I can’t turn off my brain from them to enjoy Finn’s kiss; it’s too brief and I’m too tense, and Finn has bumped up the intensity of his pursuit so much that I’m struggling on how to handle it.
Either sensing my hesitation or feeling like a bit of a spectacle himself, Finn runs his hands along my arms once and lets me go, walking backward. “I’ll see you at work on Monday.”
Jerkily, I nod. “Thanks again, Finn.”
His slash of a smile at me finally capitulating and using his first name is triumphant. “Oh, no need to thank me. Guess who is the Pack liaison for your nanny here?” He grins full-out. “I’ll be dropping by on a regular basis to check on how Deek’s doing. So I’ll be seeing you outside of work real soon, Sue.” He gives a puckish wave. “‘Til then, eh?”
He sees himself out, which is good, because I’m frozen in place for a few beats longer than I needed to be in order to get the door for him myself.
And when he’s gone, it’s like the tension increases by a thousand. I turn, feeling a strong, strong sense of dread—and I realize, it’s not my own. As my gaze lands on the werewolf still lying on the floor, he shivers and slams his eyes shut and turns his head so that he’s not directly looking at me anymore.
My girls (and by ‘girls’ I mean Maggie) are being surprisingly self-controlled. They’re standing where the carpet turns into tile, right at the midline between the living room and the kitchen, which is giving the clearly terrified wolf some space, but it still allows them to stare at this new and interesting creature.
Not sure what to do, I glance at them, then drop to a crouch and clear my throat to get the werewolf’s attention. “Um, Mr. Deek?”
(Yes, I know what Finn said about not referring to him as ‘mister.’ But it just seems so impolite.)
Miserably, Deek arches his neck enough that his eyes are raised—but he keeps his nose between his paws, almost like he can’t help but hide his face. He doesn’t look at me directly, but he is looking in my direction.
“I’m going to open the basement door,” I tell him. “And you’re welcome to head downstairs and settle in. We’ll try to be quiet up here. You’ve got the rest of tonight and all of tomorrow to yourself. Ah, since it’ll be Sunday, I can drive you to church if you’d like. I can drive you wherever if you need. Just say where and when. I’d like to go over a few things with you before I leave for work on Monday, but until then, just… settle in,” I finish lamely, and try for a smile.
The wolf makes a despairing sort of chuff, and jerks his chin down, which makes it look like there’s a wolf bobbing its head in answer in my kitchen.
What a crazy sight.
I get up, cross to the basement door—and I barely have it open when the forest brown wolf darts past me and flies down the stairs.
Quietly, biting my lips and feeling serious concern, I close the basement door and turn to face the girls. “Nobody opens this door. Leave the werewolf alone when he’s in the basement, okay?”
The chorus of “Yes, Mom,” comes easily, even from Maggie—mostly I think because Deek has proven to be a bit of a disappointment for her. Instead of being an exciting playmate/pet like she was hoping, he’s more like a broken, beaten dog.
I frown, uncomfortable with the thought that the Pack might be mistreating its submissive members. Thoughtfully, feeling troubled, my gaze travels to the basement door, where our new werewolf stays completely silent.
CHAPTER 4
SUSAN
It’s just after 10 p.m. when I’m heating up water for tea. The girls are in bed, and I’m getting ready to nod off myself. We haven’t heard a peep from our new guest. Not one sound. It’s not that I’ve forgotten he’s with us so much as it is that I’m not expecting him—so when I turn around with my steaming hot mug and find Deek as a human man, I nearly jump out of my skin.
Nearly-boiling teawater slaps me, making me gasp in pain to follow my gasp of shock.
“Sorry!” Deek yelps.
A sound that is unsettlingly more like the bark of a startled dog than the cry of a human man.
His eyes are wide. “I’m so sorry!” His hands come up like he might help, but then he cringes back.
“It’s fine—this is no big deal,” I assure him, peeling the fabric of my nightshirt away from my stomach. My skin feels more steamed than a lobster, but I don’t peek at it to see how bad the burn is. I just head for the freezer and pull out… a beef ribeye, or so the plastic shroud says.
Shrugging, I smack it to my front and sigh at the immediate relief.
“Are you okay?” Deek asks from behind me, voice strained. Then lower, I think I hear him mutter, “The only dinosaur who loved drinking tea was the tea-rex?”
To my surprise, he laughs softly.
I glance at my coffee mug display, with all of their funny, snarky faces visible thanks to the graduated hanging rack—where yes, a punny mug with a T-Rex shows the tiny words.
Werewolves must have great eyesight.
“Yep, I’m fine,” I tell him, turning around and trying on a smile. “And… hi. Are you hungry?”
He keeps his eyes studiously averted and his lips peel back from his teeth—the cuspids of which are oddly prominent and excessively pointy. “Yes,” he breathes.
“I happen to be thawing some steak right now,” I say, injecting a smile into my voice since he won’t look at my face. “Want some?”
He winces. “I am sorry.” He swallows. “That you got hurt, I mean.” He darts a look and manages to glance at my chin before averting his eyes. I still have no idea what his eyes look like or even what color they are. But I bet they’re kind. He seems… He just gives off a gentle vibe. Along with a deeply uncomfortable one, but still. He’s almost calming to be around, if he could just relax a little bit.
“You shaved,” I blurt. Because his beard is sort of gone. I mean, yes, technically it could only be one or the other—he has a beard or he doesn’t—except that his cheeks are heavily stubbled and growing more stubble right before my very eyes.
Deek ducks, and his wide shoulders fight not to hunch. “I tried,” he admits. “In the den, I stay shaved, but here…”
“You grow it when you’re stressed?” I guess.
His head jerks in a nod.
“No big deal as far as we’re concerned,” I assure him. “Nobody’s gonna care, and you’ll settle in.”
“Yeah...”
In one word, he’s interjected all the despair he’s rapidly approaching on that front.
I move for a kitchen stool and plop myself down with my tea and my ribeye. “Can I pry?”
Not expecting me to move, he flinches when I go for the stool and takes a huge step back before he realizes I’ve only sat down, not hauled out a barbed-wire wrapped baseball bat or whatever equally frightening thing he must have been expecting. Eyes only making it as far as my mug of tea, he’s all wariness as he asks, “About Finn?”
“Finn?” I blink. “No. I mean, we can talk about him if you’d rather. But I’d like to know a bit about you.”
This does not relax him. In fact, this prospect seems like it’s akin to skinning him alive with a paring knife. The dull one that’s still swimming around in the drawer even though nobody ever uses it. “Finn says you’re the alpha here. Ask me whatever you want and I’ll answer you.”