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Rose obviously believed that, as did the rest of the café. Everyone in the restaurant was bobbing their head in agreement. They’d been listening in. Considering their werewolf ears, it was hard not to.
Rose nibbled her lower lip. “Julian hasn’t brought home a new wolf since—” She broke off.
“Alana. I know.”
Rose’s eyes widened even farther. “You won’t hurt him, will you?”
“Hurt? Him?” Alex thought he’d be more likely to kill her. But she decided to keep that to herself.
Rose lifted one shoulder. “He’s our alpha. I don’t know what we’d do without him.”
“Anything you wanted,” Alex muttered.
Rose tilted her head. “You don’t seem to like him.”
“What’s to like? He’s an arrogant, domineering control freak.”
Rose’s lips curved. “We are what we were when we were made.” At Alex’s confused expression, she continued, “He was a Viking. Becoming a werewolf didn’t change that.”
“Becoming a werewolf changes everything,” Alex said.
“Yes and no. At least for wolves like us. Certainly there are lifestyle changes.” She tapped one ear. “No more silver hoops. Can’t make any plans for one night out of twenty-eight. But when we become one of Julian’s wolves, we retain who we were. Haven’t you?”
Alex nodded absently. She had. She couldn’t argue. But Rose’s explanation had given her an idea.
“So Barlow is a dick because he was a Viking, and Daniel was, is, and always will be gay, just like Josh.”
“And Joe will always love music and people and food, and I will always love Joe,” Rose said.
“What if you were a killer when you were made?” Alex asked. “What then?”
Rose, who’d been smiling at Alex as if she were the smartest kid in this year’s kindergarten class, froze. “I—uh—what?”
“If fabulous human beings become fan-damn-tastic werewolves, then it follows that a psychotic killer as a human would become an equally psychotic killer as a werewolf.”
“I suppose,” Rose agreed. “But Julian would never allow someone like that to become one of us.”
Alex glanced out the front window as a cloud danced over the sun. “What if he didn’t know?”
Julian was so furious when he came into the house that he took one look at the empty fireplace, absently thought about building a fire, and kaboom—he had one.
Flames shot up the chimney with such force he was concerned he might set the roof ablaze. As it was he singed the arm of a chair that he’d placed a little too close to survive spontaneous combustion.
“Faet!” he muttered, then closed his eyes and recalled how he’d pressed a kiss to Alex’s head and murmured shh. The image caused a fresh burst of fury, allowing him to put out the fire without having to climb onto the roof or even step a single foot into the living room.
Then he strode through his house, tossed off his clothes, turned the shower to Arctic, and stepped right in. He hadn’t made a mistake like that with his magic since…
Julian yanked his head from beneath the frigid stream. He hadn’t made a mistake like that with his magic since he’d discovered it.
Alex took over his mind, his body, his emotions. He had a hard time controlling himself in any way when she was near. Which, if he wasn’t careful, was going to lead to a lot more serious mistakes than starting a wildfire in his fireplace.
How long was he going to be able to stand having her in town? How long before he did something he really regretted like—
“Like what?” he muttered. “You’ve already slept with her. What else is there?”
Shh. His own voice drifted through his mind, followed by that image of himself kissing her hair, holding her close.
The jittery roll in his gut reminded him that there were a lot worse things than sleeping with the enemy.
