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A rogue? I’ve read my fair share of romance books, and rogues are usually dangerous wolves who were exiled from their pack.
Not tiny little babies who can’t even walk or speak yet.
“What threat?” I demand. The brother’s share a look, and as one, shake their heads.
“Our luna will share that with you,” Patrick says firmly. “You’re going to need extra guidance to know how to handle her in her wolf form.”
“That definitely wasn’t just a one-off?” The headache that formed from the very dramatic bouncing of my skull on the floor is growing in intensity, but I know we’re far from done with this, so I just need to suck it up.
They both shake their heads, but it’s Garrett who continues speaking. “As a babe, Phoebe is relying on her instincts to guide her. She’ll shift from form to form during highly emotional states. As she grows, she’ll get a better control over it, but the likelihood is she won’t have true control over herself until after her teenage years.”
“Adults can also shift by accident in highly emotional situations,” Patrick says. “But for the most part, she’ll be in control.”
“I see.” I rub at my temples and watch as the men do an awkward shuffle practically in unison. “Sit. Please.” Patrick gently lowers himself into the armchair, whilst Garrett drops down onto the other sofa.
“Now, where is your husband? We need some information from him,” Patrick asks a little more abruptly than I’ve come to expect from him.
“Fiancé,” I correct almost absentmindedly. I watch Phoebe’s soft suckles, wishing I could have her ignorance. “What kind of information are you after, specifically?”
The two officers exchange looks of confusion, but I leave them to their silent conversation and wait.
“His full name, his place of origin, any contact information for his next of kin,” Garrett says.
“I was his next of kin, but he doesn’t need one now since he’s dead.”
“Fuck,” Patrick hisses, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “He’s dead?”
I nod. “What else did you need again? Oh, yes, family information. He’s an only child and doesn’t have contact with his parents. They’ve been estranged since he was younger.”
“But you know about them?” Garrett asks, my gaze bouncing between the two of them. This is the first time I’ve noticed a difference. There seems to be some relief in Patrick’s gaze, whereas Garrett’s eyes are narrowed, his brows pinched together. “Do you know where they are from?”
“I know they’re alive,” I say slowly. “But that’s it. Why?”
“Because for him to be living here, he’d need to be registered as a rogue unless he was in hiding, and that’s just impossible. We’ve got no record of a rogue, and there’s no way we’d not have scented an unregistered wolf in the… how long had you been living here for before he died?”
“Um, we never lived here together. I moved here once Ryan died so I could have a fresh start. I’ve only been in this town for the last six months or so.” They exchange annoyed looks, but I can’t tell what their frustration is for. “Why are you mad?”
“As Phoebe was born here, in our pack bounds, we’re legally allowed to adopt her into our pack,” Patrick says slowly as if he’s unsure how much he can share with me. “But that can be contested by Ryan’s birth family during her first year of life, which is why we need to know who he is and where he came from so that our alphas and luna can decide on how to proceed.”
“Right.”
If this is the case, though, why would they—these mysterious leaders—offer to take her in as one of theirs in the first place? If Ryan’s family—his evil, abusive family—could contest this, surely, it’s easier to just send us on our way and wipe their hands clean of the situation?
“Look, let’s all head over to the alpha’s place. They’ll be able to answer your questions thoroughly and give you the information that we can’t,” Garrett says.
I consider it, and after a few more back and forth questions, I agree. One of my conditions is that I drive myself, and they’re not welcome in my car. The men simply laugh and reassure me that they’ll get a car dropped off, since they had run here in their wolf forms.
It seems that the people canvassing the neighbourhood never actually existed. Typical.
I let Phoebe finish her feed, refill her nappy bag from where we used things earlier at the doctor’s office, and then the four of us head out. The untouched pie is left on the counter, but I don’t feel hungry in the slightest.
I’ll reheat some once I’m back.
I lock up the house before heading to my car, carrying Phoebe’s car seat in one hand and her nappy bag on my other shoulder. Patrick offers to help, but I shake my head.
I buckle Phoebe into the car properly, and through the windshield, my eyes spot something impossible standing on my doorstep. An outline of a man who is grinning at me.
One so familiar my heart races in excitement. And when he waves, my own smile widens.
