She sits across from me at her little kitchen table, swirling the pasta I made around her fork, but not lifting it to her mouth.
Whenever I stand next to Juliet, she seems so small, even though I know she’s average height. Still, my wolf and I want to feed her. Make her plump so she doesn’t shiver as much on the cold days.
“I can make something else,” I offer.
Juliet jumps, as if surprised to hear me speak.
Did she forget I was here?
“Oh! No. Sorry, my mind was somewhere else.” Her fork finally rises to her mouth, and she bites into the noodles, needing to grab a napkin before the red sauce drips down her chin. After she swallows and sips water, my woman smiles atme, her focus almost fully in this moment. “This is delicious. My stomach loves having you around.”
Doyoulove having me around?I want to ask.
Maybe it’s the aftereffects of the full moon, but I can’t get rid of this on-edge feeling. Like I’m missing something.
Doesn’t help that Boris decided to run his mouth at breakfast. Before he showed up, Juliet was all smiles and suggestive remarks.
Now she’s drawing into herself.
I wish I could tell her that Boris was having a bad day. But the thing is, he’s always an ass, and he’s not the only one in the pack who thinks I should run things differently. My dad dealt with the same pushback, and when I asked him about why he didn’t kick those wolves out, his answer stayed with me.
“Leaders lead everyone. They listen to everyone, not just the wolves who agree with them. They make choices for the good of the pack. They lead by example.”
I’ve always strived to do the same.
“What did you do last night?” I ask, wanting to hear her speak again.
Juliet’s voice is my favorite sound, but she hasn’t said much today, and I’m experiencing the withdrawal.
Her smile fades, and I mourn the loss. She shrugs one shoulder, eyes falling to her food.
“Not much. I read for a bit. Had trouble falling asleep, so I turned on my music. Had a dance party.”
The thought of Juliet doing her dangerous dancing starts a grin on my face, but then I think on her full statement.
“Trouble sleeping? Does that happen a lot?”
The nights I’ve stayed over, Juliet barely moves in the bed. Completely passed out. Usually with her head on my chest.
She takes another bite of pasta, drawing out her answer. “Not a lot exactly. But there are some nights when I can’t helpthinking about my living situation. And it’s like my mind fixates on it, and my anxiety ramps up, and then sleeping is out of the question unless I’m dead-on-my-feet exhausted. Hence the midnight dance-a-thon.”
Again, an odd phrasing of her words catches up with me. “Your living situation?”
Juliet gestures around us with her fork. “Alone, in a house outside of town, surrounded by dark woods.” She tucks a lock of ruby hair behind her ear, gaze back on her plate as she continues, “Most of the time, I love my little house. But sometimes, I get anxious.”
Anxious when I’m not around, I silently add.
Do I want Juliet to be scared when she’s alone?
No way in hell.
But do I get a flare of protective pride, knowing that her anxiety doesn’t crop up on the nights when I’m in her bed?
Damn right I do.
Simple solution: make sure I’m always in her bed.
But I can’t guarantee that on the nights of the full moon.
