The kitchen lights cast a warm glow against the granite countertops, illuminating the usual late-night gathering of mates. Preston was leaning against the counter, stirring something that smelled like cinnamon and apples. Sasha sat perched on a barstool, his red hair sticking up at odd angles like he’d been running his fingers through it. Newt was cross-legged on the kitchen island itself, because apparently chairs were for mortals.
“All I’m saying is that cinnamon rolls without frosting are just sad bread spirals,” Preston was arguing as Wade walked in.
Jalen spotted him first, pausing mid-response to Preston’s culinary opinions. “Who’s the guy you brought home?” he asked, mug clutched between his hands.
Wade smirked, heading straight for the coffee pot. “When did you become a detective, Preston? Is that a new career path I should know about?”
“Since about twenty minutes ago when I heard your truck pull up and then mysterious footsteps that didn’t belong to you.” Preston flicked a dish towel in Wade’s direction. “Spill.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wade replied, snagging an apple from the fruit bowl. “Maybe you’re hearing things. Old age setting in early.”
Preston snorted. “I’m twenty-seven, asshole.”
“Ancient,” Wade agreed solemnly, taking a bite of the apple. The crisp tartness filled his mouth as he chewed. “Practically bound for a senior home.”
Quinn walked in, his hair damp from a recent shower. He glanced between them, one eyebrow raised. “What’re we talking about?”
“Wade snuck a guy into the house,” Sasha supplied helpfully, adjusting his glasses. “And he’s being cagey about it.”
“I’m not being cagey,” Wade protested. “I’m being…selective with information.”
“That’s the literal definition of cagey,” Sasha pointed out.
Wade gave him a flat look. “Thank you, Dictionary.com.”
A subtle flutter drew his attention upward. Newt’s gossamer wings had unfurled, iridescent and delicate in the kitchen light. The fae hovered near the ceiling, blue hair falling around his face as he grinned mischievously like a gossip drone with wings.
“I think I’ll just take a quick peek at this humanitarian project,” Newt said, drifting toward the doorway. “For security purposes, of course.”
Wade pointed his half-eaten apple at the floating fae. “Mind your own business unless you want your wings superglued together while you sleep.”
Newt clutched imaginary pearls. “So violent! And here I thought wolves were supposed to be cuddly.”
“Only with the right people,” Wade replied, finishing his apple and tossing the core into the trash with perfect aim.
“Chillin’ in which room?” Quinn asked, eyebrow arched in obvious amusement. “Yours or the guest room?”
“Guest room,” Wade answered, ignoring the knowing looks exchanged around him. “He needed a place to stay for the night.”
Quinn’s eyebrow climbed higher. “Just a good Samaritan act then? Nothing to do with the fact that he might be your mate?”
Wade gave a noncommittal shrug that told them everything they needed to know.
“Holy shit,” Sasha whispered. “Seriously?”
“What’s his name?” Preston asked, abandoning his sauce to give Wade his full attention.
“Alex,” Wade answered, resigned to the interrogation. “And before you ask, yes, he’s staying the night. And probably longer.” He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly feeling the weight of the day. “Actually, I need to ask a favor. Does anyone have clothes they could lend him? Mine are too big, and he doesn’t have anything else.”
“I’ve got plenty he can borrow,” Sasha volunteered immediately. “Quinn won’t stop buying them for me.”
“Because everything looks good on you.” Quinn kissed his mate’s neck. “Red goes with everything.”
“I can loan him some of mine,” Newt offered, lowering himself back to the island.
“Same here,” Jalen added.
Preston cleared his throat. “I’d offer, but...” He gestured to his small love handles. “I’m bigger than the rest of you. My clothes would probably hang off his body.”
