Page 90 of Wolf Blood

"Sounds kind of fun."

"It was."

"So you don'thatethe pack."

He grunted. "There are things I like about it, and things I don't."

"Have you thought about leaving?"

"Mav is all I have left. Leaving isn't an option for me."

I wondered, just for a moment, what it would feel like if I could ever make it onto the list ofthings he had left.

Good, probably.

Really good.

"What would you do if he lost a challenge?" I asked.

"Snap the challenger's neck and take over the pack until I found someone Mav would want to replace him. Stay and make sure it didn't fall apart, afterward."

"So it's all about him?"

"Of course it is. We're family." Rhone stood up with a pair of electric clippers, and some hair scissors.

"What about you?" I asked him.

"What about me?"

"Isn't there anything you want?"

He gave me a long look before parting the top section of his hair roughly and tying it up in a knot on top of his head. "Nope."

I watched silently as he took the clippers to the side of his head and shaved the hair there off completely, without trimming it first.

"What did you want to do before the war?" I asked him, as he set the clippers down and grabbed his scissors.

"It doesn't matter. I'm someone completely different, now."

"Of course it matters. Who you were matters. It has to." There was no hiding the bite in my voice.

If who we were didn't matter, there was no point. Because who and what I currently was were really fucking dark.

He grimaced. "I baked with my family, and carved wood. Built furniture. Saw myself settling down with a nice girl from the nextpack over and eventually becoming the Alpha. Mav didn't really want to lead, back then. I did. I was… happier. Friendlier."

Neither of us said anything as he started shortening the length at the top of his hair, cutting it to his cheekbones so he'd have an easier time manipulating the strands.

"I have a hard time imagining you actually liking people," I said.

"So do I."

He made his way through the haircut, snipping and clipping. He muttered curses under his breath a few times, and when he cut one of his fingers badly enough that it bled, he dropped the scissors and left the room for a minute.

I had to bite my lip to hide a smile.

He really did hate haircuts.

He came back, using his straw to stir a large cup of the nasty, thick protein shakes the werewolves drank.