Page 2 of Chaos At Second Sight

“Rough night?” He flipped the page after licking his index finger, his ring with the mountain in flames—the clan crest—glinting.

I sipped my own drink, more milk than tea. “Just jet lag. So, Grandpa…have you done your yearly check-ups yet?”

The subject landed exactly how it always did: unwanted.

He waved dismissively, Scottish tea droplets falling onto the article of a new ice cream trail in nearby Nairn. “A portion of haggis and a shot of Dalmore a day keep the doctors far away.”

I opened my agenda and wrote, Schedule Grandpa’s prostate exam, blood glucose test. I glanced up at him as he scooped more haggis onto his plate. Cholesterol. He changed the subject to school and my wolf’s development, hoping I’d forget, but once agenda-ed, it was never forgotten.

The Question (capital Q) arrived in its usual carefully phrased form.

“Do I need to shoot that boy?”

A handsome blond face popped up in my mind. The actual uno that started as duo Logan/Rudolph had made its way into the vessels of my heart through phone calls, silver eyes, and mockeries, taking up too much space.

“Not necessary. I can deal with it.”

“Thank Gealaich. I didn’t really want to leave the Highlands.” He never did, not even when my baby brother Ian was born, though that coincided with a war with the MacGraths over a stolen beehouse. We were possessive of our honey up here.

Him leaving the Highlands just to shoot Logan for me was, objectively, very considerate.

“Too skinny. Your triceps need more muscle.” He gripped my arm, enforcing his point. “Here, have more protein and good fat.” A generous portion of haggis landed on my plate, and my lips pursed. What’s better than nourishing sheep’s pluck to start the day?

Everyone knew I had found my mate, though no one had pressed me about it last night at the welcome dinner. They’d probably wait a day or two. My parents were worried but understanding; explanations cost energy I didn’t have. I also made my father promise not to march to Dark Diamond and demand a modernized duel. I felt mildly guilty for depriving him of the argument with Logan’s dad. Back in the day, our fathers had been ferocious rivals on and off the wereball arena. I also knew Dad needed a weekly dose of arguing like plants needed sunrays to function.

“Rionnag, ready to go?” Grandma strolled into the dining room in full camouflage, a shotgun slung over one shoulder. I wondered if she took it to bed with her. Just over seventy, with years spent battling rogues on the front lines, she wasn’t like Red Riding Hood’s grandma who let the Big Bad Wolf eat her up. My grandma was the Big Bad Wolf.

“Yes! Let me brush my teeth and grab sunscreen. Be back in six minutes.”

A quick hug from Grandpa, a pit stop, and a change into hunting gear later, we headed for the woods. They were densely green and comfortably unchanged, steeped in old, violent histories that still lingered in our peaceful present. Dawn hadn’t yet broken over the treetops, leaving the forest in cool blue-gray light, and the cold morning air smelled of damp ferns and sap.

“Where’s your bow?”

“Here.” I patted my shoulder bag with snacks, water, and my compact archery set. I eyed the wall of smooth-barked beech trees the animals had probably used to barricade themselves from the approaching predators and smiled.

Grandma hunted in human form once a week—another tradition that started after a visiting elder declared women shouldn’t hunt unless shifted. That same day, she kicked open the hall’s double doors, dragged in a deer by the antlers and a boar by the muzzle, and informed everyone dinner would be served in two hours. She also suggested to the gaping men that the cooking should start right away and that the blood on the floor should be cleaned up before it attracted pests.

“So.” Grandma squinted down the barrel with one eye shut, blew it clean, and then clicked it shut with a flick of her wrist. “Tell me about this wolf that made you run all the way here.”

I spun so fast I nearly met a blackberry bush headfirst. “What makes you think that I ran?”

“I’ve known my favorite granddaughter since before she existed!” She tsked. “Let’s get to the heart of the mutton. Chitchat makes me sneeze.” She did just that, straight into the same blackberry bush, and tilted her chin toward my neck. “No marks. Not mated yet?”

Being to the point was a family trait, alongside compulsory emotional transparency. Privacy was rude. Rude like Rudy. Oh, hush, brain!

“We’d never really talked in person.” Just made out…twice.

Her eyebrows climbed.

“Well, we talked when I thought he wasn’t my mate, but just over the phone. That should count, right?”

I shared mine and Logan’s history. It felt more like prehistory with everything that had happened since, wars included, and a certain werewolf dropping to his knees at the Comet vs. Dark Diamond game, with me almost rejecting him. Talking it through with Lachlan had been liberating; with Grandma, clarifying. For the first time, the full shape of it settled, and somehow, I felt lighter.

“I like this Rudolph.” The verdict was declared. “He has a sense of humor. That’s precious. You don’t spend decades with someone without one.”

She hadn’t even met Logan and was already acting as his defense attorney?

“Oh, come on. Would you prefer some inexperienced virgin hiding behind his mother’s skirts every time a girl looks his way?” I had to blink twice before laughing. “And sure, the lad’s had girls. Let him! Men need practice. Lots of it, and you don’t strike me as someone who wants to teach a grown wolf how to howl.”