by Holley Trent
Anton stood stunned in front of the counter. The casserole was there, yeah, barely touched and covered with plastic wrap, but there was also a basket of biscuits and what looked like a fruit salad.
Christina padded over, shy and quiet as a cat. “Uh, I went to the grocery store over in Norseton with the girls and got some things. I didn’t know what you liked, so I figured I’d just see—” She shrugged, clearly uncomfortable.
“You don’t have to cook for me.” He picked up a biscuit and took a bite, hoping it was hard as a rock and blander than cardboard. Nope. Light and buttery. Its flaky texture melted in his mouth like a goddamned snowflake.
Shit.
“I cooked every morning. I’m used to it. The men expected a little more than bowls of cold cereal with milk.”
“They should have been happy that they got that much.” And happy she didn’t punch them all on their stupid noses. He grabbed a plate from the cupboard and piled on some food. “And I’m not picky. The casserole would have been enough, but thank you for the extras. You really don’t have to do that.” He didn’t want her spoiling him.
“I wanted to. Besides, I have to eat, too.”
“Doesn’t look like you ate very much.”
She shrugged. “I tend to graze. Eat throughout the day, when I have time.”
The loud bleat of the dryer rang out, and she turned toward it. Before she could shift her weight to take a step, he wrapped his left arm around her and pulled her back. Instinctively. The wolf in him made her out to be prey trying to flee, but the man realized that she was just doing his laundry, and he didn’t want her doing that.
She stood very still, stiff and not breathing as he held her there, but there was no adrenaline spike. There should have been one. A woman like her—wolf-born or not—should have been afraid of a man like him.
He heard her swallow. Her soft exhale when she resumed her breathing. Let go.
She felt so good against him, her soft curves against his muscled body, and her trust was intoxicating. It was driving him toward the kind of delirium that would have her stripped naked and on her back in his bed. He’d sink his teeth in her flesh, marking her as his, despite the fact that he knew damned well he shouldn’t keep her.
Still, his hand moved up her belly to her chest, resting beneath the swell of her breast. Barely a handful, but just enough. He palmed it, and immediately regretted it.
Shouldn’t touch her.
His thumb glided across her nipple through the thin fabric of her shirt and worked it to a hard bead.
She wrapped her fingers around his wrist, and he expected her to pull his hand away—as she should have—but instead, she just held him there. Kept his hand kneading and thumb working.
“This—this isn’t right,” he said. He managed to pull his hand away and take a step back from her. Then another.
“Why?” She whipped around, and those wide, gray eyes held a glint of anger. “Am I not pretty enough?”
“What? Why would you even ask that?”
“I know I’m not like the others, but I do the best I can.”
“You do just fine. Who told you that you didn’t?” He’d hurt them for making her think she wasn’t anything but perfect. Fucking East Coast losers.
“You don’t think I’m smart enough? I’m not afraid of books.”
Probably not afraid to throw them, either, judging by the tart snap to her voice. His little wolf had some spunk, apparently. “Trust me when I say that alphas rarely consider intelligence when matching their wolves.”
“You holding out for someone taller? I know I’m not going to make much of a wolf, but the women in my family have always been small, and we manage to pop out pups, no problem.”
“Huh?” What the hell is she going on about? Maybe if he’d spent more time around women in the past ten years, he’d have some idea of how to make sense of them. His aunt was easy enough to read, but the one in front of him—shit. And pups? Him, with pups? He’d never let himself imagine it, especially not in the last six months.
“Do you think I’m too young? Is that it? Well, I’ll have you know I’ve been a woman for years now.”
He could hardly believe he was seeing it, but sure as the sun was in the sky, she was tugging up the hem of her dress and showing herself to him.
No panties. Not a snatch of fabric to be found, just a dusting of dark, silky hair against skin just as tan as the rest of her. Nice to know she’d come by the coloring naturally.
“I’m a grown woman,” she said. “Why don’t you taste me and see for yourself? That’s what all the wolves said where I came from. One lick and they’d know if I was ready for them.”
He changed his mind. He wasn’t going to merely hurt them. He was going to rip their fucking throats out and make fur rugs to put under Christina’s bare feet.
Clenching his fists, he swallowed and let out a ragged exhale. Focus. “Where are your panties?”
“In the wash. When I got the call, I had to pack fast. I—” She shifted her weight, nervously, it seemed. “I forgot some things.”
“We’ll have to get you some more.”
She canted her head and narrowed her eyes. “What’s wrong with you? You should’ve been on top of me by now. Wolves aren’t known for their self-restraint.”
“You’re certainly testing mine.” His gaze fell to the tops of her thighs. Wet with arousal. He hadn’t wanted to believe that was what he’d been smelling—her desire. For him, though? She was either hard up, or as blind as he was. “How’s your vision, little wolf?”
“A little better than twenty-twenty, last time I had it checked.”
“Shit.”
She let down the hem and with a sigh, turned on her heels. “You’re out of dryer sheets,” she said softly.
Dryer sheets? “What?”
She stopped. Spun. “You know, dryer sheets. The things you put in the dryer to get the static out your clothes. Can’t put anything on a clothesline out here. It’s too dusty, and there’s nowhere in the house I can set up a drying rack.” She shrugged. “Have to use the dryer.”
“I’ll need to buy some, I guess.”
“How is it that you don’t know about dryer sheets? Who usually does your laundry?”
He cringed. There really was no good answer to that question—at least, not one that would cast him in a good light. “I do.” Sometimes Auntie came over and started a load, but up until recently, they were all on the road, and they’d wash their clothes at whatever Laundromat was nearby. He did know how. “And you don’t have to do my laundry. I’ll get around to it.” Someday.
“How long has it been since you’ve washed those pants?”
“My pants?” He looked down at them. Who keeps track of that kind of thing? He just put on whatever looked clean enough, and pitched them into a pile when they got too much dirt on them. “I don’t know.”
“You’ve got mud all around the bottoms. Take ’em off.”
It was as if she wasn’t making good sense, given that he didn’t know how to respond, or even if he should.
“Anton, take them off. I’m washing a colored load.” She held out her hand and made a gimme gesture. “The shirt you had on last night, too.”
Grumbling, he unbuttoned, unzipped, disrobed, and handed her the items.
She went off in an indignant huff.
“You don’t have to do my laundry,” he said for what seemed like the umpteenth time. Maybe if he kept saying it enough, she’d eventually believe it. “Or cook for me. Or clean stuff. I’m a grown man, and I can do all those things.”
“Doesn’t seem like you’re doing a very good job of them.”
His mouth flapped open for a few beats, but as no retort came forth, he closed it and headed into his bedroom for new pants. Fuck waiting for Adam to come by and yell at him. Anton would cut him off at the pass and make sure he spoke his mind first. What the hell had the man been thinking?
Probably that Anton needed a keeper. Well, may
be he did, just not this one.
CHAPTER FOUR
Christina wasn’t a fan of guns in general, but she’d had no choice but to learn to be comfortable around them. Her brothers kept chests full of rifles and shotguns they used for sport and hunting when in their human forms. She could even shoot one if she had to, but preferred to admire them from a distance.
A great distance.
The sound of them going off in close quarters always stoked her anxiety to unmanageable levels. She’d make a damned skittish wolf, she knew, but she couldn’t be anything but what she was. Anton would have to take her or leave her.
Well, no, not leave her, which she suspected he fully intended to do, but she simply wasn’t going to let him. He had yet to give her one good reason why he couldn’t mark her, and she was starting to think that he didn’t have one. So, she’d just keep on as she was. She refused to go back to that place, and she wasn’t giving up her mate to some other bitch. For the first time in her life, she was actually willing to fight over something, and what better thing than Anton?
Picking up a gun to clean seemed the next logical component of the day’s chores. There was a whole shelf of them just waiting for some attention. More things for Anton to eventually get around to.
He’d pulled on some clothes and gone storming out of the house as she loaded the washer. She’d heard yelling coming from the general direction of Alpha’s house, but she didn’t bother to get up and look. She had too much to do to concern herself with her wolf’s temper tantrum.
She had just finished putting the last screw back into a .50 caliber rifle—what on Earth did they need a gun of that gauge for?—when Anton threw the front door open.
What she could see of his face that wasn’t covered by his eye patch or his hair was flushed, and his mouth was drawn into a frightening grimace.
She set down the screwdriver and placed the gun on the coffee table.
“What are you doing?” His voice was a restrained growl.
“I just cleaned it. I know how.”
He stood there staring for a minute. His accusatory gaze went from her to the gun and then back to her.
“I used to clean my brothers’ all the time. They didn’t have guns like this, but most guns are easy enough to figure out if you’ve handled a few different types.”
“There’s nothing easy to figure out about that particular rifle. That’s why it’s been sitting on that shelf for three weeks.”
He didn’t believe her. Of course he didn’t believe her. No one ever did.
She pressed her lips tight and took in a deep breath through her nose. She wasn’t going to cry. She wasn’t going to go hide in some dusty corner like an Appalachian Cinderella and let her hurt feelings escape through her teardrops. She was tired of being pathetic, and if he didn’t believe her, she’d make him.
She stuck out her chin and crossed her arms over her chest. The posture felt foolish, but it seemed like the right thing to do. “Check it, if you’d like.”
“Yeah?”
After a moment, he walked over and picked it up. He sat with it and the tools at the kitchen table, moving all of the piled-up junk out of the way. And she stood there watching him disassemble it, check all the parts—scrutinizing them with his good eye—and put it back together.
“Well?” She tapped her foot against the floor impatiently, awaiting the critique of her work.
“You did good.”
She stopped tapping and unclenched her fists. “Excuse me?”
“You did good, little wolf. You’ve just got to use the right size screwdriver so you don’t strip the screw heads.”
“Oh.” She wrung her hands, shifting her weight. “I’m so used to—to using whatever is handy.”
“Understandable.” He pushed back from the table and carried the gun to its empty case in the living room.
“I—I can fix other stuff, too.” Try a little harder to not sound like an idiot, why don’t you?
“Yeah? Like what?”
“Cars, a little. Household stuff, too. I didn’t have much of a choice growing up. I was the smallest, and I used to have to crawl into or under things and figure out why they weren’t working.”
He stood and turned to her, pushing his hair back from his eye. He didn’t say anything, just stared. That whole, man of few words thing. She certainly understood it. She’d never known a male wolf who’d been much for talking.
She swallowed and started for the fridge, knowing there wasn’t much in it. “Um—we need to go to the store. Can’t survive on frozen steaks.” She hadn’t had enough money to do any real shopping earlier. She would have spent every dollar to her name if she had any idea of what he liked, though. He’d claimed he wasn’t picky, so she was going to test that statement.
“It’s all I know how to cook. I just put them under the broiler.”
“I’ll go.”
Another long stare, followed by more silence. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He just held it out to her without opening it.
“Okay.”
Clutching his wallet, she walked to the front door and stepped into her shoes.
“I could get one of the guys to drive you.”
“Don’t bother. I won’t be carrying more than two bags, probably. It’ll be nice to have a store in walking distance. Won’t waste half a day going and coming.”
“Other kinds of stores are there, too, if you need anything.”
“I’m fine.” She pressed her lips together, knowing it was a lie, and knowing that he knew it was a lie. She just didn’t want him to think that she couldn’t make do. Or that she was weak.
Beyond working his jaw side to side for a few beats, he didn’t respond.
“I’ll be right back, then.”
He just watched her leave. Knowing her luck, he’d change the locks while she was gone. Too bad for him, if he did. She knew how to pick them.
CHAPTER FIVE
Adam had put his foot down, adamant that Christina wouldn’t be sent away, and he’d given Anton two choices: deal with it, or get the fuck out.
A male wolf without a pack was a dead wolf. He could always try to integrate into some other group that was short on muscle, but he appreciated the balance of his current one. They were his family, and—like them or not—on most days, they watched his fucking back. They may have teased and taunted after he’d gotten mauled, but when they were all in the thick, they fought, even killed, for Anton. He didn’t want to give up his pack for a woman, but he also didn’t want to take the woman, either.
All he could do was hope that she’d get tired of him soon and leave on her own. He’d said as much before leaving Adam’s house, and Auntie had laughed and laughed.
He harrumphed and yanked up the overflowing bag from the trashcan.
Christina pushed in the screen door at that moment and carried two canvas grocery totes into the house. “I love that place. They’ve got everything!” she said, eyes bright and wearing a beaming smile that could have lit up the night sky. “I’ve never seen anyplace like it, with all of the gourmet stuff and whatnot. Kind of expensive, though.” She set the bags on the counter.
“Community owned and operated,” he said. “Gotta pay a premium to get commodities way out here. Everyone who lives in Norseton is in on the secret, so they’ve got to have their own stuff. Most folks are okay with paying a little extra instead of driving an hour to someplace else to shop.”
“Well, I did my best not to spend you into the poorhouse.”
“Don’t worry about that.” He wasn’t exactly swimming in cash, but he could certainly afford groceries. Mostly, he ate on the run on the way back from jobs or before his security shifts over in Norseton. Sometimes, if he and Auntie were working at the same time, she’d walk some food out to him.
“Okay. Well—oh!” She reached into one of the bags and drew out his wallet. “There you go. Don’t worry, I didn’t memorize your Social Security number or anything.”
> “I didn’t think you would.”
“Why not? Testing me?”
“No. Honestly, it just didn’t cross my mind. Am I wrong to assume you’re trustworthy?”
“No. I’m just—used to being called a liar.”
He tucked the wallet into his pants, and she went to work putting things away. Ingredient-type things he wouldn’t even know what to do with. Flour and shortening—what was that even for?—various seasonings, oatmeal, eggs, and so on. He did okay with steaks, but beyond that, his expertise in the kitchen ended at pouring boiling water into instant noodle cups. Best he could tell, there were no noodle cups in those bags.
He left her be and headed into the living room, grabbing another dirty gun off the shelf as he went.
“Gonna make something fast tonight. Full moon. I figured you’d want to get out and run.”
He sat on the couch and pulled his cleaning tools closer. “It’s not necessary. We don’t always feel the drive to shift for the moon.”
“You don’t?”
He could just barely see her furrowed brow from his position. She was so damned short that when he was sitting, the kitchen counter covered up three quarters of her.
“What kind of wolves are y’all?” she asked.
“Eurasian. We shift as necessary.”
“Pure?”
“More or less.”
“They didn’t ask for that—in the mate call, I mean.”
“No, Adam wouldn’t have asked for that. It doesn’t matter to us. A wolf is a wolf.”
“If you start mixing, things get unpredictable. For the kids, I mean.”
“That bothers you?”
She opened a cabinet, rustled something within it, and closed it. “No. Figured it would bother you.”
“Whether or not my pups will be compelled to shift for the full moon is amongst the least of my worries.”
“But, you do want kids?”
“I honestly haven’t given it a whole hell of a lot of thought, Christina. My kind, we don’t even think about taking mates until we’ve got a home base—a den, I guess. We weren’t in that position until recently. I imagine you want some?”
