LOGINDax"Not there.""What's wrong with there?""It's right under the window. Anybody standing on the garage roof would be able to see us.""Nobody's going to be on the garage roof, Noah.""You don't know that."Noah's standing in the middle of our bedroom with the grey faux-fur blanket around his shoulders, pointing at things like a foreman.The truck's unloaded, there are shopping bags all the way down the hall, and he's turned down every spot I've offered him.The bed's no good, apparently. It's too high and it's open on three sides. The wall by the door is worse, because that's the first place anybody coming in would reach."That corner," he says finally. "Two walls behind us, the door straight ahead, and nothing can come at it from the side."He's picking the spot for his nest exactly the way he'd pick a place to shoot from, and he doesn't know he's doing it.Every story I was ever told about Omegas says the nest has to feel safe before it can feel like anything else. For mine, safe
Dax"Where's my t-shirt?""What t-shirt?""The one I wore all day yesterday. I left it on the floor when I got in the shower and when I got out it was gone."Noah's standing in the kitchen doorway with the bathmat in his hand, and he's giving me the blandest look I've ever seen on a human face."I don't know anything about your t-shirt," he says, hugging the bathmat to his chest.It's the morning after the meeting and it looks like someone’s come in and robbed us of every slightly soft fabric item we own.All the throws, four of my hoodies, the cushion from the porch swing, and the good towels my mom gave us that we’ve never used because they’re so thick they’d take forever to dry in winter.I’m only asking because I want to hear Noah admit what’s happening.I already found all of it in a heap on our bed, tucked and folded into a lumpy ring, and he's punched a dent in the center of it that's exactly his size.We’ve gone through this before. This time he knows perfectly well what’s hap
Noah"Lambchop, you're on my left."Dax says it at full volume, across the pack hall, in front of every hunter Kowalski could talk into a truck.Halfway down their side of the table, Danny Pruitt inhales his coffee. Lainey Delacroix thumps him between the shoulder blades without taking her eyes off me, and she's grinning."We've talked about this," I say."We have. I forget how it ended."It ended with me losing. It always does, and the worst part is that I'm already walking over there and pulling out the chair.A werewolf just called me Lambchop in front of hunters who were raised to believe he eats people. At least four of them are trying to work out whether that was a pet name or a dinner order.'I like it,' my wolf says. 'Lamb is delicious. And our Alpha does enjoy eating us.'Oh my god. Shut up. I can’t have that image in my head in here.Somebody pushed the long tables together down the center of the hall.Hunters are sitting along one side and wolves along the other, and nobody
Dax"Wow, Dax. Both sides of a receipt. Couldn’t you find some nice, scented stationery to practice on?"I look at Noah whose face settles into an expression of bland innocence.He got in here twenty seconds before me and somehow he managed to already spill state secrets."You told him.""He's stuck on his back for two weeks. He needs something to live for.""And loops," Finn says ecstatically. He can't laugh without hurting, so he's doing this wheezy thing through his nose and wincing every time."Please tell me you still have the receipt. I’d give anything to see it."Noah thinks I’m not aware that he squirreled it away in his bedside drawer. I decide to be the bigger man and not bust his balls about it in front of everyone.“I think I threw it away. Just as well, you don’t have much to offer. You don’t even have two good arms.”Tori's on the edge of the mattress next to him. Her eye's still mostly swollen shut, the bruises are starting to go green around the edges, her hands remain
Dax"Why are you stalling?""I'm warming up.""You've been sitting here for five minutes. It's two words."It's four words now, and I've got the pen an inch above the paper and I can't make it go down.The pack records are open in front of me in the library. The book weighs about as much as Cody.My dad wrote me into it the week I was born, and now I’m the one holding the pen, and the name I’m about to write into it belongs to the guy who showed up here planning to kill me and ended up capturing my heart instead.I’m eager to do it, that’s not the problem, but what if I mess up? It’s pen, I can’t erase it and try again.I locked the door behind us. The pack's getting this from the rooftop when I'm good and ready, not from whoever happens to wander in looking for a paperback.Noah's leaning against my side of the desk, making a valiant attempt at looking unaffected.It’s very cute until he opens his mouth."If you smudge it," he says, "We both have to look at it for three hundred years
NoahKelly’s got both arms locked around my neck and she's crying into my collar while I’m holding my bad arm out to the side like a chicken wing so it doesn’t get squashed."Noah Holt," Dax says behind me. That's twice since we got out of the truck and about twelve since Mato’s call woke us up twenty minutes ago. “Mom. Noah HOLT.""I heard you the first time, honey. That’s wonderful."She lets go and cups my face between her hands, crying without shame as she looks at me."I stood up at your celebration and told everyone I'd gained a second son, and I meant every word. But knowing you share our family name now…" She has to stop and start again. "Fletcher would have been so proud to have you as a Holt."My eyes sting and my throat closes. I want to say something moving and emotional that will tell her exactly how much her words mean to me, but all I can manage is, "Thank you. For everything. For showing me what a family should be."'Mid, but she seemed to like it. Tell her again,' my
DaxThe thing's in pieces at our feet and my body's still waiting for round two.I never come down off a kill clean. My blood's still up, ears still straining, every muscle still voting to hit something else.I don’t think it’s a werewolf thing. It’s an adrenaline thing.So when the wolf decides to
NoahThe wolf hits it like a truck, and the thing barely rocks.Wrong.Two hundred pounds of Alpha at a dead run should fold anything with a spine.This rotten thing takes the hit, slides back a boot-length in the dirt, and swings an arm the size of my leg.The wolf has to wrench sideways midair to
DaxThe wolf wants to turn around.He's wanted to turn around since I cleared the fence, and he isn't being quiet about it, because quiet isn't a thing he owns.He just keeps shoving the same word into the back of my skull like a toddler with a doorbell.Ours.Ours, ours, ours."He's a hunter," I t
NoahThree weeks I've been hunting this wolf, and tonight, finally, he does me the courtesy of holding still long enough to kill.Big of him.He's at the tree line where Northgate's fence gives up and the real woods start, and he's shirtless.Obviously. He almost always is.Cold's got nothing to sa







