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Snake agrees with me immediately.
“Is she in heat?” Scratch asks.
“God of Wolves! You two have the same brain,” I tell him, exasperated that they are both worried that our mate, the woman who is perfect for us in every conceivable way, is not sure about what she wants, as if she is not capable of making decisions for herself.
“I do not think so,” Scar admits.
“See?” I protest. “She knew what she was doing.”
“I am not sure she did,” Scar adds. “She was possessed by the spirit of Artemis when she ran into the forest. It may have been The Fates guiding her toward us for our first meeting, but she was under the influence of the Goddess of Wolves.”
“She did seem a bit shy after …” Scratch starts, trailing off when Scar turns his head to look him in the eyes.
“After?” he asked, a hint of threat in his rumbling voice.
“It was nothing,” I interject. “Just a little kissing and touching, and she was the one who started it.”
“It wasn’t nothing!” Scratch argues.
Sometimes, I think he exists entirely to frustrate me.
“She kissed me, and she kissed Fox,” he goes on. “Snake licked her breasts, and she rubbed herself against Fox until she had an orgasm.”
“Kiss and tell is against the rules,” I snap at him, irritable that he broke what happened down into bland details that tell nothing of the feelings behind our actions.
“She is supposed to be fated to all of us,” Scratch protests. “Scar should know all of this.”
“That is all that happened?” Scar asks.
“It is not all that happened,” I tell him, knowing Scar will want only the bland details as given by Scratch, but also that our brother missed something that is important, because it affects the way our mate communicates. “I also discovered that she cannot hear. She was watching my mouth to tell what I was asking her. She had no response to Scratch, but his mouth is not so easy to see.”
Scratch frowns at me, but his hand goes to his mouth, and I can tell he is thinking about what I have said.
“It is true that Lita is deaf,” Scar says, picking up one of the items he brought back with him. “This book will teach us the way she communicates with her hands.”
I think back to the gesture she made, the one that wasn’t obvious.
I would like to know what it meant, but there is no point in snatching the book away from him.
He is the only one of us who can read. He tried to teach us, on several occasions, but it was a waste of our time. There are no books in the forest. No writing instruments. And words scraped into the dirt with a stick look like indecipherable squiggles.
He gave up after a dozen failed attempts and did not try again.
It was a futile exercise, though, now I am wishing I’d tried harder to understand.
Scar is going to learn how to communicate with our mate much faster than the rest of us.
I only enjoy unfair advantages when I am the one who holds them.
“Well, then, what is in the tin?” I ask him, poking at the lid.
He puts the book down and opens it.
The smell instantly attracts me to the strange looking rocks inside.
They are an odd golden-brown color, and they crumble when squeezed between my fingers.
“What are these?” I pick one up more carefully than the first.
