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And yet, just the sight of him still made me sick to my stomach.
“I like her jeans.” Declan’s hand squeezed tighter on my hip, tugging me in a bit closer. I wasn’t sure if it was an exhibit of dominance or safety, but I wasn’t objecting to either at the moment. “And she doesn’t like you. So it doesn’t matter which you prefer.”
“Aw, you don’t like me, princess?” A smile lifted the edge of his wrinkly lips. “I let you win that game, you know. Least you could do is—”
“Knock it off,” Declan said. “You aren’t flirting. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
Ouch. He wasn’t wrong, but that had to sting.
Tommy made a noise in his throat that somehow resembled both a scoff and a laugh. “Oh, is that right?”
Declan inhaled and exhaled deeply. “Do you want a drink while we wait for Abe, Brooke?”
His poise wasn’t lost on me. He stated how things were, he offered Tommy the chance to leave us alone, and when he didn’t, he maturely offered a way out of the situation without an assertion of dominance.
I respected that. And it was kinda hot.
“Sure,” I said.
Declan kissed my cheek as he guided me the opposite direction.
Thatwasan assertion of dominance. But it was so subtle that I found it even sexier.
As we made it into a large formal living room with walls the color of blood, Declan led me to the bar cart in the corner. I took a moment to study the grand piano. I didn’t know how to play, but I always wanted one. Even if it was only for ornamental purposes. There would always be something classy and timeless about a grand piano.
“Vodka cranberry?” Declan asked, pushing the cork into his whiskey.
I gave a smile, nodding softly. It was silly that the remembrance of my drink of choice gave me butterflies. I knew that. But it showed that he paid attention. That he meant what he said Wednesday night.
This was worth a shot. He was trying. He was here with me, and he hadn’t needed to be. I didn’t demand he arrange this meeting with the alpha, but he knew finding Misty mattered to me, and he was trying.
He wanted to see where this could go, and he was putting in the effort.
Declan shot me a smirk no one else saw as he poured, heavy on the cranberry, squirting a hearty amount of lime, and barely more than a splash of vodka. He passed it over, and the moment I had it in hand, he wrapped an arm around my waist again, pulling me in close.
His eyes were behind me, and I watched his pupils grow. But again, he didn’t aggressively snap at anyone. He only leaned in, kissed my forehead, and said, “Let’s have a seat, sweetheart.”
Another faint nod, doing my best to only speak when spoken to as he’d said. Which I wasn’t a fan of. But growing up with an abusive parent, you learn to stay quiet whether you like it or not. I knew that wasn’t the same as this, but it still taught mehowto do so.
Declan settled for a hand on my knee as we sat on the antique sofa. He gave a gentle smile, voice still low, background hum of classical music from somewhere in the distance covering the sound. “Not what you expected?”
“Not at all.” I glanced around. “It’s stunning.”
“It is,” he murmured. “Always loved coming here when I was young.”
“You came here as a kid?”
“Yup.” He sipped his whiskey. “Alphas host parties from time to time. Blood moons are always a big deal. Harvest moons are too. It’s almost like Christmas for us.”
“Gifts and all?”
“No gifts. But tons of food. And he usually throws another each year for new wolves. Teenagers celebrating their first shifts, freshly bitten wolves. Everyone shifts, and we run through the woods together until the sun comes up.” He raised a shoulder. “It’s a liberating experience. Like a perfect combination of the elegance of humanity and the nature of the wolf.”
“I always wondered about that, actually. How does turning a new wolf work?”
He arched a brow, letting out a faint laugh. “Well, not much different than Wednesday night went.”
“I certainly hope you’re not planning on turning any new wolves then.”
