Draping his arm around Frankie’s shoulders, Trick gave the human a nod. “Frankie speaks highly of you.”
Shaking off her stupor, Abigail said, “Well, she’s just spoken very highly of you.”
His mouth curved. “Good to know.” He moved aside so he was no longer blocking her view of the sculpture. “Impressive, right?”
Abigail’s brows lifted. “Well.” She crossed to the hellhorse and slowly circled it, taking in every detail. “It’s fantastic, Frankie. Really, I don’t know whether to feel happy for the creature for escaping its chains, or whether I should be worried about what it will do to avenge itself. It makes you wonder if it was chained for a good reason.” She twirled to face Frankie, eyes alight. “You never fail to astonish me. I love it. It will fit in perfectly with the theme of the art show.”
Just like that, Trick decided he liked Abigail a fuck of a lot. The fervor of her praise and admiration was genuine. It was also exactly what Frankie deserved. Her appreciation and relief hummed down their bond, and he knew that her agent’s opinion didn’t just matter to her on a professional level. She considered Abigail her friend, and the human’s judgment meant something to her.
Packing up the sculpture wasn’t a quick or easy process, but they all pitched in so that both the creepy kid and the hellhorse could be transported to New York at the same time.
Later, as Frankie unpacked the last of her things in their room on pack territory, Trick came up behind her and slid his arms around her waist. He dabbed a kiss on her claiming mark, breathing her in. He fucking loved her scent; he wanted it mixed with his own.
“That’s me all moved in,” she told him, closing the drawer that he’d cleared out for her. “Happy now?”
“Ecstatic.” He sucked on her earlobe, splaying his hand possessively on her stomach. “Now you’re exactly where you belong.” Her head tipped back as he licked, kissed, and nipped at her neck, paying particular attention to his claiming mark. He snaked his hand under her shirt and traced the tattoo he knew as well as the back of his hand. “You’re damn distracting.” He tapped her ass and stepped back. “Come on, time for dinner.”
Breathing a little hard, she scowled as she pivoted to face him. “Hey, you can’t get a girl all revved up and then not follow through.”
“I’m hungry.”
“So am I.” But not for food.
Trick smiled and sucked her bottom lip into his mouth. “Later, I’ll be doing all kinds of very dirty things to you. Right now, we eat.”
She groaned, dragging her heels as he led her out of the room. “You can’t say shit like that when I’m horny.”
“Of course I can, baby.”
“Asshole.” She slammed the door behind them, giving emphasis to her insult.
“So you often say.” Keeping his fingers linked with hers, he kept her close as they walked through the tunnels. A few days ago, when he’d announced to the pack that he and Frankie were officially mated, they had all been overjoyed. He’d sensed Frankie’s surprise at just how happy they’d been. He’d realized then that although she’d known they wanted her living on their territory, she hadn’t realized just how much they’d all come to like and respect her. Probably because she simply didn’t expect people to like her much.
He blamed her grandparents for that. In making her feel that she lacked, they’d left her with some self-esteem issues. He was proud that, despite all that, she was a confident female who went after what she wanted in life. Was proud that she was his mate.
“Okay, now that I can smell food, my appetite is building,” said Frankie. “But I still think a quickie wouldn’t have been a bad idea.”
“We don’t have quickies, Frankie. We try, but it never quite works out.” He always got too carried away in her, always needed to taste and touch as much of her as he could.
“I can’t really deny that.” She’d taken one step into the kitchen when she jumped out of her freaking skin as a bunch of voices shouted, “Surprise!”
The whole pack was gathered there, smiling, raising glasses, and blowing party poppers. Behind them on the wall was a large banner that read “Welcome Home, Frankie!” There was a huge cake on the table in the center of an impressive spread of food. And damn if a lump of emotion didn’t build in her throat.
Trick draped his arm over her shoulders and kissed her temple. “It’s an official welcome to the pack.”
Frankie bit her lip. “I don’t know what to say, except . . . wow.”
Laughing, Taryn came forward, shoved a glass of something bubbly in Frankie’s hand, and said, “Come on, let’s get absolutely hammered and torment Greta.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It was the soft murmurs that tugged Frankie out of sleep. Or maybe it was the mouth pressing light kisses to the palm of her hand. Both of those things would have been fine if she hadn’t woken with the hangover from hell.
Her eyes throbbed, her stomach churned, her body seemed drained of energy, and her head—oh God, her head. Apparently she’d chugged down cosmos like they would grant her the gift of eternal life.
Her mouth was dry as a damn bone. She licked her lower lip. Tasted something. Toothpaste crust. Awesome.
“Time to wake up, baby,” Trick whispered, one hand smoothing the hair from her face.
“Turn the light off,” she slurred. Because it made her feel like someone was stabbing the backs of her eyeballs with toothpicks.
“No lights are on.”
“Then close the curtains.” She tried tugging the covers over her head, but she only managed to flap her hand.
Trick softly chuckled. “You need to get up. It’s past noon.”
She wasn’t moving from the bed. Ever. Nuh-uh. She wasn’t fit to be seen anyway. She’d had enough killer hangovers to know that she probably looked like a reject from The Walking Dead. She felt like a reject.
Another light kiss to her palm. “I’d pegged you for a lightweight, but it took countless drinks before the alcohol seemed to actually hit you.”
Why was he talking? Did she look like she was capable of conversation right then? Her wolf snapped her teeth at him, warning him to go away and leave her to recover. But the bastard didn’t.
“Come on, baby. I’ll help you up.”
She moaned. “Dying. Get. Priest.”
Trick’s body shook, and his amusement buzzed down their bond. “Open your eyes for me, Frankie.”
She tried, but the light stabbed her eyeballs. Rookie mistake. “Just let me die in peace,” she begged. She didn’t want him there, laughing at her. She wanted painkillers. Frankie + Tylenol = BFFs.
Trick kissed her bare shoulder, wondering if he should tell her that not only did she have supremely bad bedhead, but her makeup was smeared all over her face. It could motivate her to get into the shower, but it could just as easily motivate her into hiding under the covers.
He was surprised that she hadn’t spent the night vomiting, given how many cosmos and beers she’d consumed. She’d only thrown up once, just before she tumbled into dreamland. “I almost had to tie you to the bed last night. After you yacked in the bathroom, you declared you wanted to go to Taco Bell. You were adamant about it, so I said that if you rested for ten minutes, I’d take you. Thankfully, you fell asleep.”
Frankie squeezed her eyes shut. No, that hadn’t happened. It hadn’t. It couldn’t have. Fuck, that had actually happened! Oh, she was 100 percent sad. Just. Sad. That much was totally without question.
Trick lifted the glass from the nightstand. “Here. Drink this.”
“Will it help me die quicker?”
“It’s water.”
Water . . . Oh, that sounded good. She couldn’t take the bitter taste in her mouth much longer. Carefully lifting her head, she waited until the urge to gag faded and then slowly sat upright. He put the glass to her lips, and she sipped at the water, almost tearing up with happiness when he placed two Tylenol in her hand.
She swallowed them, studying him through squi
nty eyes. He’d clearly showered and dressed. The bastard looked fresh and . . . alert. How was that even possible? Her memories were fuzzy, but she did remember him drinking several beers. “Why aren’t you hungover?”
He shrugged. “I don’t really get hangovers.”
“I despise you right now.”
His mouth curved. “You love me. You know it. You just feel awkward saying it.”
Her spine would have snapped straight if her body didn’t badly lack energy. “My, my, my, aren’t we full of ourselves?” Not that he was wrong.
He just chuckled. “You need to get up, showered, and dressed.”
That would require fine motor skills, which meant it was a no-go. “Later,” she mumbled. He pressed his fingertips to her temples and began a light massage. That confirmed it. He was an angel sent directly from heaven. “My eyes are bloodshot, aren’t they?”
“Yep. But they’re still beautiful,” he said gently.
She grunted. “I remember somebody crying. It wasn’t me, was it?”
His mouth twitched into a smile. “No, it wasn’t you. It was Greta. Roni managed to get her smashed, and—for just a few hours—the woman was almost well adjusted. You don’t remember singing ‘Greased Lightning’ with her on the karaoke?”
“Now you’re just lying.”
“It’s true,” he said, chuckling.
“Another lie.” But his words did tug at a memory she never wanted to access, for the sake of her own sanity. “I do remember Taryn and Jaime setting up the karaoke in the living area. And I remember Dominic sang ‘Livin’ on a Prayer’ while all the females cheered him on like it was a concert.”
Trick gave her a look filled with sympathy. “Baby, you were one of those females. In fact, you were leading the ‘Dominic Brigade.’” He’d have been jealous if it hadn’t been so damn ridiculous. Even his wolf had been amused.
“I was not. Why was Greta crying?”
“Because she was so happy that her boys had found themselves mates that were worthy of them. Or at least that’s what she said.”
Frankie gaped. “No!”
“Oh yeah. You don’t remember wiping her tears with the bottom of your shirt?”
“No. For which I’m glad.”
“You also took some selfies of you both, pouting like supermodels.”
“Stop lying!”
Trick laughed. “It’s not a lie. Check your cell phone.”
“Later.” Once she was in a state where she could handle the shame.
“Yes, later. Now you need to shower.”
He helped her out of bed, but she still swayed. Bracing her hand on the wall, she said, “I’m okay. I’ve got this.”
She showered and dressed, every movement clunky and lazy and pitiful. Then she was walking alongside him through the tunnels, her footsteps dragging, her arms hanging loose at her sides. Leaving her bed had truly been a mistake. At first she’d felt a little better. Now she was back to wanting to curl up on the floor and die.
As they neared the kitchen, the smell of greasy food made her stomach roll. But her attention was on the sound of someone crying. No, a recording of someone crying.
“I love you, Taryn,” sobbed Greta. “I really do. I should have told you that before.”
A loud voice overrode the recording. “That is not me.”
“Greta, it’s a video,” said Taryn. “We can all see you on it, clear as day.”
“It’s not me,” Greta insisted.
“Woman, we know what you look like.”
At that moment Frankie and Trick walked into the kitchen. Heads turned their way, and several pairs of bloodshot eyes met theirs. It made her feel slightly better to know that she wasn’t the only one suffering . . . though she had to admit that none of them looked quite as bad as her.
Lydia winced. “Damn, sweetie, I thought I looked like shit.”
Frankie wanted to speak, but all that came out was a grunt.
Trick sighed and spoke to Lydia. “Frankie’s body is here. She is not.”
Asshole.
A few hours later, Grace suggested a pack run. Everybody, including the kids, went along. The wolves all padded through the woods, ambushing one another and play fighting. Riley’s raven repeatedly dive-bombed Greta and circled the kids to make them laugh.
After a while they all settled in a small clearing. Some rested on the ground or lapped at the river, while others pounced and wrestled each other to the ground. Savannah dangled from a tree branch and threw acorns at the other kids—Dexter then collected the acorns and either put them in his pocket or tossed them in the river.
Frankie’s wolf sprawled on the ground, enjoying the heat of the sun. Her mate stayed close at all times, protective and possessive. Whenever he crowded her too much, she snapped her teeth. He either licked at her jaw in apology or growled in frustration.
Hours later, when she shifted back into her human form, Frankie was feeling a lot better. Which was a good thing, since she’d previously agreed to have dinner at Clara’s house that evening. The invite had also been extended to Trick, Lydia, and Cam, so all four of them hopped into the SUV, and Trick drove them to Bjorn Pack territory.
Honestly, Frankie was a little nervous. Not just because she had no idea if Clara’s sons would be there, but also because it still felt weird to be around relative strangers who treated her as though she were one of their family.
Clara’s cabin wasn’t far from Iris’s. Neatly planted flowers surrounded it, some exotic, some common. The floral scents gave the place a restful, welcoming feel.
Clara eagerly ushered them inside and kissed their cheeks, chattering happily. Looking around, Frankie saw that the decor was earthy and rustic, full of antiques and knickknacks. Clara had good taste.
While the home was smaller than Iris’s cabin, Frankie couldn’t help but note that she didn’t feel cramped, whereas the house she’d grown up in was three times this size, yet she’d felt more confined in that house than she had anywhere else.
Frankie couldn’t have been more relieved to hear that Clara’s sons wouldn’t be there. The scents of lavender, lacquered wood, and sizzling-hot food also went a long way to putting her at ease. And when Clara and Cesar sensed that Frankie and Trick were mated, they were so delighted that more of her tension slipped away.
Everyone talked and laughed at the dining table. All the while, the TV played low in the background since, as Cesar told his mate, “If I can’t watch the game, I can at least listen to it from here.”
Trick was constantly touching Frankie—toying with the ends of her hair, rubbing his jaw against her temple, pressing light kisses to her cheek, skimming his fingers over the back of her hand—reassuring her that he was there, that she wasn’t alone, and keeping her wolf steady.
Aside from the moment where she almost knocked her wine over, everything went pretty well. The food was spectacular. For their first course, they had tomato soup with hot, freshly baked rolls. The second course was steak, ribs, fried onions, and chunky fries with a side salad. For dessert Clara brought out a Mississippi mud pie in honor of Iris, as it had been a favorite of hers.
Before anyone could cut the pie, Lydia piped up. “Wait!” She pulled out her cell phone. “I have to snap a picture of this to show Grace. She’ll think it’s amazing.”
The ice tinkled against the glass as Clara lifted her drink and said, “I noticed that you and Trick were close, Frankie, but I didn’t think you were mates. I was so caught up with what was happening with Iris that I wasn’t really paying much attention. Did she know?”
Frankie nodded. “I told her.”
A smile curled Clara’s mouth. “I’m glad. That will have eased her worries for you. We talked about you during her last few days, and she said how wonderful you were. She was proud of the person you’ve become. It broke her heart that you’d felt so alone all these years. I know you had your maternal relatives, but a wolf without a pack can often feel very lonely.”
“I suppose t
hey weren’t happy to hear you’ve moved to pack territory,” guessed Cesar.
Frankie bit her lower lip. “They don’t know yet.” Under the table, Trick rested his hand on her knee and gave it a comforting squeeze.
Cesar sighed. “I’m sorry that things have worked out this way, Frankie, and you’ve been forced to choose, but I can’t be sorry for their sake. They caused Iris a lot of pain when they kept you from her.”
Feeling unexpectedly defensive of them, she said, “They’re not awful people.”
“Of course they’re not.” Clara cut into the pie and began serving everyone pieces. “They love you, Frankie. Always have. I must admit, I was initially worried that they wouldn’t accept you at all.”
“Why?” asked Cam, taking the word right out of Frankie’s mouth.
“We were overjoyed when we heard Caroline was pregnant,” said Clara. “It never occurred to me that they might not be so pleased. But I found her sitting under her willow tree behind her cabin, crying. They were already upset with her for giving up her teacher’s job, even though she’d been unhappy at the school, and she thought that hearing she was pregnant might appease them. It didn’t.”
Lydia sighed. “They’d hoped she’d one day leave Christopher.”
Confused, Frankie said, “But my parents were mated.”
“Yes, but I don’t think the Newmans quite understand the concept of true mates.” Cesar paused, stroking his mustache. “In fact, I don’t think they want to understand.”
Clara nodded, but she didn’t speak until she’d swallowed the food she was chewing. “Iris once told me that she overheard Caroline telling her mother how amazing it was to find and bond with the other half of your soul—that she felt complete. Her mother told her not to be so adolescent and foolish, said there was no such thing as soul mates and that Caroline needed to wake up and see that she didn’t belong here.”
Sounds like something Marcia would say, Frankie thought as she forked up some pie.
“I don’t believe that your grandmother is a bad person,” Clara went on. “Not at all. But I think she felt like she was losing Caroline. Her daughter used to live quite close to her. Suddenly she was living on pack territory, surrounded by other people and madly in love with a male who had a bond with her that no other connection could ever surpass.”
Wild Hunger Page 21
