Malix
I leanover to look past Amora, peering out the window. Cormac is the only one who’s kept his human form. He’s across the street, standing on the porch of the cabin facing ours. I’m not sure if that cabin is occupied or empty, but either way, the big man doesn’t look like he’s got any intentions of leaving it anytime soon.
My nose wrinkles. “What the hell? Do they think we’re going to run off?”
Amora scowls. “No. They just don’t trust us. What do they think we’re going to do? Wait until they’re all asleep and burn down the village?”
Kian drops the curtain and ushers us away from the window with a jerk of his head. “Probably something like that, yeah.”
We fan out into the living area. The place is small but serviceable, even if it’s so beige I feel like someone turned off the color in my goddamn eyesight. I circle around a coffee table made of recycled pallets, and settle onto one end of the couch, thankful to finally be off my feet. Hopefully, we’ll get to kick back for a couple days before the next crisis.
Frost pauses beside the couch and glances back toward the window, even though the curtain is closed and he can’t see the pack members surrounding us anymore. For the first time since we left the cafeteria, he speaks.
“We come from Quinton’s pack,” he reminds us in his matter-of-fact way. “Can we blame them for being cautious?”
I grimace and put one foot up on the coffee table. “You ain’t wrong, brother. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? They’re watching us with that same fucking suspicion our own pack used to stare at us with.”
Amora bypasses the living area, padding barefoot across the cabin as she comments, “To be fair, most of them are your old pack.”
Kian grunts his agreement. “Then we should be used to it.”
As Amora digs into the closet at the back of the cabin, Kian steps into the kitchen and bangs cabinets open and closed as he pokes around.
It’s almost like being at home again.
Frost settles onto the other corner of the couch. “We’ve always been the unwanted,” he murmurs.
I drape an arm over the back of the couch and nod. “Just because we left Quinton’s dictatorship and are trying to throw in with Felicity’s pack doesn’t mean that’s ever going to change. We’re outsiders for life.”
Kian returns and tosses a water bottle my way. I catch it one-handed and twist off the lid, thankful for the hydration, even if it tastes like it’s been stored in lukewarm temperatures for two decades. Then he hands Frost his own bottle, leaves one on the table for Amora, and sinks onto the recliner set against the wall.
“We’ll play their game and toe the line,” he tells us with a shrug. “We know we aren’t here under false pretenses. We’re not spies for Quinton, and we’re no longer on his side. They’ll figure that out eventually.”
Amora returns from her perusal of the closet and drops an armful of clothes on the cushions between me and Frost. “Figure it out without killing us first, I hope.”
I snatch a black t-shirt off the top of the pile, then dig around for some pants. We haven’t worn clothes in days, so the fabric feels rough and unnatural on my skin. In my mind, my wolf howls his protestation against it. If he had his way, we’d be naked and wild twenty-four-seven.
Sorry buddy,I tell my wolf with a mental chuckle. The human side wins out on this one.
Not that I don’t like being naked, but sometimes it’s nice to go about my day without seeing dozens of dicks hanging out around me.
The t-shirt and shorts Amora picks are way too big on her, and the loose collar of the shirt opens wide around her collar bone, revealing one smooth, pale shoulder. She flops onto the cushions between me and Frost, and I lean over to kiss that bare skin.
She smiles at me, picks up her waiting water bottle, then asks, “Did your pack really not trust you?”
Kian sits in his armchair like it’s a goddamn throne. Legs wide, arms resting on either side, nose in the air. He’s so fucking extra.
He caps his water bottle and sets it on the arm as he answers. “I wouldn’t say they don’t trust us.”
“You wouldn’t?” I quip.
He purses his lips at me, but continues. “They don’t like us.”
Amora takes a quick swig of water, then presses the bottle to her lower lip as a sassy smile curves her lips. “Really? How could they ever not like you, Kian?”
I let out a guffaw, and Frost hides a grin behind his hand as he rubs at his jaw.
Kian’s gold-ringed brown eyes narrow. “I have no idea. I’m a ray of fucking sunshine.”
At that, all three of us lose it.
Kian polishes off his water bottle as he waits for us to get the laughter out of our system. He never once cracks a smile, but he also doesn’t seem pissed at being the object of our amusement. Maybe he knows how much we need a moment of levity.
When the last chuckle dies out, I shake my head, returning to the topic at hand. “We were Quinton’s special pets. He put us on a pedestal, treated us like we weren’t just different but better. A lot of people hated us for that.”
Amora looks a bit indignant. “You aren’t responsible for Quinton’s actions.”
“We aren’t,” I agree. “But when wolves get caught up in their jealous feelings, it’s hard to convince them otherwise, you know? So they resented us.”
Kian adds, “If they didn’t resent us, they feared us.”
“Either way, we never fit in,” I finish.
There’s a beat of silence, then Amora’s face twists with fury and she blurts out, “God, Quinton is such an asshole!”
“Whoa, calm down, kitty.” I chuckle. “We all know he’s an asshole. Look what he did to Frost.”
“But it’s not even just what he did to Frost,” she goes on, clearly ramping up for a rant. “He played with your lives and the lives of your mothers. He isolated you from any affection or family outside of each other. He brainwashed you to do his bidding. The level of torture and trauma he threw at you is horrific. He’s a shitty fucking person!”