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Desmond Alvarez, her husband, and the werewolf King of the East, was standing at the bottom of the plane’s stairs waiting for her, wearing a giant I don’t give a fuck smile.
He was a beautiful man, with a dark copper complexion and even darker near-black hair. His violet-hued eyes twinkled merrily as he scooped her up into his arms and planted a kiss on her lips. Clearly her fury had fallen on deaf ears.
“You tell me to do a lot of things, Secret, I have to learn to pick and choose.” He pressed another kiss between on her furrowed brow as he set her back down.
“Your life is in danger,” she countered.
“My life is always in danger.”
I tried to hide my smirk but it was impossible. These two were so perfectly matched it served her right for marrying him. Now she could see how irritatingly bull-headed she could be.
“I hate you so much.” She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him, then ran her fingers through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead.
“I hate you, too.” He grinned and the intensity of it could have powered the city for a decade. Even I felt weak in the knees.
The mood shifted drastically the moment Lucas emerged from the plane and joined us on the tarmac. Silence as thick as molasses settled over the tarmac, and Wilder and I both took a few steps back, knowing this scene had nothing to do with us. I sort of felt guilty for watching it.
Lucas and Desmond both stared at each other, and I couldn’t tell what was going through either of their heads, when their faces gave nothing away.
Finally, Desmond said, “Is it really you?”
Lucas glanced down at himself like he wasn’t entirely sure, then nodded. “I think so.”
Then in an instant, Desmond cleared the gap between them and wrapped his arms around Lucas in a fierce bear hug. Tears twinkled in Desmond’s eyes and he didn’t seem to care in the slightest that we could all see him crying.
He held Lucas back at arm’s distance, taking him in, looking the blond man over from top to bottom, like he might find something to suggest he was an imposter. “I don’t know how this is possible, but goddamn, man, I’m glad to see you.”
“You got so much uglier while I was gone,” Lucas said.
Desmond let out a big belly laugh and hugged his friend again, this time Lucas hugged him back just as hard. “I’m glad being dead didn’t make you less of an asshole.”
“God, are you two going to make out?” Secret asked.
“I feel like that might have solved a lot of their relationship problems,” I whispered to Wilder.
“I heard that you little witch,” she said.
“We all thought it might happen at one point or another,” said a slim blond man I hadn’t even noticed up until then.
Dominick Alvarez, Desmond’s bodyguard and younger brother, was standing next to a sleek black town car, clearly he’d been waiting patiently for this little display to end, but I’d opened the door for him to get his own jibe in.
Dominick was slight of build, being only about the same height as Secret, but he was also muscular an radiated an undeniable I’ll mess you up vibe. Small, yes, but he would wreck you in hand-to-hand combat. It’s what made him such a good bodyguard. His unassuming stature made everyone second-guess him.
I knew all about that.
“You ready for shit to hit the fan?” I asked him.
“Girl, do you see the family I was born into? I’m never not ready.”
I smiled. He had a way of making everything feel like a joke, and from anyone else it might have been annoying, but Dominick was skilled in making people around him feel immediately at ease in his presence. He soaked up worry like a tree turning carbon dioxide into oxygen.
I was glad he was here.
“Has there been any sign of Mercy yet?” Wilder asked, turning the conversation in a more pragmatic direction.
Desmond disengaged from his hug with Lucas and returned to Secret’s side. He continued to cast sidelong glances at his best friend, and for the first time since Lucas’s return I realized just how much the dead king had meant to Desmond. I’d been so busy wondering what it meant for the eastern packs I never stopped to consider what it might mean for the man leading them.
I knew then that Desmond didn’t care about the throne or titles.
