I sat in the warm sun until the shadows lengthened, wondering if I’d ever get used to it.
The pain that would… one day… become a comfort.
CHAPTER 10
Noa
“Noa kills pigs, you know.” Fallon elbowed Mace—who was digging through my refrigerator like he was twelve and on a midnight raid, looking for the fried chicken Hattie left because, “Noa’s too skinny to have eaten it all.”
“I’m not that kind of pig,” he said as he moved another plate around. “Besides, she likes me.”
“No guarantees on liking you,” I warned with a half-laugh. The talk of killing pigs kept me off balance. I wasn’t sure if I should tease or stay quiet. But after watching the sibling rivalry between Mace and Fallon, I decided their bantering was normal, and including me was a sign of acceptance. I’d never had brothers or sisters, and I smiled when Mace changed his stance and Fallon took advantage of it, reaching in front of him to pick up the veggie tray.
Earlier, I’d asked Laura what I should do as hostess for an inner circle meeting. She’d suggested food, probably because she understood Mace, and I’d stopped at the farmer’s market and bought the celery and broccoli that—obviously—was not the best choice when hungry wolves were involved.
Mace crowed in victory, and as he straightened with the prize, I snatched the plate of chicken away from him.
“Mine,” I said, laughing as I twirled toward the table. Mace padded after me like a hungry puppy—this spiky-haired, sometimes scary alpha who was Grayson’s second. The alpha who sent Levi on fifty-mile hikes and had recruits struggling to keep their knees from shaking when he barked orders at them.
“Come on, Noa,” he pleaded. “You know I like chicken.”
“So do I.”
“She’s also territorial,” Grayson said, while Fallon laughed evilly, blocking Mace with a celery stick when he reached for a second chicken leg. “And you just invaded her space.”
“She invaded mine that first day,” Mace shot back. “You keeping score?”
“Your risk.” Grayson reached for a bottle of cognac, then filled a squat glass to the one-inch level, capped the bottle, and returned it to the cupboard with sharp precision.
I frowned.
Mace grinned as if he’d just scored a point, and I realized I was watching a family, people who had known and trusted each other for years. I didn’t know how I fit in with a history like that, if there’d always been a space waiting for me to fill. More likely, they would make room for me, and just as easily form back together if I ever left.
Both Mace and Fallon dressed casually—I’d so rarely seen them that way. Mace wore paint-splattered jeans and a tee shirt that loved his hard abs. He’d shaved his blonde hair close to the scalp at the sides, revealing small tattoos I’d never noticed. A beautifully lethal warrior, I thought, a golden glimmer in the shadows.
Fallon’s hair was free from her usual braid, falling in a blonde cascade around her shoulders. But the permanent kink remained, and she kept flicking the loose strands as if they bothered her.
“Do something with your hair,” Mace rumbled around a bite of cold chicken. “Looks like you’re swatting flies.”
“Keep stuffing food and twelve-year-olds will burn your ass in any race.”
They were at it again, good-natured, but oblivious to the nuance I heard beneath the words. Curious, I lingered by the dining table, rearranging the food. They were opposite reflections. Mace—always on the front line, never completely at ease. Fallon, her arms tight, reading his every mood. I wondered if he ever saw her as a woman and not a rival. Wondered if that wasn’t why her hair was down tonight.
Even if she had smiled at the Alpha of Carmag during the Gathering. And he’d certainly smiled back.
Looking outside, I could see how the evening slid into soft purple. Distant lights were a glorious proof of life returning. I’d never seen anything as hopeful. The sounds of laughter carried from children running when their mothers called them home. The rustle and chirping from birds roosting for the night rattled from the trees.
Yet in my house, Grayson stood, lost in thought. Mace paced, but Fallon turned away. When she searched a jeans pocket, then braided her hair and fastened it with whatever she’d pulled from her pocket—my throat ached.
I’d been lonely in crowds before, when the pretending was hard. Ignoring the hurt in standing alone, listening to the evening settle. Having no one who could reach out and touch my hand. Breathe the way I breathed.
Fallon wandered back to the couch and curled on the cushions, picking up the faille journal I’d asked her to read because I needed another female’s perspective.
“What’s that?” Mace asked, peering over her shoulder.
Fallon pulled the journal close. “Go away.”
“You’re reading one of those journals from Aine?”