Maggie claps her hands. “Our werewolf can do tricks!” Her delight is ear-splitting.
“Maggs, inside voice,” Ginny calls to her, and Charlotte is nodding. “Yeah.”
I manage to work Deek’s belt and zipper much easier this way and it’s not long before I’m shucking him out of his pants, releasing the puffed length of his tail, which had been crammed pretty uncomfortably-looking at the seat of his clothing.
“Better?” I ask him, chuckling despite myself. Because man, that had to be painful.
His ears flick up and down once, like assent.
“Ginny,” Finn says conversationally. “Do you look like your mam?”
Ginny’s voice sobers. “Yeah.”
“Do I know her? What’s her last name?”
I send Finn a sharp glance.
“Connolly,” Ginny says dully. “Brooke Connolly.”
Finn brightens—from the looks and sound of it, completely genuinely. “Connolly!” He places his hand on his chest. “You must have Irish roots.”
Ginny shrugs. “I guess so.”
Finn gives her a smile that could charm the most terrified cat out of a tree and straight into his arms. “All the best of us do.”
Affected by his attention, the laugh Ginny makes can only be described as a giggle—and by the way she jerks back, she’s appalled at herself.
Deek’s cell phone falls out of the tangle of his jeans. I raise it up, intending to set it over my head on the island. But I give in to the urge to flip it up to activate the screen. I don’t try to unlock it; I don’t have to. I see the last incoming text displayed: “Be right over. We best pray Sue won’t eat the head off of us but look at you going out to dine, meeting new people, being assertive. You are suckin’ diesel. Good on ya.”
I squint, trying to translate. I’ve heard all three of these phrases once or twice in the pub but sometimes Irish vernacular just feels like some form of alien.
“We best pray Sue won’t eat the head off of us…” Translation? Gosh, I hope Sue won’t ream our ass.
“You are suckin’ diesel.” You are making great progress.
“Good on ya.” Good job.
My gaze transfers to the werewolf whose hocks and rear paws are still bound by his boxers and the ankles of his jeans. I feel above me with the cell phone, sliding it onto the island when I make contact with the top of it.
Deek braves one look up at my face—and then he begins kicking wildly and flipping over.
“Just wait…” I chide, but he’s kicked free of his clothes and is gone, the sound of claws clicking across the kitchen then down the steps like multiple impact bullets are being discharged all the way to the basement.
Finn’s jean-clad leg appears in my peripheral. I look up to find him offering his hand.
I clasp it, accepting his help to get to my feet.
“Take that puss off your face,” he says under his breath, which is Irish for ‘get that look off your face.’ He infuses his own mug with brightness when he raises his brows at Maggie. “Did you murder an ice cream?”
Maggie doesn’t even pause. “I did. Deek helped too.”
Finn’s smile relaxes into something more genuine. “He’s a good lad.”
Oddly, hearing him speak approvingly of our hiding werewolf makes something inside me ease.
“Speaking of that mutt, we better go check on him,” Finn says, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. He looks back to Ginny and Charlotte, who are pretending not to watch us as they stand at the mouth of the hallway with a clear view into the kitchen, clearly keeping Finn in their sights. And who can blame them? If I’d had Finn to look at when I was fourteen, I probably wouldn’t have papered my walls with so many N*SYNC posters. “Will you ladies be all right up here while your mam and me head to the basement?”
At three chimes of assent, Finn tugs on our linked hands to lead me down.
CHAPTER 8
SUSAN
“Owh, it’s nice down here,” Finn comments.
I take this to mean he appreciates the decorating until his shoulders lower with his exhale and he says, “Nice and cool down here.” He tosses a look at me over his shoulder. “We run a little hotter than you.”
I scan below us. “Uh-huh. Where is our hot werewolf?” I ask.
Finn misses a step.
“You okay?”
He chuckles at himself. “Jus’ grand. And he’s under the bed.”
I stare at the back of his head hard enough he has to feel it. He reaches the bottom step, glances up, and laughs at the look on my face. “It’s not magic or anything. I can hear his claws scrabbling.”
He turns, ambles to the bed, reaches under it, and hauls out a werewolf.
He drags the long, leggy creature to the middle of the duvet and drops down next to him, falling back. When Deek tries to bolt for the deep recesses of the bed again, Finn hauls him next to him again and reclines on him.
To my surprise, this makes Deek go still.
Sending me an expectant look, Finn pats the spot on the other side of Deek’s shoulder. “Come on, Sue. Get over here. He needs reassurance.”
Easing down beside Deek’s shivering form, I tentatively brush my fingers in the deep fur starting between and just behind his ears.
Deek exhales through a parted muzzle and burrows hard against my thigh.
Finn taps the back of my hand. “Why the clenched fist?”
I release the grip I had in Deek’s fur—but he only shoves himself against me harder, as if trying to get me to touch him again. I do, hoping to reassure him.
And to my relief, it works. He nuzzles his nose under my knee until he can tuck it there, and sighs.
Swallowing, I risk a glance up at Finn. “What do they do to them in the Pack den?”
Finn’s smile turns puzzled. Then he’s all-out frowning. “What do you mean?”
I indicate the mess of a werewolf squishing himself into me. “Look at him.”
“I am,” says Finn, who’s not in fact looking at Deek. He’s looking at me—a direct stare. A very direct one. “And I see a submissive wolf.” He reaches over Deek to lay his hand on the top of my knee. “He’s not been abused, Sue. This is just how submissives are.”
I must look too skeptical, because he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Oh, jays, Lucan.”
I’m momentarily confused until I remember that Deek’s name is actually Lucan.
Finn mutters something that I think is unflattering in regards to Deek. “Buck eejit,” “banjaxed wulf! Stop the lights!” and also the incomprehensible statement, “Any more of this and there’ll be less of it!”
During the banjaxed wulf, something interesting happens: Deek wags his tail.
Immediately, the knot of concern that I’ve been feeling for him eases. I go back to petting him. “He just seems afraid a lot.”
“Well, he is,” Finn agrees. “You’re scaring him.”
More in disbelief than outrage, I squeak, “Me?”
Finn’s eyes widen and he leans back, surprised. “Well, yeah.” At my skeptical look, he adds, “I’m not codding you!” He shakes his head. Then he plants a finger on the wide swath of space between Deek’s low-pinned ears. “For now, you are this wolf’s alpha. Deek knew you’d be miffed if he tattled about Ginny’s situation, but he couldn’t not do something about that so he got anxious.” He gestures to the wolf between us. “When you back a submissive wolf into a corner, this is what happens. Plus, he went out today. That was a big deal.”