I saw the effort in his expression, the way he’d made a decision and was following through despite whatever uncertainty sat behind it.
He reached toward me but paused.
“I want to carry you down,” he said. “I’m asking, not demanding.”
My chest cracked open.
It was finally happening. Something was, anyway.
“Yes.”
He lifted me, and it was nothing like the possessive grab on our wedding day, when he’d flung me over his shoulder. This time, he gently placed one arm under my knees, the other supporting my back, and settled my weight against his chest like I was a person who mattered.
My arm went around his neck.
He took the stairs slowly, his breathing steady. I felt the jar of each step through his body, plus the controlled strength in the way he moved.
Outside, the clearing had been transformed. Long tables had been arranged in rough lines, and a few pack members were building a bonfire along one side. Platters of food covered a buffet table. The whole pack had gathered, at least a hundred wolves in human form, talking and laughing at tables and in clusters.
“You didn’t get your reception,” Feral said. “This could be it instead.”
What a way to make me swoon. It was a good thing he was still carrying me.
The noise and movement cut off the moment he appeared. Everyone turned their gazes our way. Feral’s expression dared them to keep staring. Most grinned and looked away, returning to their conversation.
A few lingered. Kirk’s face stayed neutral, but his eyes showed approval. Maria’s grin came right away, and she gave us a nod.
Acorn surveyed the crowd, though his gaze kept darting to the dark woods beyond the clearing.
Feral set me down beside the buffet table and put a plate in my hands. He stayed at my elbow as I moved along the line.
“You’ll like this,” he said, pointing. “Kirk thinks it’s terrible, but it isn’t.”
He noticed me looking at one particular dish and gave me some without asking if I wanted it.
I was fascinated by this attentive, almost-shy version of him he must keep hidden beneath the gruffness. The way he made sure I had enough food. The small adjustments he made to my plate’s contents based on preferences I must’ve mentioned in passing.
I liked it more than I could logically account for.
We joined Kirk and Maria at one of the tables. Our pack members shuffled over to make room.
Maria waited exactly three seconds before starting. “So about that mop.”
Feral snorted. “Yes, about the mop. I’m telling you, it was an amazing ride. I’m thinking of asking my wife to create a fleet of them. We can all ride them the next time we ride into battle.”
I caught the tease in his eyes.
His words shut everyone up. Until someone laughed, realizing he must be joking. Which, given his expression, he was not. A fleet of mops. I found the idea quite appealing.
“I think you were terrified,” Maria said with another laugh.
Feral huffed. “I was not.”
“You were,” I said.
His head swiveled toward me.
I met his gaze. “You made a sound like a wounded elk when we dropped three feet.”
