Midas piled dirt over the mess he made. “No?”
“You’re protecting her.” She hummed. “It’s good to see both your halves in sync again.”
Because she was also his alpha, and her warning could be construed as a threat, he had to admit, “I’m not sure what I would do if you threatened her.”
“Silly boy.” She rose gracefully and didn’t bother dusting her pants. “She’s your mate. That makes her pack.” She bent down and kissed his cheek. “What should worry you is what I would do if someone else threatened her.”
“I love you.” He dragged her into a hug. “I don’t tell you often enough.”
“No, you don’t.” She laughed in his ear. “Children never do.”
“We need to talk about what happened tonight.”
“Yes, we do.” She started down the path toward the den. “But first, I need to speak to Krista’s parents.”
Rising, Midas took a hesitant step after her. “I can go with you.”
“Stay with Hadley.” She kept walking. “You can give Krista’s parents the details when they’re ready.”
The dueling urges to perform his duty to his pack or to perform his duty to his mate left him jittery in his skin.
“Stay with Hadley,” Mom called back. “That’s an order.”
The release of his obligation sagged through his shoulders, and his instincts roared for him to return to Hadley.
Entering the cabin, he placed his dishes in the sink then crawled into bed.
He fell asleep with his nose pressed into Hadley’s nape, but still the nightmares found him.
Six
Mumbling woke me from a dead sleep, and I jerked upright in a strange bed in a strange place.
No, no, no. This can’t be happening. Not again.
I clutched the fabric covering my chest with a shaking hand, puzzled by its nubby texture.
A towel.
I was wearing a towel, the material damp along the edges from the shower I had taken…at a cabin.
The owner of that voice finally pierced the panic clouding my brain, and I almost sobbed with relief.
Ambrose, leaning against the wall, watched me tremble and tear up while shaking his head at my hysterics.
For reasons that eluded me, he felt I ought to trust him to look out for our best interests. When he was on good behavior, it was tempting. But that never lasted for long. Then he went right back to building his stores, tugging on his leash, and attempting to sever our ties through any means necessary.
And yet, he still took offense when I side-eyed his motives.
Happy to turn away from Ambrose, I pushed the damp hair off Midas’s brow. He turned his face into my palm, his distress easing, but he didn’t rouse. He kept talking in that low, rich voice thick with an accent I doubted modern Gaelic speakers could parse.
He had fallen asleep curved around me, but I had to move. I couldn’t bear the stillness any longer.
Untangling from him with care, I slipped off the bed and peeked out the front windows to discover forest spreading in all directions.
We were at the den.
Midas had taken me home with him.
The warmth spilling through me chilled as I recalled what I had done.
Acid rose up the back of my throat, and I padded onto the dirt porch where I dry-heaved until my eyes watered from the strain. Sure. That was why I couldn’t stop crying.
This whole time, I had made Ambrose out to be the bad guy. He had committed murder. Several times. I had no issue with accepting half the blame, since I had been the power-hungry idiot who invited possession in the first place, but it had been his hands with blood on them. He had always done the actual deed.
After this, I could no longer tally myself in a different column.
I had killed in the line of duty as Linus’s apprentice, and it had been justified, but this was an execution. I could have made my peace with that, the man deserved to die for what he did to Krista, but it was different killing a child on her knees and then slicing her open to harvest her innards.
Desperate to get out of my head, I checked my phone and found texts from Bishop, Remy, Ford, and Linus.
That last one broke me out in cold sweat, even though he had negotiated on Midas’s behalf and was fully aware of the debt we owed for Ford’s recovery. He knew what it would take to hold up our end, but what we had agreed to do struck me as wrong on so many levels I felt guilty at the prospect of confessing to him.
The phone rang in my hand, and I switched it to silent before it woke Midas. “Hello?”
“Hey.” Adelaide came off as distracted. “Linus mentioned you had a recipe for horchata I might want.”
“Horchata?” I rubbed my eyes to make certain I wasn’t still dreaming. “When did he tell you that?”
“About an hour ago.” She slammed something shut. “I’ve gone through every drawer in the kitchen, and I can’t find mine. Gramma Dietrich swore by it, but ugh.”
“I do have a recipe.” I downloaded it off the A Warg Called Wanda blog. “It’s not something I would pass on to the grandkids, but it will do in a pinch.”
Wanda was helping me learn my way around my own kitchen through her online tutorials. What I loved about her was how often she set things, and herself, on fire. Which, now that I thought about it, might not be the best credentials. Her recipes always turned out, though. Maybe not great, but they were edible. As defined by wargs, anyway.
“Can you email it to me?” Adelaide begged. “Dad put in a special request, and I’d hate to let him down.”
“No problem.” I might link her to the blog too. She would probably get a laugh out of it. “How’s life?”
The awkward segue made me flush, but Adelaide didn’t make me feel lame for my rusty social skills.
“Your brother is driving me nuts. He
