Page 141 of Pack Baby for the Silver Foxes

Sienna made a small sound.

Maeve tapped the screen and put the phone to her ear.

“Presley,” she said when the call connected. “Mary has found her scent matches.”

I made a strangled noise but Maeve ignored me completely.

“Yes. I know. How lucky are we all?”

There was a burst of noise from the phone. A woman’s voice, bright and warm and loud enough that I could hear joy before I could make out words.

Maeve smiled. “Hold on. I’ll put you on.”

“No,” I whispered.

“Yes.”

“I look dreadful.”

“It’s a phone call.”

“She’ll sense it.”

“Probably,” Maeve said, and handed me the phone.

I took it. “Hello?”

“Mary?” Presley said. “Oh, love. Maeve has been criminally withholding information. Scent matches?”

I looked at Maeve. She smiled.

“Apparently.”

“That’s the tone you use for questionable yogurt, not fate.”

I blinked. Then I smiled. “I like her,” I said to Maeve.

“Everyone likes me,” Presley said. “It’s a burden I carry with grace.”

I settled back against the sofa. “Yes. Scent matches. Two alphas. Older. Ridiculously competent. One alphabetizes things emotionally. The other keeps feeding me.”

“Excellent. Names?”

“Hudson and Lincoln.”

There was a tiny pause. “Bale and Hart?”

“You know them?”

“London is smaller than men think it is. Good reputations. Intimidating suits. Very good tailoring.”

“That does appear to be their religion.”

Presley laughed. “And you’re living in London with them?”

“On a trial basis.”

Maeve leaned over. “She says trial basis because admitting happiness gives her hives.”