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"I'll remember that next time."
He opened one eye. "On second thought, forget it. Chase me and I'll feed you afterward. Anything you want."
"Ice cream."
He laughed and opened the other eye. "I thought that was after you get pregnant."
"I'm practicing."
"Ice cream it is, then. Do we have any?"
I slid off him. "The Creamery opened last week. Two-for-one banana splits all month."
"One for you and one for--"
I snorted.
He grinned. "Okay, two for you, two for me."
He pushed to his feet and looked around.
"Clothing southwest," I said. "Near the pond."
"Are you sure?"
"Let's hope so."
I stepped from the forest into the backyard. As the clouds swept past again, shafts of sunlight slid over the house. The freshly painted trim gleamed dark green, the color matching the tendrils of ivy that struggled to maintain a hold on the stone walls. The gardens below were equally green, evergreens and bushes interspersed with the occasional clump of tulips from a fall gardening spree a few years ago, the tulips ending at the patio wall, which was as far as I'd gotten before getting distracted and leaving the bag of bulbs to rot in the rain. That was our typical approach to gardening: every now and then we'd buy a plant or two, maybe even get it in the ground, but most times we were content just to sit back and see what came up naturally.
The casual air suited the house and the slightly overgrown yard that blended into the fields and forests beyond. A wild sanctuary, the air smelling of last night's fire and new grass and distant manure, the silence broken only by the twitter of birds, the chirp of cicadas...and the regular crack of gunfire.
As the next shot rang out, I pressed my hands to my ears and made a face. Clay motioned for us to circle back along the woods and come up on the opposite side. When we drew alongside the shed, I could make out a figure on the stone patio, his back to us. Tall, lean and dark-haired, that hair curling over his collar, as sporadically clipped as the lawn. He lifted the gun. Clay grinned, handed me his shoes, then broke into a silent lope, heading around the stone wall.
I kept walking, but slower, having a good idea what he was up to. By the time I neared the wall, he was already vaulting over it. He caught my gaze, and lifted his finger to his lips. As if I needed the warning. He crept up behind the gunman, paused, making sure he hadn't been heard, then crouched and sprang.
Jeremy sidestepped without even turning around. Clay hit the wall and yelped.
Jeremy shook his head. "Serves you right. You're lucky I didn't shoot you."
"Live dangerously, that's my motto."
"It'll be your epitaph, too."
Jeremy Danvers, our Pack Alpha and owner of Stonehaven, where Clay and I lived, and would doubtless continue to live for the rest of our lives. Part of that was because Clay was Jeremy's bodyguard, and had to say close, but mostly it was because he'd never consider leaving. Clay had been no more than five or six when he'd been bitten, and when other kids were heading off to kindergarten, he'd been living as a child werewolf in the Louisiana bayou. Jeremy had rescued him, brought him to Stonehaven, and raised him, and this was where Clay would stay, bound to his Alpha. Now it was my home too, had been really since the day Clay bit me, nearly fifteen years ago. I'll never ask Clay to leave, and he's grateful for that, but it's no sacrifice on my part. I'm happy here, with my family. Besides, without Jeremy to mediate, Clay and I would have killed each other years ago.
Jeremy watched as Clay bounded over to me. He slanted a look my way. "Good run, I take it?"
"Apparently so."
I handed Clay his shoes. Jeremy's gaze slid down to Clay's bare feet. He sighed.
"I'll find the socks next time," Clay said. "And look, Elena found that shirt she lost."
I held up a sweater I'd "misplaced" a few months ago. Jeremy's nose wrinkled as the smell wafted his way.
"Toss it out," he said.
"It's a little funky," I said. "But I'm sure a good washing, maybe some bleach..."
