiltration specialist, we’re great at not just getting in, but getting out of tight spots.”
“Point taken.”
“Call off the guards, Damien. Unless I’m a prisoner in my own pack.”
“I’m responsible for you and everything you do.”
As I was for Marla. That didn’t end well. Maybe if I’d been more observant, like Hayden. Or authoritative, like Damien.
“Move back to the center of camp, Garrett.”
“Where you can watch me? You either trust me or you don’t.”
“Isolating yourself isn’t helping you.”
“I didn’t tell you how to grieve Zach when he was killed. Don’t tell me how to grieve Marla. Unless that’s an order, alpha.”
He raises a brow at the formal address for what had been a friendly conversation. “Not an order. A request from family.”
I hate when he pulls that family shit. But if I want him to call off the guards, I need to play nice. More or less.
“I’ll consider it. Right now, I’m going home. Without any guards.” My voice holds an edge I’ve never used with an alpha before. Surprisingly, my wolf doesn’t chastise me.
