“Yes. No. Fuck, I don’t know?”
“You have a life in New York, but this life, this compound, it’s all Littlebit has ever known, with the exception of college at UMass. And even then, she had Mac with her. You feel this desire to return to your life, but is it really fair to take her away from hers? Truly?”
“I could give her a wonderful life there, Monica. I have a very posh address. I can afford to rent or even buy a studio space for her. We could run together in the park.”
“And even though she’s used to living and breathing her work, it being so important to her, she was given a suite to work out of so that she could work the very moment inspiration strikes—”
He started to interrupt, and she held up a hand.
”No, listen, do you think she’d be happy hopping into a car or, Goddess forbid, taking the subway whenever she felt the need to create?”
Monica leaned forward as she continued, “Of course, since her art would be in a whole separate space, she’d never have to worry about getting paint or turpentine on one of your thousand-dollar suits.”
He recognized the mocking in her voice. Only Monica would ever tease him about his astronomically priced wardrobe. It wasn’t about the luxury—it was about the message it sent. “Please. I wear five-thousand-dollar suits now.” He winked, sending her into a fit of giggles. “I know you’re only half teasing, but I’ve gotten used to my city lifestyle. I don’t know if it’s fair to ask her to share it, but I don’t want to give it up.”
“Have you talked to her about it at all?” Monica’s concern was clear in her face. She cared a great deal for her niece, that was plain to see.
“I don’t know how to begin.” He hung his head. “I was hoping you could help me.”
“Angelo…” Monica sat up, taking his hand in hers. “I can’t do this for you. You have to talk to Sarita. The two of you can reach an agreement. Have a little faith.”
“I don’t want to hurt her feelings. I don’t want to imply that she’s not enough for me.” He felt a momentary panic wash over him.
Monica made a shushing sound and enfolded him in a hug. Dimly, Angelo was aware that the elevator had chimed and whoever had been sent up as the sentry/bodyguard for the day walked into the room as they were pulling apart. When Angelo heard the gasp and the glass shattering, felt the wrench of pain through his bond to Sarita, he realized he’d just made a huge mistake.
Sarita and Mac got off the elevator together. He held open the door to the apartment so she wouldn’t drop the bowl. She’d arranged to have it picked up by courier with Monica’s outgoing mail. She was surprised to hear Angelo’s voice, and at first, the words didn’t register.
“… she’s not enough for me.”
Her eyes tried to match the words she heard to the sight in front of her and the knife-sharp pain in her gut. No.
She looked from her mate to her aunt, embracing: her, barefoot, him, without a tie, and she felt a wave of nausea roll through her. Clapping her hands over her mouth, she forgot the bowl, heard it shatter, but couldn’t make that matter to her.
She wasn’t enough. He’d said it…to Monica.
Of course, after having a national Alpha in his bed, how could little Ita Murphy be enough for him?
She fled. As soon as she was outside, her clothing disappeared into tatters, and she ran, letting grief and pain fuel her muscles, the staccato rhythm of that Xicano accent that had already become so dear to her ringing in her ears. Not enough. Not enough.
She heard another wolf behind her, closing in quickly. She couldn’t even have her grief to herself because she was too slow. She spun and dropped to a crouch, teeth bared.
Mac.
Ita—
Mac took a defensive posture. What you saw is not what you think you saw.
She shifted, taking human form again, and Mac followed.
“So I didn’t just hear him tell his lover, who just happens to be the baddest ass Were on the planet, that I’m not enough for him?”
“I don’t know what they were talking about. I do know that my mom is definitely not fucking Angelo. C’mon, Ita, they were lovers before you were born. You can’t hold that against them.”
“I don’t hold the past against him. It’s the here-and-now that I have a problem with—him in a state of undress in her arms!” Sarita growled.
“State of undress? The man was wearing a fucking suit.”
“He wasn’t wearing a tie. He always wears a tie.” Sarita was starting to feel irrational, which only added fuel to her anger. “And she was barefoot, only had one earring in, her blouse had Monday buttoned with Tuesday, and she reeked of sex.”
“Oh, give it up, Sarita. This is lame. My mom and dad sent me out for coffee when I showed up this morning and locked the door behind me. If my mom smells like sex, and um, ew, can we just not go there please?”
“She was hugging up on my mate, who apparently doesn’t think I’m ‘enough’ for him!”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, princess.” Mac glared at her. “Let’s start over.”
Sarita glared back. She hated when Mac called her princess. He only did it when he was really annoyed with her.
“Start over.”
“We walked in on my mom hugging an old friend. They were talking about something—we don’t know what—and you think you heard him say something hurtful about you. Meanwhile, you busted a $2000 bowl that was supposed to go out today, and your mate pulled his very first shift-and-shred ever, bringing the fiscal damage of this misunderstanding to somewhere closer to ten thousand dollars than one thousand dollars.”
Sarita clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Angelo shifted-and-shredded?”
“Yeah. In a five-thousand-dollar suit. Which is fucking absurd, by the way—does he have that shit custom-made? He shifted back so fast, like he was trying to grab the pieces and will them back together. My mom was laughing so hard over it she could barely convince him to go back to your suite to change before he came looking for you. I came out here to make sure you’re okay, but he’s gonna follow your scent, which means he’ll be here any second.”
“Fuck you Mac.”
“If, by fuck you, you mean thank you, you’re welcome.” He pulled her into his arms. “You seem to have a bad habit of walking in on things that upset you, Ita. Maybe you should start knocking on doors.”
She stifled a half laugh, half sob into his shoulder as she let him comfort her.
“Querida.” Angelo’s voice behind her sounded tormented. Mac let go of Sarita and winked before he shifted and ran back toward the library. Slowly, Sarita turned to face him. She could feel the pain raging in him, grief and fear playing tug-of-war for prominence, but no guilt. He’d put on jeans and a t-shirt—she’d seen them in his suitcase, but had never seen him wear them. He clutched one of her sundresses in his hands, which fisted and unclenched in the soft fabric.
“Am I not enough for you, mate?”
“Enough? Sarita, you’re everything to me.”
“Why would you go to her?”
“I needed her advice.”
“About what? You couldn’t ask me for advice before running off to the ex?”
“For Goddess’s sake, I wanted her advice about you,” he bellowed, his composure crumbling. Angelo without his mask of perfect restraint, without his arrogance and his measured calm, was a sight to behold. His eyes flashed, and his perfect lips took on a hardness she’d never seen. Nostrils flaring, he looked like some exquisite animal as he snarled, “I wanted to speak to someone who knew you better, longer than I have. I wanted to speak to someone I trust to be unbiased. I couldn’t ask your mom or dad, so I went to my friend. And that’s all she is, querida. She is my friend.”
“Why did you tell her I’m not enough for you?”
“I didn’t! Dios mio, little one, if you had heard the rest of the sentence...”
“Well, I didn’t. I heard that. So why don’t you just tell me what’s going on?”
“I was talking to Monica about re-affiliation. I know that’s what you want, for me, for us.” He looked at her, and she nodded. That was exactly what she had assumed would happen. She hadn’t even thought about the idea that he might not make that choice.
“But I have a life in New York City, and…I want to share that life with you, if you’ll let me. I don’t want to ask you to leave your pack. I don’t want you to think you’re not enough for me. I just didn’t know how to bring up the subject. I’ve been alone for a long time. I’m not accustomed to having another person tied into every decision I make. Querida, I’m not good at this.”
“I’ve noticed.” The corner of her mouth turned up. “I’ll go to New York with you.”
“What?”
“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it? After my task is complete, I will move to New York with you. I’d prefer to live as an outlier than to live as a rogue, but we’ll work it out. I want to be with you. New York and your business is a part of you. I can make art anywhere.”
“I love you, Sarita. Please. Please don’t doubt my feelings for you.”
“Did you really shift-and-shred?”
“Yes. I shredded a custom-made fine wool suit. And I’d do it again in a heartbeat if I thought I was losing you.”
“So, Angelo Gonzalez lost his legendary self-control.”
“Sí .” He looked down at his feet, then met her eyes again.
“Because of me?”
“Sí.”
“I love you too.” She grinned at him, reaching for the dress he held in his hand.
“You are a pain in the ass, Sarita Murphy.” He pulled her tight to his chest, bracketing her face with his palms and kissing her with every ounce of desperation he’d felt in that moment when she’d run away. She smiled against his lips, dropping the dress.
“So, are these like a two-hundred-dollar pair of jeans?” She reached for the button.
“Probably,” he whispered, lips traveling to her ear.
“Oops.” She tore his jeans as she opened them, pushing them to the forest floor.
A fierce laugh tumbled from him as he stepped free from the torn fabric. “So much for casual day.” He claimed her lips again, the gentle thrust and repeat of his tongue sliding against hers broken only by the sound of his T-shirt ripping.
“Vintage?” she mumbled, pulling back to remove the tattered pieces of his shirt.
“It’s a T-shirt, Sarita,” he answered, diving in for her mouth again.
She hummed against his lips, wrapping one leg around his hip, tugging him close. “Good thing you don’t wear underwear.” She nibbled at his chin.
“Would those be ripped too?” He picked her up under her ass, lifting her so that he could ease her down on top of himself.
“Definitely.” She gasped as he slid home.
The moment seemed to stretch forever. His eyes drifted closed as he fought to prevent himself from pushing her against the nearest tree and fucking their brains out. Her legs tightened around his waist, her arms around his shoulders, and she squirmed against him, aching to get more pressure, more rub, more him.
When the moment finally cracked, he spilled them to the ground, pulling her on top of him. She rode him as if possessed, needing to take, not make, love. She growled as her teeth found his ear and she bit lightly, wanting him out of control. When he growled in response, the victorious thrill that worked its way down her spine nearly pushed her into orgasm. Slowing her movements, she kissed him sweetly.
He rolled her underneath him so he could stroke and pluck at her nipples, rub at her clit.
“Don’t,” she whispered, shaking her head.
He grew still. “I want…”
“I know what you want, but I don’t want you like that. I want you out of control. I want to see your teeth and hear your wolf. I need that.” She groaned as she tightened her legs around his waist.
Control fractured, he drove into her again and again, letting the animal side of his nature start to take over. In his native Spanish, he told her how beautiful she was, how sexy.
His orgasm was rushing up on him, and he couldn’t stop it from washing over him as he poured himself into her. He grabbed her hand and bit her, not being careful, not trying to make it light and easy.
Sarita felt the sting of his bite travel up her arm, and then the rush of it slammed into her with as much force as his thrusts as he came, his words in Spanish washing over her, and then she was with him, right there in that moment when it all goes blank and clean, that moment she was learning was clearest and crispest the closer they were to their animal natures. She knew she was shouting as she shook against him, and she didn’t care in that moment who heard because shouting felt as good as the waves of heat which overwhelmed the rest of her senses. She sobbed one last incoherent shout, and her limbs went slack and weak and shivery.
“Was that make-up sex?” she asked when her breath returned.
Lifting himself onto his hands so he could look down into her eyes, he snorted a very un-Angelo-like snort. “No, that was I’m-glad-I’m-alive-and-you-still-love-me sex.” He grinned.
“Aren’t they the same thing?”
“Maybe. Make-up seems too polite a sentiment for what we just did.” With a groan, he lifted himself off her and reached for his clothes before remembering that she’d ripped them off him. He handed her the dress he’d brought for her, helped her pull it over her head.
“Funny, you run into the woods naked, and you’re the one who gets to come back clothed.” He raised an eyebrow.
“You know, a small part of me wants everyone to know that I made you lose that much control. I find it very—satisfying.” She grinned back at him, picking up his torn clothes. “I’ll keep these. Do you think Monica would send over the remains of your suit?”
“What are you doing with all my torn clothes, querida?”
“Art.”
And that was all the answer he was going to get.
Chapter Nine
Sarita looked over the new bowl carefully—it was made to the same exact specs as the first. A week later, she still felt bad about breaking the first one. The full moon would be tonight, the compound was filling with visitors, outliers who had come to run with the pack. There were no unbelievers among wolves on the full moon. The Goddess’s pull was strong when She called Her people to Her. Sarita had only a few hours to get the bowl packaged and shipped out. The woman she’d spoken with—at least, she thought the cool, androgynous voice was female—had been very understanding and didn’t seem to mind the delay, but Sarita penned a quick note of apology anyway, which she included with the credit card receipt.
That final chore finished, she met the other wolves at the edge of the clearing with a light heart. Mac and Angelo stood off to one side making small talk when she approached, and she hurried to join them. She pressed a hurried kiss to Mac’s cheek before greeting her mate with an effusive embrace that quickly grew heated. After Mac cleared his throat, she pulled away from Angelo, blushing.
She looked around for Kathy but didn’t see her.
“Mac, where’s Kathy?” She hated the idea of Kathy being locked up somewhere while the rest of the wolves ran under a full moon.
“Bear is with her. They’re coming,” he answered. “Don’t worry, Ita. She’ll be here.”
“I’m here,” the rough voice behind them announced. Sarita turned to see the other woman standing beside Bear. She smiled and reached for Kathy’s hand.
“I’m glad. I’ve been hoping the pack will accept you back.”
“Why are you being so nice to me?” Kathy’s eyes showed
hurt and confusion.
“Because being mean and spiteful has never served any purpose under the moon.” She shrugged, squeezing Kathy’s hand with her own.
“Well, thanks then. Because you two, Mac and G-man are the only ones to treat me decently.” Kathy frowned as she looked around. “I hope I don’t have to fight anyone tonight.”
“You won’t. You’re under my protection.” Angelo’s quiet voice brooked no argument.
Bianca came forward to give her customary speech before she shifted and the rest of the pack followed. As the wolves fanned out into the run, Sarita felt a howl rip from her throat, the joy of the run taking over. As they ran, she stayed close to her friends and her mate, her Guide rumbling along nearby. Suddenly, a small red-gray wolf with a gray muzzle leapt past her, snarling and snapping. Curious, Sarita followed, knowing Mac and Angelo were right at her heels.
Standing in the clearing, looking at the wolves with curiosity and interest, was the strangest person Sarita had ever seen. He—she?—was very tall with pale skin and pale hair, alluringly androgynous features and an unearthly calm. Mac was the first to shift back to his human form, and the rest followed, making a rough semi-circle in front of Sarita.
“Hello,” the creature spoke, a soft, musical voice that sounded familiar to Sarita.
“Who are you?” Mac glared as he spoke.
“I am Lukas,” the creature answered. “I wanted to see the Moon-Worshippers.”
“You’ve seen us. Go.” A snarl ripped from Mac’s throat as his claws and teeth shifted.
The creature—Lukas—turned to Sarita. “You are the artist, correct?”
She nodded, unsure what to say.
“Very good. You’ve sent the vessel to the Ahne?”
“The vessel? Ahne?” Sarita looked confused for a moment, then realized he was speaking of the bowl. “Oh yeah, I sent it just a few hours ago. Are you and Ahne friends?”
The creature laughed, and it sounded like breaking glass.
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