“Oh,132
gods,” Arbor murmurs. “Tell them to be nice to Eudora. She’s lovely.”
“I will,” I reply. “Don’t worry. The little bit of cheese I had, I enjoyed.”
Arbor’s cheeks flush. “I expected you to throw it away.”
“I thought about it.”
“Why?” River asks, topping Arbor’s glass off. “What’s the tea here?”
Forest chuckles and leans back in his chair. “Yeah, big bro. What’s the tea?”
“Fuck off.”
Forest and River continue to rib me as Arbor looks on in amusement. I enjoy seeing him relaxed and smiling. I haven’t seen him like this since before he ran that stone across my temple and I passed out.
I was mad after that. Furious. Hurt more than anything.
But to think that my actions, my coldness, made him so upset causes something inside of me to twist. I understand why he felt he had to do it. I do. The fae are reclusive, like he said. And for good reason.
Our kind hasn’t been good to them.
I’m sure he was taught to be careful with alphas. If not by his parents, then by someone else. I know he lost them far too young, but their deaths have shaped him just like the loss of my mother has shaped me.
“Come on, dinner’s ready,” I say.
River refills Arbor’s glass and clinks his against it.
“Glenn is the best cook.”
“Yeah, he is,” Arbor says, peering over at me almost shyly.
I feel a flutter in my stomach as I hand him a bowl.
“Omega first,” I tell everyone, and my brothers stand back, waiting for Arbor to dish up. He does so with cheeks flaming, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
When he’s seated again, sipping on his wine and eating slowly, I take a seat next to him, my plate completely full, my stomach rumbling.
“This is really good,” Arbor says, taking a small bite, a bit of sauce lingering on his lips.
“Thank you. I can’t take credit for it, though. This is all from that Italian store in town.”
“Well, it’s delicious.”
“Yo, can we come in now?” I hear the werewolves ask.
I sigh and shout that they can, and within moments, the three of them are barreling toward the kitchen, grabbing plates and filling them up. I see Marlow has a cat under his arm, its kitty claws holding on to his shirt for dear life. Not that he seems to mind.
Seems he’s found a friend.
“Fucking good, like always,” Vick murmurs as he rips into a piece of bread.
They’re loud and obnoxious, but they wander back outside after a few moments, leaving everyone in peace and the food nearly gone.
“Hope you all got what you wanted because they took most of it,” I say, and River and Forest nod their heads.
“We’re good. I had a feeling they have big appetites,” River says, slurping up a spaghetti noodle. “So I gave myself a double helping.”
