“That’s not—" she starts, throwing her hands in the air. “That was one conversation that was taken out of context and blown way out of proportion. I didn’t mean it the way it sounds.”
It’s nice to hear her flustered, for once. “You want everyone to behave a certain way, but you can’t control people. And more than that—you don’t have any right to do so.”
She settles, stopping just outside the cafeteria. The bay doors are swung open, and I can see people poking their heads out with giant smiles, waiting impatiently for us to step inside. I brace myself for the onslaught of hugs.
“Maybe you’ll make a good Luna. Time will tell. And maybe I’m not the easiest person to understand or get along with, but I think I have something of value to share.” She says it stiffly, like she’s a little self-conscious. Like maybe losing Grayson, herposition, all of that together weakened her hard edge, just a little.
“You have a lot to offer, I’m sure of it.” And because she rolls her eyes after I say that, I add, “You’re really good at punching and kicking.”
She bares her teeth, stomps two steps towards the bay doors by the dining hall where a crowd of shifters congregates mid-meal over rows of picnic tables.
She announces, “Listen up! You all know the witches are to blame for our omega’s disappearance. They are still a threat, so be sure not to let Mona out of your sight when she’s out and about! Come here, Mona.”
I grit my teeth. My neck feels hot. Oh, I’m going to kill her.
“Mona is going to need everyone to hold her hand, hug her or touch her—at least once from each of you so she can feel the support of her community.”
Can she feel the scathing burn of my glare on her cheek? Does she know I’m plotting her death?
The wolves all scurry in delight. I hear exclamations of how they will all protect their omega.
“You motherfucker,” I mouth at her. Andrea just grins and laughs maniacally.
I lose her in the crowd, surrounded by too many scents to track any single one. Still, I know she’s watching me from somewhere. It feels like every wolf in the room has found an excuse to touch my arm or pull me into a hug.
Elder Cora eventually corners me, her wispy blue hair bobbing emphatically while everyone else begrudgingly yields to her seniority. She launches into what becomes an hour-long sermon on proper Luna etiquette, insisting I attend Grayson’s next council meeting. Her gnarled finger jabs the air as she describes the importance of them, and I nod along politely, knowing full well Grayson only tolerates them out of courtesy.
My attention drifts before she finishes her first point—her tangents have tangents—but hearing Silas’s name jolts me back to awareness, like I’ve woken from a nap.
“What was that?” I ask.
Cora dips her chin gravely. She’s still got her hand wrapped around my wrist, and her fingertips, though human, have an almost wolf-like quality to them. The tips are pointed, and her nails are thick and curled in.
“I said, now that Silas is back, we might need to start having our monthly new moon runs again.”
“You mean full moon?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Full moon is for the entire clan. New moon is for some of the less settled wolves. The frisky ones.” Her voice drops to a suggestive murmur. If she were wearing glasses, she’d peer over the top of them. “The ones with extra…energyto burn off.” She holds my gaze a beat too long, one eyebrow arched meaningfully, as if I can’t read between the lines she’s made pretty clear.
“Frisky?” I laugh awkwardly.
“Mmhmm. Silas and some of the other singles always used to cause trouble, sleeping with any woman that walked. Even the mated ones. So Grayson implemented the new moon runs, a time for all the single wolves to get naked and run together, let off some steam. It helped keep the scandal to a minimum.”
“I see.” I don’t. I don’t like talking to her about this, either. That’s not what Silas is like. Not anymore, anyway.
But Cora doesn’t stop there. In fact, a few other wolves start to chime in.
An older man named Robert leans in, eyes glinting. “Remember when Rovie caught Silas with his youngest? Poor June was sobbing, half-dressed, while Silas tried claiming they’d met at the brothel. As if anyone would believe that. June wouldn’t be caught dead at the brothel. She’s a sweet girl. Silasprobably cornered her, I’m sure he made the whole thing up to make himself look better.”
“Hell, I remember that,” a balding man with yellowed teeth cuts in. “Rovie caught him sneaking out her window and made him scrub his own sheets for a month. Should’ve cut his balls off instead!” The circle erupts in vicious laughter.
I shift uncomfortably. Rovie runs the laundry house. I can’t remember who runs the brothel. It doesn’t matter, though. If there’s one thing I’ve learned since I’ve been here, it’s that the shifters are all about free-love. Why they’re making Silas out to be such a bad guy about it, compared to everyone else, I don’t know.
“Not as vile as when he fucked David’s mate,” Cora spits. “David was on patrol duty. Can you believe that? Protecting all of us while Silas was between his woman’s legs. Before that, I figured he was just wild.” She shakes her head, her blue hair still emoting. “Can’t believe he’s Grayson’s twin. Worthless piece of trash. The Goddess must’ve split her gifts when those twins were born—gave Grayson everything worth having and left Silas with nothing but poison in his veins.”
I stand abruptly.
“Still, I’m glad he’s back,” Robert sighs. They’re oblivious to the rage humming along my skin.
