My stomach heaves. My wolf howls in delight.
Behind me, an elder, maybe Nuala, says, “He should’ve taken a knee. At least then he’d still have a working one.”
“You don’t mess with defectives,” an old male opines. “That’s just plain wrong. Everyone knows that.”
My wolf falls quiet, her glee deflating like a punctured tire.
That’s me they’re talking about again. Us.
Fuck this shit.
Suddenly, a weight descends on my shoulders. I didn’t ask for this.
Am I supposed to be impressed? Vindicated?
‘Here, Una, stand right here all alone by the elderly, and I’ll remind everyone not to pick on weak folks like you.’
Thanks, Alpha.
My leg aches. Given, not as bad as Lochlan’s must right now, but I’ve had enough. I’m going home.
Killian’s talking to Tye, gesturing as if he’s dissecting the match, while Lochlan’s friends get the stretcher down from its hook on the wall.
No one seems to be paying attention to me, so I shuffle toward the door. I have no pants on, my hair is wild, and I’m so damn tired.
I’m focusing on my balance—at this point, my bad leg is close to giving out—so I’m at the entryway before I glance back and notice Killian. He’s standing on his dais, arms folded, face severe and unperturbed, Ivo and Tye at his sides. The males are talking to him, but he’s staring straight at me.
My belly flutters.
I force my spine to straighten, hike my chin, and give him my back as I leave the lodge.
If I sway my hips—and I never sway my hips on purpose—but if I do, it’s my wolf. She’s smug as hell.
She’s not the least bit humiliated.
Good mate. Avenge. Protect.
The little idiot. She’s got it all wrong.
6
UNA
After texting ShroomForager3000 to confirm the time for tomorrow’s meet, I shower off the lingering scent of potato salad, braid my damp hair, and put on a plain, white cotton nightgown.
I’m moving painfully slow. My bad leg throbs. There’s an ugly bruise on my hip from where I hit the floor, but it’ll be gone by morning. I flip off the overhead and plug in the fairy lights strung across the ceiling. The room fills with a soft, mellow glow, and I climb in between the clean, crisp sheets of my twin bed and exhale.
I’m home. Safe. Surrounded by my people. My things.
My fancy custom label maker. The rose petals, lavender, and orange peel I’m drying for potpourri. I’ve got Mari sewing some cute sachets with wolves on them. I’ll probably be able to sell the lot to the souvenir stand for at least two hundred bucks.
My trunk sits against the wall under the window. After Ma died and the Murphys claimed our cabin on the commons, I lived out of that trunk. Now I keep my jars and other supplies in it.
Everything feels different after the past few days, but it isn’t, really. I’m still a lone female. Bottom of the pack. And that’s good. I can do what I want. Make my own way. Nothing needs to change.
Annie is going to do the run into town tomorrow, but honestly, I bet I could get away with going myself. Despite the present weirdness, I can’t imagine anyone would come looking for me during the day. Literally no male ever has.
I really want this deal to work out. Crafts and such are a great side hustle, but mushrooms could be a real business. Everyone sells honey these days, but morels—they don’t grow on trees.
I smirk at my own joke.
My brain’s whirring. I fluff my pillow and turn on my good side so I face the window. The curtain is slightly parted, and I can see the moon. It’s high tonight. Waxing gibbous.
Why is the moon sometimes high and sometimes large and close? I’d search it on my phone, but I’m stingy with my data at the end of the month. I need it for work.
If I use the mushroom money to get us unlimited plans, I could search whatever I want whenever I want. Moon facts. New herbs to grow.
I could watch videos of the shifter fights.
Killian was brutal tonight. He took every bit of punishment Lochlan dished out as he waited for an opening. His face was totally intent. His eyes were pure blue. No gold. His wolf had nothing to do with it.
When he kicked, the control in his body, the force and fluidity—I shudder. He’s a powerful guy. He always has been. I’ve never had the urge to watch him fight before.
But I want to watch him do it again.
So does my wolf—she whines in agreement. I want to watch. I want the slow motion replay, to watch frame by frame, see Killian’s head snap back as Lochlan drives a fist into his jaw.