Page 33 of Moonlight and Mischief
“Yeah, not ideal,” she agrees.
I strip the linens and place a huge bowl under the leak, but that’s the best I can do for tonight.
“You should take my bed tonight. I’ll sleep on the sofa,” I say, grabbing a towel to clean up the spilled wine on the coffee table. Luckily the glass rolled and hadn’t broken.
She scoffs. “It’s a pretty big bed, I think we can share it.”
The glass slips again, but I manage to catch it before it clatters down, giving away my surprise. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
Shrugging, she leans against the kitchen counter. “We’ve cuddled up plenty of times. This time we’ll be unconscious. That’s less scandalous than laying in a bed awake.”
It’s weird reasoning, but I can’t find any reason to disagree. Unfortunately, something is still bothering me.
“Is that your shirt?” I ask.
“Um, yeah? Well, I think it belonged to one of the twins originally, but I’ve had it for years.”
It shouldn’t bug me, but it does. She’s in my house, and I don’t like the idea of her wearing another guy’s shirt.
Biting my lip, I stalk to my dresser and dig through the drawers for the softest faded shirt I can find. Marigold stands in the doorway, watching, bemused. Shoving it into her hand, I say, “Here, wear this one instead.”
“Okay,” she says, her eyes sparkling. Thankfully, she understands the possessiveness that drives shifters. She disappears for a moment, and I sink onto my bed, feeling like an idiot.
That sense of euphoria returns in full as she climbs into my bed and stretches out beside me on her stomach, crossing her arms and setting her chin on them.
My shirt drapes over her back and clings to her hips. It looks so much better on her than it ever did on me. I want to pull her to me, but I settle for admiring her.
The room is warm and the only light comes from the dim lamp on my bedside table. In sunlight, all of her colors are bright and dazzling, but in this low light, I notice the upturn of her nose and the curve of her cupid’s bow, and she’s somehow more lovely.
“You know, Hazel told me one time that your old pack has very few females,” she says, surprising me. That was out of nowhere.
“Yeah, they like to recruit single guys. No distractions from work.”
“That sounds awful. So are the guys absolutely feral over the girls theydo have?”
I laugh, resting my head back against my pillow. “More like they compete that much harder for rank, since only the top positions get a mate.”
“Wait, what?” She pops up, frowning at me.
“What?”
That bottom lip purses as she cocks her head at me. “Are you saying the Granite Ridge pack doesn’t allow wolves to choose mates the normal way? It’s assigned with rank?”
Shrugging, I roll onto my side to face her. “Yeah. Only the strongest should breed, or that’s the idea.”
“That’s insane. And sounds miserable.”
“They don’t claim their mates. So if someone loses position or is killed, the other is still available. It’s about duty, not love or even support.” I try to explain the best way I can. Growing up, it was normal. It took becoming a teenager and seeing other packs and humans in town to realize it was odd.
“Definitely insane. Doesn’t that seem terrible to you?”
I chew my lip. “Yeah, it is. But I was going to be the Alpha, so I always knew I would have my pick. Or more likely be paired with a political match.”
Up this close, the interwoven tendrils of sapphire and malachite in her irises mesmerize me as her gaze holds me captive. She’s studying me and I’m not sure I measure up.
“Are you disappointed you lost that opportunity?”
“No way, it’s a relief. Now I can be with whoever I like and there’s no pressure.”
