Page 42 of Fool Moon First Aid

Slipping into a pair of sweatpants, I brace myself before turning to face Natalie. She’s dressed casually in jeans and a cropped T-shirt, her honey-blonde hair in a long braid. She leans against the railing, her interest in me far from concealed. It’s a look I’ve grown accustomed to, a byproduct of our nature, but today, there’s a sharpness to it that sets my teeth on edge.

I will have a mage make her smell like rotten cabbage for life. Tyler’s thought, shady and filled with spite, cuts through our link, but I shut him out. I’m in no mood for his antics.

“Nat,” I greet her with a nod, my hand already on the backdoor, itching to avoid any further interaction.

She catches my arm, halting me. “Ethan, wait,” she warns, nodding toward the house. “Alpha Hughes is in a foul mood.”

“When isn’t he?” I snort, my irritation flaring at her touch.

She ignores my attempt to shake her off, pressing closer and digging her nails into my bicep, as if proximity could sway my feelings.

What can we do to get her to stop squawking? Tyler’s annoyance flickers through my shield. You can tell all the packs she has herpes. Tempting, yet wildly inappropriate. I block him out again, this time locking him out so I can’t see what he is planning.

Let him have his fun.

“Is there something else?” I pull away, crossing my arms, which only causes her gaze to become more intense.

“Is it true?” she demands, her blue eyes trying to pierce through me. I despise the way she thinks she has any right to scrutinize me, to aspire to be my luna.

“Is what true?” I play dumb, though I can guess what’s on her mind.

“Don’t fuck with me, Huggie.” The nickname, meant to be endearing from others, sounds like an insult coming from her.

That nickname is reserved for those who have actually earned my respect, and she hasn’t. “Don’t,” I rumble, the warning clear in my voice. “You never supported me working with the humans. You never wanted me out there, saving their lives.”

“You took a human woman home,” she hisses, the words slicing the air like a verdict of guilt.

I merely arch a brow, offering neither confession nor denial. She scrutinizes me, her nostrils flaring in a desperate search for any betraying scent. I cloaked myself in the earth’s perfume, rolling my fur in mud to mask my trail. Let her damn well try to uncover my secrets.

“Are you done now?” I snap, my patience fraying at the edges as I cross the threshold into the kitchen. The dimly lit space contradicts the cabin’s rustic façade with its sleek, modern amenities.

“Listen, Ethan,” Natalie begins once more, her voice trailing me into the house.

I ignore her, my senses ensnared by the delicate aroma of chocolate chip cookies that wafts through the air. Mom’s baking is a barometer for her moods. She could be riding the high of bliss or stewing in discontent.

“Seriously, Ethan,” Natalie presses, her tone sharpening in a bid to command my attention, prompting me to close my eyes and exhale slowly in frustration.

I finally pivot to face her in the expansive kitchen, devoid of warmth with its modern lines and echoing space. “Natalie, what now?” My voice is a growl, barely tethered by civility.

Her eyes dart toward my father’s office. “Your father is about to make you an offer,” she says, her confidence swelling anew, her smirk sharp and chilling. “It would be in your best interest to accept.” She turns on her heel and exits, leaving frost in her wake.

What’s that all about?

“Ethan.” My father’s voice cuts through the silence, beckoning me from the hall. His office, sitting on the first floor to remain accessible, awaits. Despite our occasional clashes, his steadfast leadership has never faltered over the years. And he’s kept the clan safe.

Dragging my hands down my face, I tread down the hall toward him, pushing open the door to find him silhouetted against the bay window, flanked by towering bookshelves. My mom sits cocooned in a reading chair, lost to the world in her book, likely oblivious to my presence. I brush a kiss atop her head, her hum and soft smile a brief balm to my spirit.

Zane offers a playful smirk, his presence akin to a Viking sprung from legend. He’s my father’s steadfast beta and partner, and his bond with my father is unshakeable. Some spiritkin like to keep the children’s lineage a mystery, but we have always known. I am the echo of the man by the window, and Tyler of Zane.

“Sit, Ethan,” he instructs, his gaze returning from the village sprawled before us. His features, a mirror of my own, hold the weight of years and battles waged for our kind’s place in the world.

“Father,” I greet, sinking into the seat, feeling momentarily dwarfed by the history and decisions that permeate this room.

“The hunters are growing bold,” he states, his voice carrying the gravitas of experience. Alexander Hughes, my reflection in time, bears the marks of leadership with a grace hardened by conflict. “Tell me, is Mystic Med seeing more attacks?”

I let out a breath, finding comfort in the familiarity of this conversation. “The simple answer? Yes.”

“I want the long answer,” my father demands, his tone leaving no room for the brief summaries he knows I’m inclined to give. I should have seen this coming. He’s always digging deeper, expecting more.

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