“I understand that,” Shaun said. He was leaning on the bar, on the other side of the gathering. “But I don’t want us to turn into Kitty’s home for wayward werewolves.” A few of the others nodded in agreement. I couldn’t blame them. We’d been stable for over a year now—no invasions from the outside, no dissention from within—and most of the pack wanted us to stay that way.
“You want me to just turn my back on them?” I said.
“Your own people have to come first,” Shaun said.
“I want us to be a little altruistic here. These guys are war vets, they’ve been through a lot. They need to see what well-adjusted werewolves look like, and I think we can do that.”
I looked around at my bunch. My pack. It had taken a long time for me to think of them that way. When I’d first met most of them, I’d been a newly minted werewolf, freaked out and constantly on the edge of panic, rolling over to show my belly to keep out of trouble. Now look at me—giving orders. And they were actually listening. I liked to think it was because I made sense, usually. All three of the pack’s women, apart from me, were here—Becky, Kris, and Rachel. Rachel was older, quiet and submissive. She didn’t want any trouble, and Ben, Shaun, and I tried to keep trouble away from her. She was looking particularly jumpy, her shoulders bunched, her gaze darting. Becky, sitting nearby, put her hand on her shoulder to calm her. The men of the pack weren’t the most aggressive werewolves I’d ever met—the previous alpha had rather ruthlessly gotten rid of anyone who posed a threat to his authority—but they weren’t p
ushovers, either. If Ben and I vanished, Shaun, Becky, or Dan could serve as the pack’s alphas just as well. But they weren’t going to challenge us for the hell of it. We were a stable group, which was why I thought we could handle Tyler and Walters.
“What do you think about this, Ben?” Jared asked. I tried not to bristle, even though this felt as if he was going over my head. I glared at Jared, and he ducked his gaze.
Attitude counted for so much around here.
“I’ve met ‘em,” Ben said. “I’m with Kitty. They need a break and I think we can help. Call it our patriotic duty.”
A couple of the guys snorted—patriotism didn’t count for much when you sometimes felt like a stranger in your own country. Werewolves were their own country.
Kris—a thirty-something woman with thick brown hair, and a little bit of wolf always lingering in her brown eyes—sat back, her arms crossed. She was looking at the floor when she spoke. “My little brother’s in Iraq right now. If it were him, I’d want someone to help him.”
I’d known about her brother. She’d come to me about it, because knowing her brother was in danger and out of her ability to help him set her on edge, and she’d needed help—a friendly ear, a leader to help her keep herself together. But she must not have told everyone, because the others seemed surprised, then looked away, not knowing what to say.
We didn’t get any more arguments after that. So, the pack wasn’t comfortable helping other werewolves, but they’d help the soldiers. I’d take what I could get.
Chapter 15
TUESDAY MORNING, it started snowing. The weather had gone from clear and windy the night before to overcast and settled. Times like these, when the sky was gray and full of weight, you hardly noticed when the flakes started falling—just a few at first, then more, until the air was a wall of snow. If I’d been paying attention to the forecast there had probably been great pronouncements of a front moving in. But I’d been a little preoccupied. The weather matched my mood.
Ben slept in and woke to find me sitting on the sofa, staring out the balcony window at the depressed gray day. He was shirtless, dressed only in sweats, and his skin looked warm and touchable.
“Think this’ll clear up by tonight?” he said.
It was full-moon night. Even when the sky was overcast, I could feel its power tugging at me, a restlessness turning in my gut that would grow stronger until the night itself, when it would boil over.
I reached up to rub his back, then put my arm around his waist. We’d been out in nastier weather than this. To a wolf, covered in fur, the cold was nothing. Our human forms retained some of that resilience. When we slept, we’d all curl up together, keeping each other warm, even as the snow fell over us. In the morning we’d wake as human, grumbling about coffee and hot showers. But we’d never freeze out in a storm. I mostly worried about the snow keeping us from driving home.
“Yeah. If it’s too bad maybe we can go out east,” I said. Depending on where a storm hit, either the mountains would get dumped on with snow, or the plains would. We could usually find someplace else to be if the snow got too bad.
Normally, I wouldn’t worry about a winter storm impacting the pack’s night out. This time, maybe I should be. “Do you think we should give Cormac a call?”
“What—in case Tyler and Walters give us trouble?” His brow furrowed. I knew he didn’t want to get Cormac involved—he might be tempted to take action.
“No. To find out if maybe Franklin can start blizzards as well as hurricanes.”
“We don’t even know that he can start hurricanes.”
“Cormac said he was up to something. What if it’s this?” I pointed to the falling snow.
It wasn’t a blizzard. Not yet. In fact, it might have been slowing down—the gray clouds were only spitting flakes, which melted as soon as they touched down. Wet, messy—but not a blizzard.
“You’re—” He stopped.
“What? I’m what?”
“I was about to say paranoid. But sometimes, you’re right.”
“So I should call Cormac.”