I’d really like to discuss the part about Ginny’s situation, but I take the unnaturally still werewolf in, considering Finn’s words.
Finn takes one of my hands and implores me with his gaze. “Sue, a stór, I’m bleedin’ serious—no one’s been hurting ‘im. He’s just like this. All submissives are like—are like this. That’s why you only ever see alphas out and about with the rest of you.”
He releases my hand and grabs up Deek’s ruff, lifting this loose-skinned, thickly furred part of his pelt, dragging it back and forth like he’s shaking it for emphasis. Deek’s fur gleams and ripples with health, almost fluid as it’s being manipulated this way.
“Imagine being born with a personality that makes you inclined to bend to a leader figure’s higher authority. Imagine the desire to submit is mad strong. Now imagine yourself out in a world of people who operate as their own independent authorities most of the time. You’d be bombarded trying to please everyone. And no one can do that, you have to think for yourself.” He releases Deek’s ruff in favor of patting him between the shoulder blades. “This one can think for himself, but we protect our submissives in quiet places. Places away from human whims and human confusion. You think he’s abused, but what he is is shell-shocked. He’s never been out with you people before, and it’s a lot for him to take in.”
The Internet made some mentions of Packs having their own little general stores and general doctors and basically being hidden-away towns so that werewolves who don’t want to leave never have to.
I guess Deek’s behavior makes sense.
“Okay,” I say finally. Then I pin Finn with my gaze. “What does Deek think you’re going to do for Ginny?”
“Hmm?” Finn asks, brows raised politely.
My eyes narrow. Deek shivers between us and burrows harder. “Deek sees Ginny’s bruises and he sends an SOS text. You show up in minutes. On a Sunday. What’s going on?”
Finn gives me perhaps his most shining, charismatic smile yet. It’s a thing of beauty, true, and it’s dangerously good at stunning me. Me with my unprepared ovaries.
“Susan,” Finn purrs, leaning over Deek to get into my space. “I’ve got you in a bed on a Sunday afternoon and there’s no children in the room. Let me enjoy this, please.”
He leans in, slides his hand around the nape of my neck, and kisses me softly on the mouth.
His lips are firm, and I know in the span of a breath that he should stop now and register himself as a deadly weapon. The looks, the lilting words, the lips.
Finn Cauley is pretty, pretty danger.
But the kiss is over so quick, I barely taste him; I get the barest exhale of his mint-scented breath and the unforgettable sensation of lips meeting mine and then he’s gone.
I’m so totally unprepared that it throws me off to the point that he’s able to pull away, pat the werewolf between us, and call over his shoulder, “See ya tomorrow, Sue.”
And then he’s heading up the stairs at an athletic clip, i.e., he’s gone before I can do more than admire his fine form (his butt, okay?) as he escapes my question.
The quiet click of the front door lets me know that I won’t be getting an answer from him today about him and Deek’s reaction toward Ginny.
CHAPTER 9
SUSAN
The peal of my alarm heralds the beginning of Monday. Groaning, I roll out of bed and trip over a werewolf.
I do catch myself before I crack my knees on the hardwood floor of my bedroom. But… “Deek? What are you doing?” I ask, voice scratchy and hoarse with sleep.
Deek is properly apologetic that he was not only in my room but also that he blended in with the flooring.
Slapping at the alarm until it cuts the noise, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I distractedly reach down to Deek, who’s prostrate on his front, his typical pose it seems. I run an absent pat on his back and then down to his sleek-coated ribs, making him shiver.
I step around him and head for the bathroom, shutting the door so I don’t have to see the strange, oversize creature who is really a man taking up my bedroom floorspace.
Done with the morning needs, I pad out to the kitchen in my t-shirt and shorts, and knock back eight ounces of water while the coffee brews.
“Do you want coffee?” I ask Deek, who trailed me to the kitchen, his shoulder almost attached to my hip. He’s laying over my feet now as I fill my coffee mug, warming me nicely.
At my question, he raises his head and his eyes tap mine before he jerks his head down in a very unnatural-looking nod.
“Do you want it in a bowl or are you going to…”
He transforms into a man. A really naked man.
And oh my gosh, Deek’s body is… nice. It’s really, really nice.
But I do not live in a house where naked men, no matter how well-proportioned and muscular their backs and backsides appear, can crawl around at will. I clear my throat. “As much as I think you were wonderfully created and all that, there are three underage girls in this house—”
Deek reaches past my leg, opens the cupboard on the island, and pulls out a pair of sweatpants.
“Ah,” I pip.
He stands, and back to me, he steps into them.
I set my gaze on the coffee pot with a firmness that takes effort. Major effort. But I persevere, helped along by the fact that even though I looked away, the image of Deek’s sculpted butt cheeks will be burned in my brain forever.
“I’ll be careful,” he says.
I nod and move to pull down a mug for him. It has a colorful fox printed on it with the words ‘Oh for’ over its head and ‘sake!’ under it. “Here.”
He takes it with an amused smirk and a murmured thanks, and pours himself some liquid life.
“Did you… did you go around last night stuffing emergency pants around the house?” I question.
“Yes.”
“All riiighty.” Because what else can I say? “When you’re sufficiently caffeinated, let me know. We’ll talk schedules.”
He nods. His body is facing slightly away from me, giving me his profile and plenty of his back. I feel a little pressed to fill the silence, but I settle for sipping from my mug and enjoying the scenery since he’s not watching me watch him. And this doesn’t feel as wrong as ogling his butt; appreciating the strong lines of his back is just—
I’m merely admiring art. The pursuit of the aesthetic is a perfectly acceptable pastime. Some people pay for season tickets to the Met; this is like that, but with a man’s live back muscles.
I’m saved from having to justify my actions to myself further when Maggie staggers out of the hall and into the kitchen, sleepy but greeting the day anyway, no alarm clock or caffeine needed. Frankly, it’s unnatural, and she doesn’t get this from me. Not from her dad either. Was there some freak early riser in one of our families somewhere? We don’t know.
“Morning, Maggs,” I greet her.
“Good morning,” she says back. Then, seeing Deek, she brightens. “Hi!”
Deek turns, spoiling the last of my ogling free-for-all, and sends a soft smile in Maggie’s direction. “Hi, Maggie. Morning.”
“Can we go to the park today?” Maggie asks him, stepping right up until she’s nearly toe-to-toe with him.