RODERICK
The membersof my pack seem happy. They appear healthy. A good portion of them have gathered tonight at The Rabbit Hole, and I watch over my charges from a table in the back corner of the bar.
Some might say I’m holding court, sitting alone as I drink my beer and observe the revelry. I prefer to think I’m making myself available without participating.
I don’t have the patience for mingling tonight. Not after that blowout fight with the little librarian.
When I decided to confront Juliet, my plan was to be tactful, unmoving.
But she bowled me over in seconds.
One of my pack mates approaches with a greeting and a question about the upcoming full-moon run. The distraction lasts briefly, and soon, I’m back to replaying the conversation, attempting to discern where I lost control of it.
Honestly, I’m not sure I ever had control to begin with. A handful of sentences in, and the next thing, she was commanding me out of her territory.
The demand returns clear to my mind, and I frown at the thought.
“Now I want you out of my house and off my territory.”
The phrasing almost sounds wolfish. I dig my thumbnail into the scarred wood of the table as I play the line over and over again in my brain, trying to discern if I’m recalling her words wrong.
But no. Juliet saidterritory.
Humans normally say theirlandor theirproperty.
Wolves say territory.
With that unsettling thought pricking my mind, I can’t move past the altercation. Mentally, I continue through our argument, focusing on every word choice.
“My gods, get over it!”
Wolves tend to curse with multiple gods because we know there’s more than one.
“… stop growling about it!”A normal turn of phrase, but when paired with the others?
Then there was the odd comment I let pass me by because of the embarrassed sting it left. Now I examine it more closely.
“I’m done with catering to the fragile needs of men. Much less one of you.”
One ofus.
Finally, there’s the hand gesture she used when she walked out her door. The slap of her thigh, followed by a particular flick of her fingers.
In ASL, she called me a dog.
All of the pieces click together. The instinct I had that there was more to the librarian than just what she showed the world. All along, I knew she was keeping a secret.
Juliet knows.
She knows about us.
The possibility rocks me and sends my need to hunt into overdrive.
Forgetting the last half of my beer, I shove away from the table and storm out into the cool night air. But the crisp scent of pine does nothing to ease the raging heat in my chest at this discovery.
My bike revs to life, the vibration of it between my legs matching the rattling of my nerves.
As I speed down the road, heading to the opposite side of town from The Rabbit Hole, I berate myself for not realizing it sooner. My wolf must have picked up on the fact somehow. That has to be the only reason he was interested in her as a potential mate.
