by Amanda Milo
He finds this hilarious.
Thankfully, I dodge the cars and make it to the pub in one piece. I book it behind the wood slat fence that encloses the dumpsters—a feature that is not only decorative, but intentionally offers cover for changing wolves. There’s even a waterproof bag hanging on the fence with a couple pairs of courtesy sweatpants and a couple of tops for ladies.
I’ve got Maggie’s bag though, and I slip it off of my human form and dress. Since my sneakers wouldn’t fit, I pad barefoot across the considerately well-swept blacktop (no glass shards to step in around a Pack-owned business) and gain entry through the rear of the building.
An easy feat, because it’s unlocked. Humans who get too curious about werewolves have a way of disappearing without a trace, so we rarely suffer the surprise of a non-wolf making use of the unguarded entry twice.
I flick a wave to Hank, the day cook today, and wind my way through the kitchen and hook a right to reach the office, following my nose to where I find a broadly smiling Finn.
I deck him, taking him down to the floor without ever meeting his eye.
Clutching his jaw, poking his teeth with his tongue to check if he’s now sporting loose ones (a problem that will only require a quick Change to fix, we can practically heal all natural damage we can incur on one another if we act fast enough) but evidently they’re fine. He sits up and shoots me a diabolical grin. “So. That picture did something for you after all.”
I glare at the side of his head.
(It’s as close as I can maintain an insubordinate gaze on an alpha—even if it is just Finn.)
“That was inappropriate,” I growl.
Finn pretends to nod thoughtfully. If it weren’t for that stupid smile playing around his mouth, I’d believe he was honestly considering what he did. “And how did that make you feel?”
I can’t stifle my snarl.
His teeth—quickly sharpening into fangs he’s so delighted at my unprecedented display of aggression—flash pearly white and deadly as he grins.
It makes the wolf in me shiver to see it.
But I ignore him baiting me, and rebuke him. “That was disrespectful to Susan.”
“And that pissed you off,” Finn says, tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth. Downright unnatural if he were human. Right now, he’s rapidly crossing the bridge to his shifter side, his jaw beginning to lengthen, his fingers tensing, bunching into an as yet furless paw. Finn is gifted at controlling the speed of his Changes. But it takes work. It also takes practice—probably why he let me hit him, now that I’m clear-headed enough to think on it.
Normally, when we experience an attack, we react in an unstoppable Change. Not so with Finn. He’s got enough experience at controlling his creature side that he can even reverse his Changes.
A process which he begins to undergo right before my eyes. “I hope that hurts like a mother,” I confess.
“ih’Does,” he heaves, his teeth staining red as he coughs and his bone structure returns to the form of a human skull instead of the nightmarish blend of man and killer animal. “But,” he says, the word garbled because he’s got his lips drawn sideways, his tongue testing his teeth again. “You knocked a premolar hard enough it was rocking,” he finishes normally, completely human once again, and completely uninjured. “Well done, lad.”
He glances down and retrieves his cell phone from where it skidded across the floor, stands, unlocks it, and proceeds to open up our texted conversation—the same one that led me here in an unprecedented rage.
What he sent me is burned into my brain.
ME: What are you playing at?
FINN: Is this about that sexy outfit Susan’s wearing today?
FINN: All day. It’s bound to be a sight.
FINN: You there Deek? I’m feeling very spiritual today, so it’s probably good we’re talking about it. Preacher, I have a confession.
ME: Quit it, Finn. I’m serious.
FINN: Oh, that’s right. We’re not Catholic. Still, God loves me. And I’ve got to tell you: Sue’s got the juiciest ass. I can’t wait to see it stretching those shorts.
ME: Finn? Fuck. Off. Leave Susan alone.
FINN: Why?
FINN: Look, I tried to talk about this yesterday in the civilization of Sue’s basement, but you kept growling at me every time I said her name.
FINN: I’m getting the signal that you’ve found your anamchara in her. And yesterday, I saw that she’s responding to you.
ME: She’s yours. I’m just here to help her.
FINN: Oh. So you’re still planning to leave when she doesn’t need you anymore?
ME: That’s right.
FINN: So what I’m hearing is that it’s open season on hunting Sue.
FINN: Oh! Look who just walked in. JAYSUS, WATCH HER GO! Here. I’ll share the view with you.
PICTURE: *Sue’s long, long hair corkscrews softly and trails down her back, drawing the eye to the flare of her beautiful hips and her incredible ass in the world’s most indecent shorts.*
PICTURE CAPTION: If you’re not going to hit it, boyo, I will.
Replaying what his last words did to me, I dig into Maggie’s backpack and draw out what’s left of my phone.
Finn’s eyes bug out of his head. “You feckin’ CRUSHED it!” His expression is normally reserved for the pride a parent feels when their offspring does something surprising and exceptionally good. “Deek! You’re growing up so well.”
“Shut up.” We’re the same age.
Finn swipes the phone off of my hand, examining the cracks in the screen, the crushed plastic with five distinct imprints of extreme pressure. “I s’pose you’ll need a new one.”
“Only if I want to talk to you.”
Finn grins but doesn’t meet my gaze, just letting me watch his face. Although he can act like a real prick, he can also be very mindful of a submissive’s instinct to avoid any form of direct stares. “If there’s no way to communicate, I won’t be able to tell you things about Sue.”
I can count the pores on his cheeks, but I can’t so much as see a bruise on his jaw where I hit him. I glare at him. “I live with her. I don’t need to hear about her from you.”
Finn shrugs, giving up way too easily. “If you say so. Say—wanna have lunch?” He meets my gaze, lets me hold it without turning aggressive or defensive.
My jaw tics. I want to say no. But I am hungry. And more than that—I want to see Susan.
Heath Ledger’s smile in the Batman movie is less unsettling than Finn’s grin. “That’s a yes. Follow me. I know just where to seat us to get the waitress we both want.”
A violent growl rips up from my throat—not a play-sound like tumbling pups will make. Not a threat noise a wolf makes to warn his opponent.
It’s the most dangerous, most serious noise a werewolf can make. It’s the You’re threatening my mate growl.
And Finn’s grin turns feral.
“I. Feckin’. Told you!” he crows. He makes a tsk-tsk cluck of his tongue, drawing his chin to his neck and giving me a knowing look. “Susan is your anamchara!”
The last word rolls so nicely off his tongue. Ah-nehm kahrr-uh. It sounds mildly interesting in his accent; not earth-shaking—and boy is that misleading.
Anamchara is the Gaelic word for soulmate.
CHAPTER 26
LUCAN
Lunch is eventful. Finn restrains himself and doesn’t flirt with Susan at all—but customers do.
Customers flirt a lot.
Finn has to grab my arm, growl at me, and at one point, trip me and pin me to the floor. Sure, he could just make me leave, but he’s letting me stay to prove a point.
Susan isn’t just a nice woman I’m helping out.
Susan isn’t simply a friend.
I’ve helped lots of women. I’ve made friends with lovely women from packs all over the world. I’ve slept side by side with just about every female that’s ever visited our dens and gone on family hunts.
Yet I’ve
never felt the same bone-deep attraction to any one of them like I do for Susan.
And I’ve never become territorial over a woman. Not until now. Not until her.
Finn’s right. She’s my mate.
I’m not leaving her when she’s done with me.
The problem with that is, at some point, Maggie’s going to grow up. She’s not going to need to be watched after anymore. And then it’s just going to be awkward to refuse to leave Susan’s house.
“I have to tell her,” I say raggedly, spittle sticking to the side of my mouth in the form of foam. I thrashed for a good minute and a half when the last guy pressed his tip—in the form of folded bills—into Susan’s cleavage. Finn had to call out to everybody not to worry, that I was just having a seizure.
The distraction had actually helped Susan. She was having trouble smiling her thanks at the customer. Her face had been such a mixture of disbelief and discomfort and forced politeness as he shoved his fingers between her glorious tits.
My ‘seizure’ gave her the opportunity to redirect her attention away from the guy without causing offense. She may not love me, but she likes me—yet she was visibly relieved to rush away from him to come and check on me.
I would have killed that man.
Then I wanted to kill Finn for stopping me.
(Rooker, bless him, separated himself from the shadows along the wall and hauled the customer off to have a word.)
Finn stops me now, again. “You will not tell her,” he orders.
Instantly, I lock up. A submissive bound to the will of an alpha.
Guts chilling with horror, I throw him a look of unadulterated disbelief. “Take it back!”
Finn isn’t playing anymore. And he drills his most serious alpha stare directly into my eyes. “No. You don’t know Sue yet the way I do because you haven’t hit on her like I have.”
He catches me and forces me back into my seat, stopping my fist before it connects with his face. “Nuh-uh,” he says, fangs flashing, “I let you get one in earlier for Sue’s honor. Now it’s time for you to listen.”
Unable to do anything but, I drop my gaze to the scarred tabletop and bare my teeth.
“I can’t believe you put her in this position,” I growl.
“Oh, I wouldn’t think you’d have any complaints about her position,” he muses, turning his head sideways to better ogle her from the back as she leans across a table to deliver someone’s food.
His hand clamps on my shoulder and shoves me down. His other hand clamps over my mouth, muffling my growl. “Sue’s fucked in the head,” he declares without preamble. He doesn’t even sound strained as he wrestles me back from his face. “If she thinks a bloke is interested, she runs faster in the other direction than a Derby filly streaks down the Curragh racecourse.”
I sneer at the table—not because I disbelieve what he says, but because I’m ashamed of how unaccountably angry I am that Finn knows Susan better than I do.
“Sue and I have chemistry,” he goes on, and his hand claps down on my shoulder, and when that doesn’t keep me on my side of the table, he barks, “Deek, sit,” and I do, and I glower at his hand where it rests on me, fighting not to bite it, and he continues as if he doesn’t know what I’m considering, “but she shut me down if she so much as saw me looking at her for too long. You are never going to win this if you try the direct approach.”
He shoves my tray closer to me—the same one with the burger that’s ended up on the floor twice, that Finn waved all concerned off by telling them we didn’t need to cook me another one, I was a werewolf and I’d be able to eat mine even if it landed on the floor a dozen more times.
For as furious as I feel, for as badly as I’m struggling not to break Finn’s order and boil to my feet and fling the table aside—my burger just might take another tumble or twelve on the damn floor. No point in making me a fresh one.
“Eat,” he orders, and immediately, I’m looking at my food and not his hand.
I snatch it and tear into the meat, snarling loudly enough he cuffs me upside the head and warns low, “Like a person, you eejit.”
Swallowing, I hunker down over my meal, ripping chunks of hamburger and bread out of fingers that are more lupine toe the more out of control I grow.
I’m imagining Finn’s hand with every bite.
“Stop Changing,” he orders—and to my shock, I feel the prickling on my cheeks and arms and the back of my neck that signals that fur is either growing in or going away. And by the itching, I know it’s going away.
Finn can reverse my Change? That’s new. That takes some serious alpha. But Finn isn’t exactly your run-of-the-mill shifter.
Quieter for the thought (and probably more due to him forcing the human in me to come forward) I’m able to calm down. Relax. Stop wolfing my food down, although my burger is just ketchup-soaked and floor-debris-coated bread now.
I start in on my curly fries, which are covered in the mayo and lettuce my sandwich started out with before it landed on the floor the first time.
“What you need to do,” Finn tells me, speaking under his breath, “is keep doing exactly what you’re doing. She doesn’t see you as a threat. So she’s letting herself get close to you. She’s not guarding herself the same way with you that she does with everybody else.”
“Why is she guarding?” I manage to ask. “Did her husband… did he hurt her?” Maggie said something once about how her father would call Susan names and yell at her. I haven’t forgotten it, and just the idea of her former mate treating her that way is making my hackles rise.
Finn growls now, spurring a responding growl in me. “Stop that,” he warns, flicking a glance at my face, which should force my eyes down faster than it actually happens. His brows raise and a smile plays on his twisting mouth. “That prick she married didn’t lay a hand on her, he says.”
Surprise forces my gaze back to his, and not in a way that makes him check me. “You’ve talked to him?”
Finn’s smile is grim. “More than that.”
An ugly satisfaction bubbles inside me. “Good.”
Finn nods. “Anyway, the maggot didn’t raise a hand to her, but he had a leg over on anything with tits for every year they were married. Susan would find out. He’d try to behave. Couldn’t keep his flute from falling into the next woman though, and it would hurt Sue. Deek, I get it, why you’re growling now, but stop. But they stayed together for the kids until one day, Sue just couldn’t take it anymore. She told him to pack his shite. In exchange for virtually no financial assistance from him, she got full custody of the kids. He wrote her a check, and she used it to get that little house.” He shrugs. “He started crying when he told me that. I don’t know if it was the realization finally hitting him that he’d ruined his marriage and tore apart his family, or if it was the clamps I locked on his langer—”
“You guys need anything else?” Susan asks, voice more relaxed and natural with us than she is with her customers.
And just her smell calms me. Not the product she put in her hair, not the perfume she spritzed before work. Under that, the sweet scent that I know so well because I’ve slept with my muzzle over her feet when she watches TV at night. Heck, I sleep in her room on her stolen dirty clothes. She’s become my comfort.
And she’s comforting in a way no one else has been, and no one else will ever be to me. Take Finn for example. My best friend. An alpha—built to be reassuring to a submissive like me. I’ve slept beside him in the grass since we were kids. There’s been no one closer to me than Finn.
Until Susan.
“Nope, we’re all good here,” Finn tells her, flashing her a smile that I want to knock his teeth down his throat for, “but thanks, sweetheart. How are the tips today?” His look is knowing.
Susan inhales, pursing her lips and rolling her eyes. Loudly, she declares, “You were right, Finn. There. You happy?” She spears him with a look. “I’ve made more this morning than I do in a regular full day’s shift. Kelly sai
d it’s the same for her.” A rueful happiness shines all over her face. She glances at me, sharing her feelings.
I don’t look away. It surprises her.
Finn kicks me under the table. “Too much,” he warns in a growled frequency too low for human ears.
I look down immediately.
Out of the corner of my eye though, I catch the disgusted look Susan throws Finn. She whacks his shoulder with a stack of laminated menus. “Don’t growl at him for looking at me! Geeze, Finn, he has a hard enough time making eye contact already! You bully!”
Finn stomps his boot over my bare foot but gives her an apologetic smile. “Awf, sweetheart, you don’t know wolves. Trust me, I’m helping you both.”
Susan is not convinced. Farthest thing from it, in fact. She keeps him pinned with a stern look before glancing at me, sitting bowed over my mess of a tray. “Deek, is there anything else you want?”
“Just you,” Finn low-growls again. There’s a snickered nuance to the sound.
“I’m fine,” I say quickly to Susan, willing her to go back to serving her real customers.
Susan, who can’t pick up on the teasing, takes Finn’s growl as proof of further bullying. “You expletive-bleeped jerk!” she gasps at him. She sounds outraged. “Stop being mean to Deek and let him answer the way he wants!”
Finn sighs. “Oh, he’d like that. But Sue—honest now—I’m just takin’ the piss out of him…”
Susan screws up her face.
“Expletive-bleeped?” I ask, distracting her from Finn’s colorful Irish-speak. And even though I’m not meeting her eyes, she hears the easy way I’m questioning her—and she relaxes instantly.
“Yeah,” she says, waving to the side. “I’m trying to raise Maggie not to have the vocabulary of a drill sergeant. I have to behave all the time so I’m not slipping up and blurting out other words out at home.”
“Plus, it’s cute and it gets you more tips,” Finn declares, thumping down a twenty-dollar bill on the table—an insanely good tip, considering our meals cost a combined amount of six-fifty before tax.
Susan gives him squinty eyes. “I shouldn’t take this bribery money, but I’m going to because it’s yours and you deserve to be robbed like this.” She swipes up the bill and turns to me. So much softer, she asks, “You sure you don’t want anything?”