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“I’m sure,” I say. “If I’d known you were planning this before, I would have given it to you then, but as it is…this’ll just have to do.”
He grins. “I think this is the part where we hug, right?”
I chuckle. “Give it until the wedding. Then,maybewe’ll hug.”
Elijah pockets the ring and finally leaves me alone again with my unwritten homily. I ease back into the rickety wooden chair at my desk, my body too big for this tiny space. I feel like my wolf makes me larger every day, too—my shoulders broader, my muscles bigger. There was a time in my life when I wouldn’t have complained, but it’s just a reminder that I’m no longerquitehuman.
The inspiration strikes me, then.
Things that are eternal, even now that we’ve lost so much of what we were before. There’s going to be aweddingin the den; my niece is getting married. And I’m reminded of the perfect verse, the perfect message.
So I write my little speech, staying up late into the evening.
And I think aboutherwith every word.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
?
TILDA
I’ve got to get the fuck out of here.
My eyes snap open on Sunday morning with that as the only thought in my mind, knowing that I’m getting in too deep. I’m forming friendships with these people, getting attached, becoming invested in the success of their little garden plot. I may as well be sleeping with the enemy at this point, given how much I’m starting to think the pack isn’t all bad.
I kind ofwantto be sleeping with the enemy, if I’m being honest with myself.
Because Reyes isn’t nearly as bad as I thought he was. He’s gentler, softer, calmer. Maybe it’s the influence of the full moon that was making him gruff like he was the day we met.
And it wasn’t theworstthing in the world.
In fact, it’s all I’ve been dreaming about every damn night on Peaches’ couch. My memories of that night have come back in fragments, but after the initial shock of realizing he bit me, other pieces have made things more clear. The way he kissed away the pain of the wound; how he tried to get help before he acted; how he buried his face against my chest and listened to my heartbeat.
I’m not a soft or sentimental gal, and I’m still frustrated that he justdecidedto bite me like that…but I’ll be damned if I’m not a little flattered.
I wonder if he’s dreaming about me too.
Sundays are the only day we’ve all agreed to take off, so I can already see light coming in under the door when Peaches finally stirs. She’s typically a late riser, groaning about it every single day when Charlotte comes to drag her out of bed. There’s no Charlotte today, so I lie awake as I wait for her to get up. I’m anxious to get going, my feet twitching nervously, but Peaches doesn’t actually get up; she just rolls over and goes the fuck back to sleep.
I can’t stay here. But I don’t want to wake her…
I need to pee, damn it.
I quietly get out from under my blanket and put my bare feet on the floor, standing slowly. I’m wearing a soft pair of gym shorts and a tank borrowed from Peaches, but I’m still sweating. The weather has heated up in one last blaze of summer, meaning the den is sweltering. I wish I could sleep under the moon. In Homestead, I always sleep with the windows open unless the weather is horrendous.
I’m not supposed to go anywhere alone, but I want to give Peaches a chance to rest, so I risk stepping toward the door. I open it a crack to find that no one is out in the corridor, and I step out to shut the door with a dull thud behind me. A few people are talking up the corridor—towards an area the wolves call the “common room”—but the bathrooms are in the opposite direction. I’ve been pleased to find that theydoin fact have indoor plumbing here: an old visitor facility they spruced up in the past few years.
I pad toward it, relishing the feeling of actually stretching my legs and moving.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
I pause, looking over my shoulder as dread creeps up my spine. I’ve only heard that voice a few times, but I recognize it in an instant.
Arden.
The pale, sullen blonde has been stalking me around the den whenever she gets the chance, eager to give me a warning growl when I’m doing something wrong. I turn slowly, not wanting her to get the impression that I’m doing anything bad—especially since we’re roughly the same height, and she seems to take every little thing as a threat.
“Just going to the bathroom,” I say. “I didn’t want to wake Peaches.”
