Page 15 of Moonlight and Mischief
“If he was telling the truth,” Hazel says.
“It’s hard for me to believe that he had pack members acting outside of his command,” I say.
Hawthorne crosses his arms. “Their pack has never been as close-knit as ours, but you have a point.”
“Do you think he ordered their actions?” Heath asks, his dark eyes boring into mine.
“Honestly, yes, I do,” I answer.
Hawthorne frowns. “No Alpha would lend out their wolves for hire.”
Despite my nerves, I raise my chin. “I know our Alpha would never do that, but Zephyr has shown to be unpredictable. And it’s not like Ferris to seek out individuals from another pack when he has plenty of his own.”
“Did you know anything about the Ironcrest wolves?” Hazel asks, her amber eyes wide.
“No, I wasn’t told any details. I wouldn’t have known at all if I hadn’t smelled them on you.”
“Okay,” Hazel says, bobbing her head. Her hands go to Slate’s arm and he tugs her closer.
“It might be a good idea to increase surveillance,” Slate suggests.
“We can look into it,” Heath says.
“I also feel that we should consider more offensive training,” I say.
Hazel nods. “I think so too. We’ve been training in how to defend our pack, but we might need to attack at some point.”
Slate frowns, “Fisher would disagree with you.”
“Fisher will train what I ask him to,” Heath says. “I think we all need some time to process, and we can revisit the idea of offensive training tomorrow.”
“Yes, Alpha,” we echo.
MARIGOLD
As the school day ends, a certain gleefulness bubbles up inside of me. Rather than my grandmother’s sofa, I’m going home to a cozy cabin and a good friend who is extremely nice to look at.
The smell of fresh cut pine, cinnamon, and wool wraps around me once my feet step onto the knotty pine wood floor. Under the homey scent of the cabin, I can detect Jasper - he’s faintly spicy like cardamom, coffee, and something sweeter like vanilla.
But Jasper isn’t in the living room or kitchen, and his bedroom door hangs open. Hesitantly, I peer in. A queen bed stands with the headboard against a wide window with a line of little plants on the sill. A shirt is tossed over a chair and his quilt is thrown back to show crimson sheets. Apparently, his meticulous personality doesn’t extend to keeping his room perfectly tidy. It makes me smile even as my fingers itch to fold his laundry and make the bed.
I trudge to my own room, slip off my shoes, and flop onto my newly beloved bed. The house is so quiet, but it isn’t a lonely sort of stillness, it’s peaceful. As I relax, my exhaustion becomes harder to ignore. Maybe one solid night's sleep isn’t enough to make up for the last two years. I can’t help but slip into a late afternoon nap.
If I dream of anything, I can’t remember when I wake. The cabin is tranquil, like when I drifted off, but the light from my window has faded. Hopefully, I haven’t missed dinner.
Stretching, I take a few deep breaths and try to wake myself up. The scent of food filters in, telling me that either I’ve missed dinner or I’m very late.
Grabbing a hoodie, I rush out of my room toward dinner, but skid to a stop in the open living room when I spy an overflowing plate of barbequed meat and a loaded baked potato on the kitchen peninsula.
Jasper brought dinner back for me. My throat clogs and my eyes prick. No one has ever gotten me dinner when I was too busy to attend. I’m always the onemaking sure everyone else is fed. Not the other way around.
Grabbing my plate, I head toward the back door. It’s propped open with a rock that’s painted with a paw print, a relic of a previous tenant.
Jasper sits on the edge of the porch, one knee drawn up to steady his hand while he drags a small blade across a chunk of wood, shaving off thin curls.
“Is this for me?” I ask to be safe. Amusement flickers across his face in response to my silly question. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”
“I can’t let my roommate go hungry,” he says. His smirk twists my stomach.
