An old memory of gnashing fangs and screams surges from my subconscious. I slam it back down and walk a little quicker the rest of the way to the lodge. The evening has shadows now, and strange sounds. A shiver zips up my spine.
When I slip through the screen door, Old Noreen is piling serving dishes on trays. Annie and Mari are shoveling food into their mouths while standing at a counter, and Kennedy’s squatting on an overturned bucket in a back corner, absorbed by her phone.
“Took your time, eh?” Old Noreen swipes her forehead with a dish towel. “Come on then. This isn’t that movie with the hot beast in highwater pants. The dishes aren’t gonna dance themselves out.”
Kennedy snorts from her corner. Mari wrinkles her button nose and says, “I don’t get it.”
I grab a tray. There’s a knot in my stomach.
This is it. The last time the pack saw me, I was naked and covered in my own blood. This is step one in painting over that picture. It needs to be done, so therefore, I can do it. That’s my mantra.
My face burns. It feels like forever ago, but it was only three nights. Pack memory goes much, much longer. They’ll be reminiscing about the time my wolf went suicidal for years to come.
I can’t hide from it. All I need to do is push open the door and walk through. Piece of cake. Done it a hundred times. The sooner I get to it, the sooner I can trade places with Kennedy and go back to researching mushroom cultivation. The pack can be awful, but if I fall back in line and tuck my tail, they’ll go back to ignoring me.
“Do you want a kick in the ass to get you moving?” Kennedy pipes up from her corner.
“Kicking it myself,” I mutter.
I square my shoulders as much as I can carrying a huge round tray, and then I knock the swinging door open with my hip and hold it for Mari and Annie.
A hundred heads swivel. Voices hush except for a nasty laugh here and there.
Against my will, my gaze flies to Killian. He’s in his place on the dais, his bulk overwhelming the metal folding chair, legs cockily sprawled as he lounges on his throne.
He has two modes when he’s up there—the pissy lord of all he surveys or the arrogant emperor willing to be entertained. Based on his posture, I’d say tonight we’re in for the latter. That’s good. Usually that means less blood to mop off the floor at the end of the night.
Ivo is crouched beside him, bending his ear. I venture out into the great room, and Killian glances at me for a split second. Then he casually—and very deliberately—looks away, replying to Ivo, dismissing me from his notice.
My heart drops.
Cool. That’s cool.
The pack takes it as a cue. Conversations resume. I’m no big deal again. There’s some pointed snickering, but the mood in the room mellows, the focus returning to food. I lower my eyes to the floor and keep moving.
Killian’s giant silver wolf is only a vague presence in the background tonight. Killian the man is in full control, and he obviously has no interest in me.
Good.
That’s what I wanted.
I swallow past the lump in my throat and make my way to the front of the room. Serving the lieutenants and the other fighters is my job. Mari takes the elders and pups. Annie and Kennedy trade off on the others.
Serving the lieutenants isn’t an honor or anything. The unmated males hit on everyone but me and Old Noreen, and it makes Annie and Mari anxious—and skeeves Kennedy out to no end—so I take one for the team.
The unmated fighters sit at two tables by the dais—A-roster and B-roster. A-roster is closest. The lieutenants and a few other favored fighters are always seated there. They make room for Jaime if he’s on a winning streak and Alfie if he hasn’t pissed off anyone lately. And then there are the high-ranking females. Ivo’s sister Rowan. Killian’s cousin Ashlynn. Haisley.
Haisley’s mother Cheryl is the alpha female. She eats with her mate at the high-ranking elder table and then floats around the great room, ostensibly “supervising.” Mostly she makes us fetch things until she gets drunk and forgets about us.
The B-roster table buffers A-roster from the elders so the lieutenants don’t have to listen to their stories. B-roster is generally younger. Dominant, but not oozing aggression like A-roster. There are no females at B-roster’s table—they don’t rank high enough to draw female interest—and yet, overall, they’re a lot better behaved.
Tonight, I serve B-roster first. Finn and Alfie shoot me dirty looks, and I smirk on the inside. I take my time going back to refill my tray. Packmates whisper as I pass, but if I don’t focus, I can’t make out what they’re saying. I keep my eyes straight ahead and think about mushrooms.