a plastic container so they’d look homemade. But come mid-December, she’ll whip herself into a frenzy of baking, loving every minute because that’s part of Christmas.
When the subject of “making it official for the kids’ sake” came up, I knew she’d want the ritual-a real wedding, the kind she’d dreamed of eighteen years ago when we’d bought the rings, her face alight with dreams of a white dress and a new life and happily-ever-after.
Instead of the happily-ever-after, she got a bite on the hand and the kind of new life that had once existed only in her nightmares.
I won’t make excuses for what I did. The truth is that your whole life can change with one split-second decision, and it doesn’t matter if you told yourself you’d never do it or if you stepped into that moment with no intention of doing it. All it takes is that one second of absolute panic when the solution shines right there in front of you, and you grab it… only to have it turn to ash in your hand. There is no excuse for what I did.
After I bit Elena, it took eleven years for her to forgive me. Forgetting what I’d done to her, though, was impossible. It was always there, lurking in the background.
When Elena vetoed a wedding, I thought it was just the weight of human mores again-that it didn’t feel right when we already had kids. So I’d decided I’d give her one, as a surprise. Jeremy talked me out of it, and it was then, as he waffled and circled the subject of “why not,” that I finally understood. There could be no wedding because every step-from sending invitations to walking down the aisle-would only remind her of the wedding she’d planned all those years ago and the hell she’d gone through when it all fell apart.
But the honeymoon was one part of the ritual we hadn’t discussed. So, if a wedding was out, the least I could do was give her a honeymoon.
So I’d planned everything. I’d picked St. Louis because she’d mentioned once that she’d like to go there. I’d made all the arrangements-my way of saying that I’d fucked up eighteen years ago and I knew I was damned lucky we’d ever reached this stage.
The mutt resurfaced at dinner, spoiling my second meal in a day. Not just any meal this time but a special one at a place so exclusive that I-well, Jeremy-had to reserve our table weeks ago. It was one of those restaurants where the lighting is so dim I don’t know how humans can see what they’re eating or
I didn’t know what was romantic about eating in the dark surrounded by strangers, but it matched Elena’s expectations and that was all that mattered. She’d enjoy the fussy little portions, the fancy wines, the fawning wait staff, then fill up on pizza in our room later. Which was fine by me… until the mutt showed up.
As I was returning from the bathroom, he stepped into the lobby to ask the maitre d’ for directions. Our eyes met. He smiled, turned and sauntered out.
I knew I should walk away. Take care of him later. But there was no way I could enjoy my dinner knowing he was prowling outside. And if I didn’t enjoy it, Elena wouldn’t enjoy it, and we’d get into a fight about why I’d take her someplace I’d hate only to sulk through the meal. I was determined to make it through this trip without any knockdown, drag-out fights… or at least not to cause any myself.
I waited until the maitre d’ escorted a couple into the dining room, then I took off after the mutt.
I found him waiting for me in the lane behind the restaurant. He was leaning against the wall, ankles crossed, eyes closed.
This was one problem with mutts. Not all mutts-I’ll give them that. Some teach their sons basic survival, and a few do as good a job as any Pack wolf, but there are far too many who just don’t give a damn.
Here stood a perfect example of poor mutt parenting skills-a kid not only stupid enough to challenge me but stupid enough to feign confidence to the point of boredom, lowering his guard in the hopes of looking “cool.” Now I had to teach him a lesson, all because his father couldn’t be bothered telling him that I wasn’t someone to fuck with.
Werewolves earn their reputations through endless challenges. Twenty-seven years ago, when I’d wanted to protect Jeremy on his rise to Alphahood, I didn’t have time for that. So I’d sealed my reputation with a single decisive act, one guaranteed to convince every mutt on the continent that the infamous child werewolf had grown into a raging lunatic. To get to Jeremy, they had to go through me, and after what I did, few dared try.
I could only hope this mutt just didn’t realize who he’d challenged and, once he did, a few abject apologies and a brief trouncing would set the matter straight and I could get back to my honeymoon.
I walked over and planted myself in front of him.
He opened his eyes, stretched and faked a yawn. “Clayton Danvers, I presume?”
So much for that idea…
I studied him. After a moment, he straightened, shifting his weight and squirming like a freshman caught napping during my lectures.
“What?” he said.
I examined him head to foot, eyes narrowing.
“What?” he said again.
“I’m trying to figure out what you’ve got.”
His broad face screwed up, lips pulling back, giving me a shot of breath that smelled like it’d never been introduced to mouthwash.
“So what is it?” I asked. “Cancer, hemorrhagic fever, rabies…”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You do have a fatal disease, right? In horrible agony? ’Cause that’s the only reason any mutt barely past his first Change would call me out. Looking for a quick end to an unbearable existence.”
He let out a wheezing laugh. “Oh, that’s good. Does that line usually work? Scare us off before you have to fight? Because
He stepped closer, pulling himself up straight, just to prove, in case I hadn’t noticed, that he had a good five inches and fifty pounds on me. Which did
“You do have a daddy, right?” I asked.
His face screwed up again. “What?”
“Do you have a father?”
“Is that some kind of Pack insult? Of course I have a father. Theo Cain. Maybe you’ve heard of him.”
I knew the Cains. Killed one of them a few years ago in an uprising against the Pack. “And your daddy warned you about me? Told you about the pictures?”
“Pfft.” He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’ve heard about those. Photos of some dude you carved up with a hatchet.”
“Chainsaw.”
“Whatever. It’s bullshit.”
I eased to the side, getting my nose away from his mouth. “And the witness? He’s still alive, last I heard.”
“Some guy you paid off.”
“The pictures?”
“Photoshopped.”
“It was almost thirty years ago.”
“So?”
I shook my head. The problem with stupid people is you can’t reason with them. Waste of my time, while my meal was getting cold and Elena was spending our romantic dinner alone and wondering where I was.
Screw this.
