The cool late-afternoon breeze ruffled our fur and carried the scents of the forest. Dried leaves, moss, various fungi, and lots of small, yummy creatures. Wolf talking, remember. We didn’t always hunt, but after the crazy day we’d had, I felt no inclination to stop her from doing what came naturally to her.
We were nose to the ground, following the trail of a rabbit when another, more compelling scent stopped us in our tracks. Oh hell. What was he doing out here? It was the time of day when Samson usually met with his betas and listened to their reports. It was one reason I’d felt comfortable running here.
Turning on haunches, we were about to run toward the car when a sharp bark froze us in our tracks. If I managed to avoid perfect obedience to my alpha, my wolf did not. Not only did she wait for him to lope up to us, she was thrilled about it.
He butted our muzzle and gave a low woof before tearing off into the underbrush. With a regretful glance toward the rabbit’s trail, we followed. Samson in this form was so much fun. He knew all the best places to run, streams to splash in, even a waterfall where we could watch for the occasional trout to spill over. Made for great snacks.
In human form, he was all about administration and pack politics and feuding with his brother, but his furry side didn’t care about those things. His wolf’s relationship with the pack was not one where anyone argued. He barked; the other wolves obeyed.
How did he feel about Tris’ wolf? The thought had never occurred to me before, but as we lay side by side in a patch of cool moss after drinking deeply from the crystal spring he’d led me to, I thought of it now.
They looked almost identical in wolf form, with the exception of the scars they’d both gained as warriors in different armies. Tris, as a SEAL, had fought for his country with no thought for his own safety. One long scar along his calf spoke of a time he’d nearly severed an artery in close combat. Another on his chest was the result of something exploding. He didn’t like to talk about it but, sometimes, when we were together and it was very quiet, he’d start to speak, and I just listened. Another scar, along the back of his neck, had been the one that sent him home permanently. I still didn’t know the story because it was classified and he wasn’t allowed to discuss it, but even a shifter couldn’t survive a severed head, and, looking at that long white line, he’d come close.
His new business as a security specialist gave him a chance to use a lot of skills he’d learned in the military and, to all accounts, was providing a good income already. Plus, he liked it.
His brother, whose tongue lolled out while he relaxed beside me, had gained his scars in defense of his pack. Honestly, I couldn’t see why one was different from the other in their zeal to protect those they cared about. Whether it was the larger picture of the country or the smaller of his pack, they understood about putting others first.
Just not one another.
We rested our muzzle on Samson’s back, enjoying the peace while it lasted. The sun’s rays slanted, with little daylight left before the darkness closed in again. I wanted to stay here forever, but Gigi would need dinner, and Tris might be brave enough to be there as well. Samson could be part of the slightly awkward but loving group if he chose. But I couldn’t make him do it.
Sobering but true. Did he understand? How could he not?
It was time to go home.
This time, I managed to drive home without crying the whole way. We’d had a good afternoon, and perhaps it would remind him of our bond. I had made it clear in the past he couldn’t take me from Tris. They were both my mates, and I loved them equally. But not separately. There would always be a place in my heart and home for him, but Tris and I…and apparently Gigi…had a life to live.
With that in mind, I dabbed away the tears on my cheeks, pasted on a smile, and strolled into my house. The smell of chicken frying and pie baking welcomed me, as did Tris’ hug and kiss.
Home indeed.
It could be so much worse.
Chapter Seven
“You can’t be serious.” I’d walked in on Gigi doing one of the oddest things I’d seen yet—which was saying something given my grandmother.
“What?” she snarked back, holding up the offending weapons, one in each hand.
“I can’t believe you’re doing that.”
She snorted and continued working the things back and forth with the chunky yarn. “It’s just knitting. Calm down before I start making your mate a dick warmer.”
Okay, more like Gigi. “What are you making?” I sat beside her, trying to soak up this moment of normal grandmotherliness, if that was even a thing.
“A blanket. It’s going to get cold this winter. I can feel it in my bones.”
I picked up what she’d done so far. It was a beautiful, thick off-white blanket and, from what I could tell, was almost done.
“Who is it for?” I asked, deciding whether I wanted tea or coffee. Tris wasn’t home from work yet. He was
