This whole dinner is going to be a lot to take in. Dumping more on Noah by meeting extended family—when she’s not even onboard with accepting us as mates yet—feels like a bad idea. Honestly, everything that’s happened since the Hunt is a huge bowl of too-much-too-soon, and we’re all just wolfing it down and hoping no one chokes on it.
“You’re not underdressed; you have us all beat by a mile,” I reassure Noah, trying and failing not to drool all over her. “No one’s even going to notice us when they get a look at you.”
Noah winces and the sharp tang of her apprehension fills the air. I instantly want to junk-punch myself.
Why did I say that? Now she’s even more nervous than she was before. Fix it, dumbass. Say something calming.
She’s already turning and following Ellery down the path when I manage to speak. “Your yellow sweater makes your eyes look really pretty, they’re more…green today,” I bumble like some doltish caveman.
You beautiful. Grunt. Me like. Ugh, I’m a fucking idiot!
It’s all I can do not to immediately bash my head against a wall. I swear I’m not this dumb or shallow, but the overwhelming need to be near her, to smell her, to touch her has turned me into a pile of useless goo. The mate claim is riding each of us so hard, calling to our baser natures and making our ability to function on any kind of intelligent level way too fucking hard.
“Can you even see her eyes?” Perth snarkily mindspeaks, his judgmental ribbing coming through loud and clear. “Looks like you can only see her ass from here.”
“Fuck off. I noticed her eyes earlier.”
“She does look good though…and seriously, it’s such a good ass.”
“The best.”
We share an internal sigh as Ellery swoops ahead to open the gate to the back like a gentleman. The wooden arch swings open with the tiniest of squeaks that’s quickly overpowered by the sounds of my rambunctious nieces and nephews.
I reach up and touch my hair as we walk, checking it in the reflection of the windows, making sure it’s still gelled in place, because my family will be here tonight too.
“Don’t worry. You look pretty too. Doesn’t he, Noah?” Perth gives a smirking grin from where he’s striding at my side. Normally, I’d roll my eyes at his antics, but seeing my family always leaves me a little on edge, and I know tonight is going to be worse than normal.
Gannon just stays silent and stoic like always.
“Charles is here,” Ellery announces, as if any of us missed the telltale chaos that always accompanies my oldest brother and his den.
There’s no mistaking their brood of utterly adorable and loud little shifters, usually being chased by Steph—Charles’s mate—and the rest of his den.
I simply nod, hoping they don’t scare Noah off. The idea of family and kids seemed to make her go a bit pale when we talked about what life looked like for a mated den. What if seeing my brother’s family tips her over the edge and convinces her to leave?
I hate feeling so insecure about everything—it’s not something me and the other guys usually have to navigate. We’ve known our place with each other and in the pack for some time. We all thought our mate would fit in seamlessly when we found her.
Joke’s on us.
“Oh,” Noah gasps and my head jerks in her direction, muscles immediately tensed, eyes scanning the woods all around us for a threat.
When I realize her exclamation was one of awe and her scent isn’t distressed, I relax my stance and follow her gaze. She’s staring out at the lake behind the alpha’s house.
Sometimes I take for granted how gorgeous this place is. I’ve been coming here my entire life, and it’s easy to miss things that now seem normal. But I take a moment to try to see things through her eyes. The pear-shaped body of water is lined with dull gray rocks and surrounded by a variety of both pines and deciduous trees, heavy on the aspens, whose white bark and gleaming gold leaves stand out starkly in the afternoon light. A pair of ducks rises from the water, taking to the sky. No other houses or hints of civilization can be seen. The view is the very definition of peace—it settles something deep inside my belly, and I wonder if it’s currently doing the same for her. I hope so.
Of course, that peace is shattered a second later when one of my nephews comes barreling at us, top speed, head lowered, fingers poised like bull horns, a giant bellow ripping from his lungs. I have to crouch down to swoop him up in order to avoid a headbutt to the thigh.
“Whoa, Jayden! Slow down there, little man.”
“I’m not a man. I’m a bull.” He kicks at the air as if he’s pawing at the ground, and I have to turn him to avoid getting it right in the nuts.
“A bull? What’s wrong with being a wolf?” Perth teases the seven-year-old as I set him back on the ground and ruffle his hair.
“Wolves don’t have horns. They’re boring!” Jayden declares, his nose stuck up in the air as if he’s daring us to argue with that point.
“True. But in Spain, people chase bulls all through the town.” Perth gears up for an epic battle, bending forward to poke my most aggressive nephew in the belly.
“Not true. Bulls chase the people!”
“Nope. People chase the bulls. And when they catch them, they tickle them.” Perth waggles his fingers, and my nephew shrieks in delight, catching onto the game. The two of them go streaking across the grass toward the patio.
My eyes drift over to Noah, trying to gauge her response to this tiny taste of the chaos that is my family tree. She’s staring after Perth and biting her lip, holding in a small smile, expression soft. I let out a deep breath, tension riding my exhale. I feel hopeful, staring at her next to Ellery, poised and collected, the afternoon sun kissing her cheeks and the side of her neck. This is going to work.
“Hey! Fuckstick!”
Or maybe not.
I cringe as my other older brother, Kyson, strides over. I didn’t know he would be here today—fucking hell.
The tension I was just letting go of does a U-turn and parks right back on my chest as he comes to greet us. I stare at his brown hair, which is combed for once. He’s a few inches shorter than me, something he’s hated since I shot up at eighteen. Just like the rest of my family, he’s pure muscle and practiced menace.
I’m surprised Charles isn’t hot on his heels. They’re not in the same den, but they’ve been attached at the hip for as long as I can remember. I swear the two of them only know how to bond over CrossFit and triathlons. They speak a weird language that revolves around protein powder, how much they bench, and deep discussions about protection tactics. I work out, but talking about it is about as interesting as discussing computer processors. Blech.
Kyson’s wearing his typical tough-guy uniform of all black. His T-shirt has the sleeves ripped off, and his biker boots thud loudly on the gravel as he stomps closer. I manage a half-hearted grin to be polite, and my brother tosses a nod toward Ellery and Gannon as he strides over. I can tell the moment he spots Noah, because he stops short and gapes for a beat before getting his shit together. Then the brother, who’s six years older than me and the bane of my childhood existence, reaches out and grabs Noah’s hand like he’s a gentleman and not the antagonistic, hotheaded enforcer that I know he is.