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“Practice,” he says, taking my glass from my hand. “And we can start working on that now. Go sit in the armchair, make yourself comfortable, and close your eyes. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
“B-but what about the attack?” I ask. “Surely you have more important things to do than—”
“Strike one,” he cuts in, motioning toward the chair. “Get to three and you’ll earn yourself a punishment.”
“I’d rather not be punished, if that’s okay,” I whisper. “It’s already been a scary night.”
His gaze softens the tiniest bit, but he doesn’t back down. He just nods toward the chair and says, “Do as you’re told, and no more scary things will happen to you tonight.”
I believe he means it, but he has no idea how terrifying he is, and not because he’s the big bad alpha.
It’s the other side of him that scares me most, the one that I know I could develop a brutally pointless crush on pretty quick.
Hell, I’m already halfway there, a fact that becomes undeniable once I’m in the chair with my eyes closed and Maxim’s hands come to rest on my shoulders, setting my body on fire with even that simple touch.
Damn, I’m in trouble.
Big trouble.
Chapter 15
Maxim
Tell her the truth.
She deserves to know.
It’s her body, her gift.
The voice of my conscience is insistent, but so much softer than the voice of curiosity that compels me to take advantage of Willow’s innocence, to get as much information as I can from her before she learns how to control her emerging talent.
If just a few hours in the company of a large number of wolves was enough to coax out the first stirrings of her pack gift, by the time it’s fully formed she’ll be a force to be reckoned with.
And I confess, I’m surprised.
For all her stubbornness, Willow exudes gentleness and compassion. And a degree of submission, too.
I wouldn’t have pegged her as a Pathfinder, but the way her eyes were glowing as we spoke leaves no doubt that’s where her talent lies.
Pathfinders are unique alphas. A pack’s lucky to get one or two in each generation. Our last Pathfinder, Rake, was killed in a car accident not long after I was born, but his name is familiar to me. My father mentions it often enough, how much he misses his talks with Rake, how comforting it was to get confirmation that his plans were in alignment with the path already set by the stars.
Pathfinders can instinctively sense truth from fiction and the best choice to make in any given situation. Eventually, with practice, they can learn to predict problems—and their solutions—before they arise.
In its earliest incarnation, the gift is marked by a strong, personal moral compass. As it matures, it manifests in flashes of insight accompanied by a glow in the eyes that earlier generations assumed meant anything said while the Finder’s eyes were alight was to be obeyed without question.
Our people eventually learned that many could learn to control the flash in their eyes, making the glow of an untrustworthy Pathfinder suspect.
Just like any other gift, it can be perverted or used for personal gain.
But not when the gift is so new the gifted doesn’t even know it’s happening. At least for now—for tonight and until she’s trained—Willow will be my window into the future, and her intentions, without even knowing it.
Resting my hands on her shoulders, I exhale, thoughts racing as I try to choose the best question to test my little wolf.
And just like that, it comes to me.
This “little wolf” isn’t as little as she seems.
And she might know more about her own destiny than even she realizes.
