“Hey”—he bumps shoulders with me—“I’d like that.”
I’m suddenly really glad I went through all the drama to get here, because if nothing else comes of this trip, I think I’m leaving with a new friend.
“Come on, I could do with a coffee after all this deep and meaningful chat.” Mason leads the way once again, and we head to the exit on the other side of the park. “So, what about this mate of yours?”
“What about him?”
“I know you said he wasn’t out and whatever, but can’t you do some of this Christmas stuff with him?”
I scoff. “I don’t think peppermint coffee and mistletoe are really his scene.”
“Well, then it’s a good thing he isn’t here.”
We’ve stopped outside of the quaintest, most adorable coffee shop on the entire planet. A small veranda wraps around the outside, complete with poinsettias and holly boughs; the shop front is painted in this adorable baby blue; big windows sit on either side of the door, decorated with fake snow, hanging stars, and tinsel; and steam is fogging up the glass, making the inside look cozy and mysterious.
“You never told me who he is,” Mason says, opening the door and letting me enter first. “What’s his name?”
Barely a foot inside the café I stop, my back arching, a snarl rolling in my throat. And it’s not the delicious smell of coffee or nutmeg that’s stopped me in my tracks. It’s Jasper, sitting at a cute corner table, across from Mia, sipping a peppermint latte.
“Whoa, you okay?” Mason asks, following my eyeline. “Oh.”
THE BLOOD WOLF
The moon is especially bright tonight as I make my way down a rocky staircase carved into the sloping mountainside. It must have been made for giants because I basically need to jump from step to step. Apparently it’s a tradition here before a blood moon to head into the depths of the valley and light a bunch of bonfires—something about the Rocky Pack’s ancestors who lived in the valley, before they ascended to the peaks, who lit fires to call to the Moon Gods and were blessed with prosperity. At least, that’s what I was able to take in when Mason was telling me about it on the way back from town.
The whole journey back, he kept trying to distract me with pack customs and legends, but all I could think about was Jasper and Mia, sitting in that café, looking like the leads in a Netflix Christmas movie.
Mason was pretty cool about the whole thing. When I said I wanted to leave, he took me straight back to the packhouse in a shuttle van. And I think he could tell I didn’t want to talk about it because he didn’t ask any questions. He didn’t say much about it at all—which, as I head toward the orange glow deep in the ravine, is starting to worry me. What if he ran back to his pack to tell them the juicy gossip? Or worse, what if he told Mia, or Alpha Morven, so they could strategize about the best way to get me out of the picture and marry off the heirs? Mason seems cool, and like, chill, but why would I assume he’s more loyal to me than his pack?
Distant voices echo off the mountain walls as I reach the bottom of the staircase. A gravel path leads toward some densely packed trees; I can just make out the flicker of flames between the branches.
I haven’t spoken to anyone since I came back from town—not even Katie, so I have no idea how things went with her coming out to Todd and Simon as polyam. I’m assuming no news is good news, but who knows when there are territorial teen wolves involved.
Snow crunches under my feet as I snake through the forest, eventually coming to a clearing. Four pyres blaze before me. The flames are tall and shaped like witches’ hats, their smoke trailing into the sky, draping itself across the light of the moon. Still, she glows bright, on the brink of fullness, and just a little pinker than usual. The blood moon is on its way.
Rocky Pack wolves are huddling around the fires, passing round steaming mugs of something that smells spicy and festive. It’s a sea of pom-pommed woolen hats, puffer coats, and boots. I wander between the groups, looking for a familiar face, and can’t help thinking people are glancing at me, shooting me strange looks—looks that say, “I know.”
Finally, I spot Mason standing with a group by one of the fires. For a moment I stop and wonder whether I should go over. What if he’s already told them? What if he doesn’t want to be my friend anymore now that he knows my mate bond is an obstacle in the way of strengthening his pack? Or what if he isn’t interested in spending time with me now that he knows my mate is here? Not that anything would ever happen, but we were definitely acting on the flirtier side of friendly. Maybe he’s not interested now that he knows I’m completely off the table.
To my surprise, he catches my eye and smiles, lifts his brow in a way that asks, “Are you okay?” and waves me over.
“How are you?” he asks when I arrive.
I don’t really know how to answer so I sort of huff, tilt my head, and make a weird in-between expression.
“Right,” he says, nodding. “Let’s find somewhere we can talk.”
Mason excuses himself from the group and takes me over to where a woman is ladling out whatever spiced concoction everyone is drinking from a steaming crockpot. She passes me a mug, which I take and cradle in both my hands, warming them, then she refills Mason’s and he nods in the direction of an empty log near one of the farther-away fires.
I take a long whiff of the drink as I sit; it smells delicious, rich and fruity, and oh so festive.
“What is this?” I ask.
“It’s glühwein; it’s a German thing. You haven’t had it before?”
I take a sip and it instantly warms my throat and chest, coating my mouth with this citrusy, tangy, sweetness.
“No, but I love it!”
