Page 53 of Hunted

Ellie: I was reading the stats on crowd crushing incidents at clubs and bars and how to prevent them. And just worrying about your gig this weekend.

Hayden: Have you met me, or Ethan for that matter? I was scary even before the whole werewolf thing. Remember that witchy STEM teacher who tried to tell you that you couldn’t join the robotics club in sixth grade because there was a participation fee that he knew very well we couldn’t pay?

Ellie: I remember thinking you were going to bite him and I would get my first F in science.

Hayden: You were sitting down in the principal’s office the next day when someone came in to say your fee had been paid by an anonymous donor. And now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure that was Sofia Caldwell. I could have sworn I saw her listening in at the end of the hall while I pleaded your case.

Ellie: I keep having nightmares. They’re getting worse. What if I’m like Dad?

Hayden: You’re not. I thought you and Cal had been talking about it in your sessions. Didn’t he say it was residual PTSD from the memory alteration and the nightmares would likely fade with time?

Ellie: It’s been six months. They’re getting worse.

Hayden: Those are intrusive thoughts. You’re in an anxiety loop. They’re not real.

Male voices echoed from down the hall, sharp and low. I frowned, sitting up.

Ellie: I have to go. Talk soon.

The smell of fragrant spices wafted from the kitchen. A knife blade bit rhythmically into the wooden cutting board, followed by a metallic scraping sound. I paused at the doorway in the hall when Guillermo Montemayor growled something at River I couldn’t make out. River answered back in rapid-fire Spanish. Chewing my thumbnail, I concentrated on the bits and pieces I could pick up about Rossi, a laptop, my name (shit, that couldn’t be good), and wolves. I’d taken four years of Spanish in high school, but apparently not enough to translate whatever their argument was about.

Guillermo sighed. “You’re like a son to me,” he said, switching to English. “You know that. Hence the reason for my concern.”

“You have nothing to be concerned about. This is between me and her.”

“And what of her decision to remain human? You have to realize that a human mate isn’t a viable option if you continue to rise in rank within the Tracer hierarchy. Has her mental health stabilized at all since you released her memories?”

“How the fuck did you get access to her medical records? Because I know it sure as hell wasn’t from Cal.” River sounded pissed enough to punch a hole through the wall.

“I say this out of concern as your uncle. You know as well as I do that the politics and cutthroat dynamic within the Tracer pack would eat her alive within weeks.”

“She’s my mate.”

“I’m only trying to look out for you both.” Guillermo’s tone softened. “I’ve been worried about you this past week.”

“Yeah. Could’ve fooled me.” Ending the call, River lowered his head. After a moment he said, “So how much of that did you hear?”

Busted. I padded into the room on sock feet. He’d absolutely destroyed my kitchen. The counter looked like a lettuce murder scene, four mounds of chopped romaine barely fitting into bowls, with carrot wheels spilling onto the floor, Butternut and Waffles nibbling them up as I stepped around them. Grape tomatoes and little slices of green pepper were sprinkled on top with ranch dressing drizzles topping two of the salads. River had showered and changed into a fresh shirt and sweatpants from his gym bag. His skin smelled like bodywash, warm, wet man, and laundry detergent. Yum.

“I had no idea your uncle hated me so much.” I snuggled into his arms, wrapping my arms around his waist and burying my face in his chest.

“Guillermo is complicated.” River kissed the top of my head, wrapping me in a tight hug. “He’s an Alpha wolf and a total control freak. It’s one of the reasons he’s stayed alive this long, but sometimes he can be a bit much, which my mother has no qualms about reminding him at the end of a knife blade.”

“Um… can I just say your family scares me, but I’m working on being okay with that?” Waffles sniffed at my foot, clearly wondering why the carrot buffet had stopped. “And someone is very interested in all this salad.”

“Do you think I made enough?” he asked earnestly, turning back to the stove and lifting the lid on a pot. The enticing smell of Italian herbs wafted through the kitchen. “I found a couple cans of organic creamy tomato soup in the cupboard and thought that would be fast to heat up. I made grilled cheese, too.” He hesitated. “I could tell you were starting to get anxious during your shower but I wasn’t sure if I should go in there and interrupt or let you have space to yourself to relax.”

I stood up on my toes to kiss him. “You fed my bunnies.”

His hands encircled my waist. “It was kind of an accident. I made way too much. And Pancakes and Pumpkin are strangely carnivorous. I was scared if I didn’t throw them a few vegetable scraps, they might eat my toes.”

“You set out four bowls.” I kissed the underside of his jaw, right at the edge of his scar, and he growled low in his throat. “You even got out the special blue bowl Waffles likes. Call my rabbits every squash and breakfast food on the menu. You’re not fooling us. We know a closeted rabbit person when we see one.”

River rolled his eyes. “I am not a rabbit person. You do like ranch don’t you? I probably should have asked.”

“Please. This is Texas. There’s no such thing as food groups you can’t fry or put ranch dressing on.”

“My kind of girl.”