I banish the possessive thought from my head. “It’s a wolf thing. Something we all do. Are these… mates of yours witches?” My throat prickles as if I’ll gag.
Arlo touches the curve of his neck. “Yes.”
“Good. Then they’ll have an easier time believing we’re really together if they know I’ve scented you.” Even if they can’t smell it, the beard burn on Arlo’s skin should make it obvious.
“Right!” Arlo laughs, averting his gaze. “Of course. Very clever of you!” He claps me on the shoulder and, after how intimate we just were, the overtly friendly touch makes something in me sour.
The hoppy aroma of beer and the sting of alcohol hits my nose when we walk in. I’m unsure which is louder, the music or the customers laughing and talking at the top of their lungs. The noise makes my ears ache, and my shoulders hunch as if they’ll somehow muffle my hearing. It will be a blessing if I leave this place with my hearing intact.
Run,my berserker growls,leave. Now. We must leave.
“There they are!” Arlo takes my hand, and his touch commands all my attention. His hand warms my skin, fingers tightening around mine. If I listen closely enough, tune out all the excess, I can follow the soothing thump of his heart. My shoulders drop, and the tightness in my muscles fades. The agitated growl rumbling in my throat ceases on my next exhale.
Two men wave at us from a table, and a woman with pink hair and dark makeup springs up and waves. “Hey, bitch!” They’re dressed in dark clothes. One man has spiky purple hair. The other has all sorts of rings and piercings. “Are they who we’re meeting?” They don’t look like the sort of people Arlo would associate with. Though they do smell like magic.
Arlo laughs. “Don’t be frightened. They’re great.”
“Why do they look like that?”
“They’re punk rockers! They’ve got their own band and everything,” Arlo explains, though I understand nothing.
Suddenly, the pink-haired woman flings herself at Arlo, crushing him in a hug.
My stomach sinks, fingers curling at my sides. If she kisses him, I may bloody lose it. The instant she lets him go, I grip the back of Arlo’s sweater and tug until his body is flush with mine. Arlo tenses against me, then makes a contented little noise and leans into me. One hand comes up to cup my cheek.
“Jealous?” he murmurs.
“No,” I say, looping my arm around his waist.
“What the hell, Lo?” the woman says, smacking his shoulder. “When were you going to tell us you were seeing someone?”
Arlo smiles crookedly. “Well, erm—everyone, this is Gunnar. Gunnar, this is Imogen.” The pink-haired girl’s pigtails bob as she rushes to shake my hand.
“Ooh, Arlo, you didn’t mention how yummy he is!” She winks at me.
“Yummy?” I look to Arlo in confusion.
“And these two are Rodney and Derek.”
“Nice to meet ya, mate,” Rodney says, wrestling my hand into a firm shake.
Mate? Am I missing something? The air between them is friendly, and no kisses or lingering embraces were exchanged. Does mate in this time mean something different from what I thought?
“You could take out someone’s eye with hair like that,” I say, pointing to the purple and black spikes.
Rodney laughs. Imogen arches a brow.
“Get you a beer?” Rodney asks.
“Sure—” My jaw snaps shut, muscles tensing when Derek pulls Arlo into a hug. Unlike Imogen’s, this onelingers.A growl crawls up my throat,teeth aching from how hard they’re grinding together. Over Arlo’s shoulder, Derek shoots me a look so cold it would make a blizzard feel warm in comparison.
“Der, come on,” Arlo says, chuckling as he wriggles free.
“How are you, Lo? Good?” Derek asks, running his hand down Arlo’s arm.
Would Arlo be pissed if I savaged his friend in the middle of the pub?
Mayhap his relationship with Imogen and Rodney is friendly, but there clearly was—is?—something between him and Derek.
