Page 32 of Sing Sweet Nightingale

It’s nice to know it’s not just me. The inner part of me that was saddened at Hunter’s initial distancing lightens. So, he’s just a stickler for the status quo. Doesn’t like change or waves in the water. That’s fine with me. I don’t want to cause a disturbance.

“I know,” Michael proclaims suddenly, surprising me with his optimistic tone. “Why don’t you come over for dinner with me and my wife? We can invite Ginger, Hunter, and Ryder, my oldest. You can get to know them, and they you. I’m sure once Hunter is more familiar with you, he’ll be more friendly.”

“Oh, I don’t know—” I start to decline his polite offer, but he cuts me off before I can finish.

“Nonsense. I insist. Why don’t we plan for this weekend? Say, Friday night? Saturday is karaoke night, and I know Ginger doesn’t like to miss it.”

I fumble my words, trying to find a way to reject the invitation, but nothing comes out. I’ve never received such a heartwarming invitation before. Most people only want me to attend their event to draw the media's eye to them. Bringing them the attention that always follows me everywhere I go. But Hunter’s dad only wants me there to get to know each other better. How can I say no to that? And I secretly want to see Hunter again. Maybe his dad is right; if he gets to know me, he’ll be more inclined to be my friend.

“Okay, then. Friday it is.”

“Perfect. I’ll let everyone know and don’t worry about anything. I’ll have one of the kids pick you up, say five?”

“Sounds great.”

As long as that kid is Ginger.

I pay for my film in cash and chat for a minute longer with Hunter’s dad before venturing back to my car. I think I’ve had enough excitement for today. Plus, I really want to get home and test out my new guitar.

I drive back to the cabin with swirling thoughts of Hunter, guitars, dinner with his parents, and the unexpected fluttering in my gut of anticipation.

Chapter 10 – Hunter

Today was going so well. With no surprise, little sister visits or detours to coffee shops or public exchanges with Lottie or the elf. My routine falling back into place where it should be, everything running on schedule as usual. Things going smoothly around town for once. Until now. Even before his features come into view, I can tell who the man standing on my porch is as I pull into my drive.

Why the fuck is Vincent here? I was pretty sure I made it abundantly clear last time he was in town that if he ever showed his face here again, I would tear it off with my teeth. Apparently, he has a death wish because there he stands without a glimmer of fear in his cold black and silver eyes. Not even deigning to wear a glamour. All of his sickly-gray skin visible.

Most elves don’t have a healthy pallor to begin with, but for some reason, Vincent’s is even duller and sicklier than others, making him appear one foot in the grave even though I know he’s nowhere near a natural death. He wouldn’t allow it. Extending his life by extricating magic from pixies, sprites, and fairies for his own benefit—and not in a humane way, either. From what I hear, most don’t survive his 'treatments.'

Just makes me want to kill him that much more. And now that he’s willingly stepped foot on my land after my last warning, no one would fault me for killing the arrogant male.

The only thing that keeps me from immediately disemboweling the elf on my front porch is the exuberant amount of security he’s brought with him. Not only elves but fairies, shifters, and nymphs as well.

I know I can take them, but the odds aren’t weighed in my favor, one against a dozen. Even as an alpha, I may be able to disperse his men, but he would be long gone by that time. The coward. Never fighting his own fucking battles. Brute strength only goes so far against fairy dust and nymph magic. I’d rather wait until I at least have Ryder around to even the playing field. He’s one of the more feral fighters of our pack; even with his passive daily demeanor, his inner beast is one of the most vicious I’ve ever met. Even though he hasn’t shifted around me in years. At least not fully, only partial shifts.

My truck is barely in park and turned off when I jump from the driver’s seat and stomp in his direction.

“What the hell are you doing here? I thought I made myself clear to you and your minion crawling around town; I’m not selling, and there’s no amount of money you can offer that will make me change my mind.”

Vincent’s answering grin is all self-satisfying superiority.

Fucking prick.

“Come now, Hunter, I’m sure we can find something enticing enough to persuade you.”

“No. Now get off my property.”

I point an aggravated, sharp-clawed finger down my driveway and away from my home. My body already trying to shift into my true form to fight the male trespassing on my land. He’s pushing his luck stepping foot on an alpha shifter's land. After our pack, our land is the most sacred to us and is highly protected.

“Is that any way to greet a guest? I thought shifters were all hospitality and cordiality? No? Your mother would be ashamed.”

We’re only hospitable to invited guests, and he damn well knows that he is not welcome here.Ever.

“Say one more word about my family, and I will not hold myself back. You will be faced with my alpha wrath whether I want it or not.”

He shakes his head disapprovingly, like a scolding teacher. “You should really get that temper of yours in check. Might get you into trouble one day.”

Alpha rage is not something that can be controlled. It’s instinctual, and holding it back takes every ounce of control I possess. A control I was forced to learn after an unpleasant incident when I allowed my inner beast to take control. A mistake I’m not going to make again. No matter how much I want to let it loose on this asshole.

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