Page 12 of Poet & Protector

“Sabine.” I growled a warning. It was bad enough that she was going to taunt me for as long as I was stuck with this class project; clueing in the whole pack made it that much worse.

Not that I was surprised she was selling me out, and it wasn’t really that. Wolf packmates shared each other’s lives. My business was their business. Most of the time.

Dax swallowed a hunk of chicken, then asked, “What?”

Sabine looked at me. Wonderful. She’d set me up, and now I was the one expected to detail my suffering.

“It’s not a big deal,” I said, trying to mitigate forthcoming damage. “We have a new group project in my Creative Writing elective. I have to write a collaborative poem.”

Dax shot an accusing glare at Sabine. “That’s boring.”

“No, it’s not,” she cooed. “Tell everyone who your partner is, Nev.”

I gave her a flat look, then, with reluctance, returned my attention to the others.

“Mason Elliott.”

My packmates did a wonderful job of imitating statues when they were surprised. They all stared at me, waiting for the joke. When I didn’t elaborate, Ren was the first to react.

“Is that a problem?” His question was serious.

If I did see it as a real issue, more than an annoyance, I could have asked him to intervene. But this wasn’t anything worth getting my alpha involved in.

“No,” I told him. “It’ll be fine.”

Ren assessed my expression carefully. Apparently, he was satisfied by my reply because in the next moment he offered me a devilish smile.

“Can’t wait to hear all about how this new partnership progresses, Nev.”

“Me too.” Dax’s growl was vicious, but delighted. “Put that Nightshade in his place. He’s a total prick.”

I bristled at the comment, inexplicably wanting to defend Mason. I didn’t like him, but I wouldn’t call him a prick. Whatever. Dax’s constant brutishness tended to get my hackles up no matter the subject.

“He can’t be too hard on Mason,” Sabine said, and I could hear a similar stubborn objection in her voice. “He wants a good grade.”

“His loss,” Dax said around another mouthful of chicken.

“Will you be okay, Nev?” Cosette asked in a small voice, her huge brown eyes meeting mine. “I know how much you like writing. I hope this doesn’t ruin your poem.”

It was sweet of her to ask, and I regretted my earlier thought about her fragility.

“I won’t let him ruin anything, Cosette,” I told her, and she offered me a shy smile. “I appreciate your support.”

“What does Mason think about this?” Ren asked. His eyes wandered over to the table a short distance from ours where the Nightshades always gathered for lunch.

“I have no idea,” I told him, my gaze following his.

The other pack seemed in good spirits. Calla and Fey were listening to Bryn chatter away about something. The Nightshade alpha must have sensed Ren watching her because she suddenly glanced over, narrowed her eyes at him, and flashed her fangs. Ren laughed quietly and turned his attention back to our table.

I was still watching the other pack but focused on Mason. He was perched on the table, his feet resting on a chair, while Ansel tossed Fritos in the air. Mason was trying to catch the corn chips in his mouth. Ansel laughed when Mason missed two chips in a row. Mason grabbed the bag from Ansel’s hands and began pelting the younger wolf’s head with Fritos in retaliation.

I rolled my eyes, took a bite of the sandwich and immediately spit it out. I was so busy looking at Mason I’d forgotten I traded roast beef for Tofurky.

Twisting in my chair, I tossed the rest of the sandwich into a nearby trash bin. “I hate you, Sabine.”

“I know.” She kissed me on the cheek. “Don’t worry, my mom packed some vegan cookies in there, too. I’m sure they’re better than the sandwich.”

Four