Page 62 of Ravaged Wolf
Rae Kemble launches the interrogation. “Trevor Floyd. What are you doing here?”
“Back so soon?”
“Where’s Izzy?”
“What’s the bucket for?”
“What do you think a bucket is for, Gracie Bedoe? Sheesh.”
“I wish I had curls like that. He looks like one of those little naked baby angels.”
“Girl, I don’t know what you’re talking about, that one’s all man.”
“Ignore them, sweetheart,” Drona says to me. “You all need to stop. He’s blushing.”
At Salt Mountain, a few miles away from town, there is a pond in a dell where the geese stopover in fall. If you come upon them, first they stare, and then they honk. I mean no offense, but the females remind me exactly of those honking geese right before they come for you.
“Thank you,” I say to the group at large because it seemslike the wisest course of action. I scan the gathering for the friendliest face. They’re all grinning like butter wouldn’t melt in their mouth. Even the pups.
Drona is closest, and she doesn’t seem to be in the middle of anything. She’s having a cup of tea.
“Uh, Drona?”
“Yes, sweetheart?” She smiles up at me. I feel like the most awkward male that has ever existed.
I step closer, turn my back to the pack of females—which raises the hairs on the back of my neck—and crouch so I can speak to her privately.
“Uh. Um. I need to borrow—oh, some female goods. If you have any to spare? Pads, I guess? Or tampons? Or something along those lines? Anything. Anything would be good. Thank you.” My face is radiating heat.
And then, because Fate has always had it out for me, Seth Rosser appears right next to me, glaring down at Drona and me, reeking of aggression.
“What do you need, Floyd?” he asks, his wolf roughening his voice.
I immediately rise to my feet. I’m in his space, and I don’t give way. I throw my shoulders back, and my wolf rumbles a warning. His snarls.
“What the hell are you doing, Seth?” Drona pushes her chair back and stands, too. She tries to wedge between us, but neither of us let her.
When I first arrived at Salt Mountain, I was fair game, and in a way, it helped me survive. I gladly took a beating from every male in that pack looking to shore up his rank. And then, one day—a particularly bad day—I let Bram Blackburn whale on me to within an inch of my life. Granddad did the best he could to patch me up, and while I was lying on the back porch of the Cameron’s ramshacklehouse, bleeding out, he asked me who was going to take care of him if I managed to get myself killed.
After that, I stopped letting the males win, and eventually, I won more than I lost, and they began to think better of trying me. I’m not a natural fighter, and I never trained like the high-ranked in Moon Lake, but I guess when you’re ambivalent about whether or not you make it out alive, it gives you an edge. Anyway, it’s been a while since I backed down from anyone. I’m out of the habit.
Seth flashes fang. His wolf growls. I jerk my chin. We can go if he wants.
“Seth, you are acting like a complete jackass.” Drona tries to tug him away by the arm, but he’s not budging. “Do you think I’m impressed?”
“I’m kind of impressed,” Rae says behind us in a stage whisper. “This is not a matchup I would have predicted. The beta versus Mr. Fix-It.”
“Five buttons on Seth,” someone says.
“Ten on Trevor. I like a dark horse.”
“Have you ever seen Trevor fight?”
“No, but I love watching a nob get punched in the face.” Mina Scurlock calls over, “I’ll go fifty-fifty with you, Trevor, if you wipe that look off his face.”
“We’re not supposed to call them nobs anymore,” someone corrects her.
“Off that arrogant dickhead’s smug, superior face,” Mina amends.
