10. Breakfast and Border Disputes

MARIGOLD

A ll the knots came back to my fingers easily, and in the last two days I’ve made a handful of plant hangers. Jasper has a collection of little houseplants in his bedroom, but the light is much better in the living room.

Humming to myself, I screw hooks into the wood planked ceiling and link the loops up. Carefully, I nestle the pots into each, leaving a line of hanging plants along the sunniest window. They should grow much faster now.

I step back and smile. It looks great. What else can I do?

Digging around, I find a pair of sunflower-print throw pillows in the back of the linen closet. They look perfect on the sofa.

Dishes washed, my bed re-made (though I have no intention of returning to it), and books organized by color, I finally sprawl across the sofa and enjoy the late afternoon sunlight pouring in, filtered by the plants.

“That looks great,” Jasper says, stepping in. He holds two dinner plates in his hands. “Hungry?”

I smile contentedly up at him, accepting my plate. His smile is warm, but the tightness around his eyes betrays his worry.

“I hope you don’t mind, I installed the decor you requested as payment,” I say. Jasper rotates one of the plants to inspect the macrame encircling the pot.

“You decided on plant hangers instead of a big wall piece?” he asks.

“You can’t afford a big wall hanging from me,” I say. Sitting up, I reach for his hand and pull him down beside me. His arm goes around my waist automatically and my stomach flips. There’s something in his touch, the way his fingers dig into my skin, that is more possessive than normal. Either he’s more upset than I realized, or we’ve taken our relationship to a new level.

“How was the counsel?” I ask, taking a bite of the lasagna. It’s delicious.

He takes a few bites of his dinner before he shares, “Overall, it went well. But, I don’t know, Ironcrest and Granite Ridge were acting strange.”

I grip the top of his leg, a few inches above the knee. “What do you mean? ”

He sighs, sinking back into the cushion and pulling me closer with the motion. Concern over the counsel isn’t enough to keep me from losing myself in the comforting cocoon of his arms.

Eventually, Jasper pulls me out of my reverie. “Well, my parents were really quiet. Didn’t argue at all when Heath brought up an agreement to not steal wolves from other packs.”

“That’s always been against our rules,” I say.

“That hasn’t exactly stopped them in the past.” His grip around me tightens.

“They won’t get away with it again.”

I can feel the expansion of his chest as he takes a slow, deep breath. “And then Zephyr was saying that Nyx is invading their boundaries. Wants sanctions against her. So we agreed to attempt to arrange communications between them.”

Pulling back, I frown. “Nyx wouldn’t do something like that.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Why would they say that?” I twist to face him, pulling my legs up to sit cross-legged. Our dinner plates sit forgotten on the coffee table.

He rubs at his jaw, thinking. “What if something has changed with Nyx’s leadership?”

“I can ask my dad,” I say. From the blank look on Jasper’s face, I realize he doesn’t know, “My mom was from the Raven Pack. My grandparents live there.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Really. You’re the connection Heath mentioned.” My shoulders tense in a quick shrug .

“Yeah, we visit them maybe twice a year. The Raven Pack is tiny. They can’t keep watch over all that land effectively. I’ve always wondered why Ironcrest or Granite Ridge don’t try and buy some of that acreage.”

He stares at me.

“What?”

“That’s it,” he says. I can see thoughts flying behind his eyes.

“What’s it?” I prod when he falls silent.

“That’s what Zephyr wants. If he says Nyx is the aggressor, he can set them up to take her territory without consequences. Or at least without full consequences. He has an excuse.”

Winding a lock of hair through my fingers, I consider his theory. Logically, it makes sense. But the idea that a pack would attack another pack unprovoked is barbaric. Shifters don’t go to war without a serious reason.

“Are you going to tell Heath about your idea?” I ask.

“Definitely.” He chews his lip. “I’ll see him in the morning. That’ll give me time to think it through. ”

“Do you think Granite Ridge is in on it?”

“That’s the thing, I can’t tell. Ferris knows now that the other packs know what they did to Hazel. He should be defensive or at least angry. He was so calm, it felt unnatural to me. And Sienna hardly said a word.” His voice begins to wobble. Sensing his need for support, I scoot closer.

“You’ll figure it out.”

“I can’t shake this feeling they’re after me. Or after Slate and Hazel. I’m not sure. It’s like they’re so carefully not looking our way, the absence of any snide remarks or threats feels wrong. Sneaky, I guess.”

There’s real fear in his eyes. Cautiously, I reach out and brush his mussed hair behind his ear. “They can’t do anything. We won’t let them. And we have allies to help if they really do throw everything they’ve got at us.”

He has no answer and instead studies the floor, his worry a heavy thing clinging to him. The droop of his shoulders, the tightness around his mouth. I can’t stand it.

“Hey!” I say, squeezing him tighter. “No more of this. We are a badass pack, and we have the most incredible leaders protecting us, including you. And I know you’ll keep us safe.”

Remembering our deal from a week prior, my hands find their way to his shoulders and I dig in, thumbs kneading his muscles. He lets out a long exhale and his eyes close. I urge him to turn away from me, giving me more access to his back

Working my way down, the heels of my hands press along the line of muscle on either side of his spine. His head falls forward. The tension starts to ease once I begin long strokes down the line of his shoulder blades.

“Better?” I ask.

He turns those soulful eyes on me and I can’t breathe. I couldn’t move if I wanted to. The depth of adoration mingling with sadness paralyzes me .

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs, twisting toward me. My hands glide from his shoulders up to hook around his neck. His blonde hair slips over my fingers.

Feeling dizzy, I suck in a ragged breath, trying to keep my head. But his hands are on my hips, pulling me into his lap.

Suddenly the only thing I want in the universe is to get as close to him as physically possible. Maybe that’s always been what I wanted and my walls are too brittle to stop me any longer. Our faces are inches apart, hands gripping, abdomens pressing.

“I was thinking about last week,” he says, his voice vibrating through me. “And if I had known that was your first kiss, I would have done things differently.”

“I…” I have no idea how to respond to that.

He keeps one hand on the small of my back, but the other skims my jaw. His skin might be flames, the way it burns me, but it feels so good as his thumb strokes down the column of my throat. I can’t look away. He’s a cobra, toying with his prey, and I desperately want to feel his fangs.

“If you don’t want me, please tell me or just walk away.” His voice is hoarse, none of the soothing rich tones he usually has.

Swallowing, I press my hips forward, aligning more of our bodies together. That will have to be answer enough, because there’s no way coherent words are coming out of my mouth right now.

He holds me in place, eyes searching for something. Is he deciding if he wants this? When I’m about to melt into a puddle in his lap, he tilts my jaw, fingers tightening around my jaw and throat. A thrill runs through me.

Pulling me to him, he uses his grip to hold me still as our lips collide.

While our first kiss was heavenly, this one feels different. It’s intentional. Methodical. Sparks shimmer from every place we connect, pooling low in my core.

My lips part and his tongue tentatively teases me, coaxing my mouth open for him. It’s a jolt in my gut, the lush feeling of his tongue against mine.

He overwhelms me, and I sink backwards on the sofa, his legs hemming me in. The weight of him presses me into the cushion, solid and reassuring.

We kiss over and over, firm, soft, sweet. I’m addicted and I don’t want it to end. But when I slip my hands under his shirt and start to pull it upwards, he hesitates. I can feel his smile against my lips as he whispers, “This is your first kiss re-do, so let’s not go from zero to a hundred.”

That makes me giggle, despite the fact I also want to lick him and bite him and drag him to bed. He kisses me once more, and then stands up and offers his hand.

We get ready for bed, and I step into his bedroom, feeling jittery. He pulls me against him, my head tucked under his chin.

“Better first kiss?” he asks, barely above a whisper.

Blushing, I nestle in closer. “No complaints about the first one. But I think that might have been the best kiss in the history of the universe. ”

“I can’t disagree.”

“So is that a one-time redo, or is this something we do now?” My attempt at casual fails, the lilt in my tone giving away my insecurity.

“If you like.”

“So we’re friends who kiss?” I ask, hoping he will demand more.

“Is that what we are?” he asks, the hesitation in his voice triggering a flash of panic that constricts my lungs.

“I think I’d like to do that again,” I say carefully, looking for a reaction. “And I think it’s safe to say you’re basically my best friend, so at the very least…”

“If that’s what you want,” he says, pressing his face into my hair..

“It sounds good to me,” I say. I’m too frightened he will pull away.

His heart beats through his skin against my cheek. He’s anything but calm. The moment feels fragile.

Nervously, I say, “I think I like kissing you. And with how stressful everything has been, it’s probably good for your stress, too.” Maybe I mean it as a joke, but it just comes out breathy. All my emotions are layering and muddying my happiness. I need to shut up.

“Okay,” he says, his thumb stroking my ribs.

Despite the unease churning in my gut, the shock of emotions has exhausted me, and I can’t keep my eyes open. His warmth soaks into every fiber of my being, relaxing me. If this is all we have, it’s enough for now. And with time, surely I can convince him he wants more.

JASPER

“Wake up! It’s getting late and I miss your face,” Marigold calls, breaking through my sleepy fog. Had I slept so late that I missed my morning run?

The bed is empty and a flash of disappointment needles me.

Best friends who kiss. Good for stress.

So this was an outlet for her. A safe way to explore what she likes. I’m a test dummy.

I should break this off, tell her it’s real or it’s nothing. But she’s scared, flighty, unsure of herself. She’d choose nothing and I would lose her.

Damn it.

I drag myself out of bed and throw on fresh clothes. The house smells of butter and sugar, so I’m not surprised to find Marigold in the kitchen, polka dotted oven mitts on her hands and a tray of steaming blueberry muffins on the stovetop.

The real issue is Marigold’s clothing or lack thereof. Under the vintage ruffled apron, she’s wearing a pair of boxers that look like the ones I typically sleep in, slung low on her hips, along with the world’s tiniest tank top. Where’s the loose shirt she slept in? A mile of midriff stretches between her top and bottoms. If she takes the apron off, I may collapse where I stand .

She turns those blue-green eyes on me, and I jerk forward, trying to act passably normal despite my heart pounding.

“Good morning, Sunshine,” I say, kissing her cheek. It’s Sunday, a whole day to relax - once the leadership debrief is finished.

Reaching for plates in the cabinet, I startle as she swats at me. “Go sit down,” she commands.

I prop my fists on my hips. “If you think you’re going to serve me while I sit there and do nothing, you’re damn wrong. You do everything for everyone else, but in this house, I get to take care of you.” She blinks at my declaration while I grab two plates and select the biggest muffin for her. I can’t help but smirk at her wide-eyed surprise as I cut open the muffins and slather them with butter.

The fridge is devoid of fruit, but at least we have milk, and I set two glasses of it on the table beside our plates, before settling in a chair and pulling her down into my lap.

“Really? I’m eating my breakfast from here?” she quips, slinging an arm around my neck.

“Yeah,” I say, grinning up at her, far too pleased with myself for the little that I did. “I like you right where I can keep an eye on you.”

Rolling her eyes, she takes her first bite. I’m captivated as her tongue swipes her lip to get the small crumbs.

With my free hand, I lift my breakfast and take a bite. But the hints of cleavage under that apron are wildly distracting. After my second bite nearly misses my mouth, I admit, “I think it would be easier for me to eat if you were wearing a bit more clothing.”

She scowls at me. “That’s ridiculous.” And then, proving a point, she unties the apron and tosses it over the empty chair.

I try to keep my eyes on her face, but that lasts about half a second, before I’m hungrily surveying the way her breasts stretch the thin, black fabric, barely contained.

“Fuck,” I mutter.

My fingers skim the waistband of the boxers on her hips. I can’t help dipping a finger under the edge, biting back a groan when I feel nothing but smooth skin. Suddenly, I’m not hungry for breakfast. In fact, I might starve to death if I don’t get my mouth on her skin..

Marigold tilts her head, her smile turning sly. “Sorry, I’d better go get dressed,” she teases before popping to her feet and taking a step toward her bedroom. My hand shoots out and grabs her wrist, pulling her back into my lap. “Oh, did I get it wrong? Am I wearing too much?” She’s too sassy for her own good.

The most beautiful flush stains her cheeks, spreading down her neck. I close my mouth over her inner wrist still constrained in my hand, biting the skin gently. The contented sigh slipping from her mouth is intoxicating.

She reaches for the hem of her shirt, and I band an arm across her stomach to stop her. “If you take anything off, I’ll miss my meeting. ”

“We can’t have that.” She squirms against me. Rose gold hair cascades against my cheek.

“Not only the meeting. I probably wouldn’t let you leave this cabin for days.”

“Oh, no.” She draws out the words, her voice dripping with honeyed sarcasm while her hand comes up and she slowly slides the spaghetti strap over the edge of her shoulder.

A low growl escapes me, my control slipping. “Marigold, I’m serious.” I can’t peel my eyes away from that stretch of bare skin from neck to shoulder and the way it dips above her clavicle.

“So am I,” she whispers, temptation in her eyes.

That’s all it takes.

Shoving our breakfast dishes back, I lift her onto the table. Her blue-green eyes glow from within, and those pillowy lips part in surprise. Her knees separate as I stand and press into her.

She lets out a giggle that sounds like pure light as I press a hand to the small of her back to keep her from falling back into our plates. Through the rush of need, I’m barely aware of her hands going to my neck and jaw, before she’s kissing me and I’m devouring her.

Her tongue runs along my lips, urging them open. My heart stutters at the way she nips her teeth over my bottom lip for a second before delving into a deep kiss that leaves me starved for oxygen.

With a cute little snarl, her nails press into my skin, spurring me on. I break off from her mouth, kissing her jaw and then the hollow right under it .

I’d like to take my time, but it’s too much of a frenzy as I’m kissing and licking along her neck, looking for a spot that will make her moan. Knowing that no one else has ever done this makes me illogically possessive.

As my tongue teases the skin right at the base of her throat, she lets out a little choked sound. I suck softly, loving the way her nails dig in and her thighs squeeze my hips. I could spend all day doing this.

“More,” she whimpers.

Her hand closes over mine and drags it up to her breasts. She follows it by pulling at her tank top, but somehow I stop her. I’m not sure where the willpower comes from. “Keep your clothes on, woman,” I say through clenched teeth. However, I can’t help myself from running my thumb down the line of her breast, between them, and then over her nipple. The thin fabric does nothing to hide the shape of her.

She takes advantage of my fixation, pressing her own mouth to my neck. The feel of her tongue running along my throat makes me bend, pushing into her, my hand tightening over the softness of her breast. The minx responds by tipping her hips up, so I’m pushing against the warm center of her. I’m grateful in that moment for the thick black sweatpants between us, because those boxers are not enough of a barrier. She compounds it with a nibble of her teeth on my neck.

Too much.

I step back, gasping for air or anything that can calm the inferno burning me alive .

Marigold is flushed, her eyes glowing despite her pupils eating up the irises. Her chest heaves while she regains her breath, and then she throws back her head and laughs.

Dumbfounded, I stare at her. My brain struggles to restart rational thought. When she looks back at me, she says, “That was fucking amazing.” All I can do is shake my head and gawk at her. “Do you really have to leave?” she asks, biting her lip as she stares boldly into my eyes.

The challenge of her tone gives me something to focus on other than the scent of her skin. Slowly, I lean in, letting my breath feather across her neck, keeping my lips a millimeter above hers. She arches, desperate to resume devouring each other, but I stay barely out of reach. “I really do.”

Walking away, I have to adjust myself. Her disappointed growl follows me out of the house. Closing the door behind me, I lean back against it, heart beating frenetically.

What the hell was that? Friends that kiss, my ass. That was a full-blown seduction.

It takes all my self-control to not race back into the cabin. If that is her idea of friends with benefits, I cannot imagine her feelings about being mates. Shoving my hand through my hair, I tug at the roots aimlessly.

With great effort, I force myself away from the door. There will be time later to figure out what Marigold is thinking. I have a feeling that whatever she wants, she’ll get. This woman will be my undoing .

Heath paces, making all of us terribly uncomfortable seated around the table while our Alpha stands. The emotions pulsing through the room are suffocating.

Slate rests his forehead in his hand, looking more than a little stressed. Leaning in, I ask, “Where’s Hazel?”

“Running patrol,” he answers quietly. “She wanted to check the Granite Ridge border this morning.”

Hawthorne’s hands are folded in his lap, his ankle propped up on the opposite knee. He’s had a decade plus of experience over Slate and I, and it shows in how calmly he faces everything.

After what seems like hours, Heath speaks. “I’ve been thinking about Ferris and Zephyr’s alliance. They were meeting regularly for a long time, and now Zephyr seems to have truly renounced him.”

“Like he said, he could have realized it was better for his pack if he was aligned closer to us and the Valley Pack,” Hawthorne offers, though he looks unconvinced.

Slate drags his hand through his long hair. “Do we think it’s a farce?”

Heath sinks into a chair, opposite Slate. “That’s my intuition, yes.”

“That would explain Ferris’s lack of reaction. Not protesting our statements, not trying to place blame on anyone else,” I say.

“But why?” Slate asks. “What are they playing at? ”

Gripping the edge of the table, I swallow and share my theory. “My mind keeps going to the Raven Pack. It seems unlikely that Nyx has been aggressive toward Ironcrest.”

“I agree,” Hawthorne says, “I asked Elm last night, and he feels the same. He is contacting his relatives there for us.”

“Thank you,” Heath says. “So what about the Raven Pack, Jasper?”

I exhale stiffly. “If Zephyr paints Nyx as the aggressor, he has grounds to retaliate. And who knows how far that retaliation could go.”

The entire room goes still. Slate’s dark forest eyes connect with mine, his gaze intense.

“He wants to take over the Raven Pack,” Heath concludes.

Hawthorne curses. “Do we think Granite Ridge supports the plan? Maybe they are working together.”

“That would explain their show of standing apart, so no one would suspect their alliance in the matter,” Hawthorne muses.

“Diffusing suspicion,” I conclude.

“We need to talk with Nyx,” Heath says.

Slate sighs. “If she’ll see us.”

“We’ll head up there if we have to,” Heath answers.

Hawthorne pinches the bridge of his nose. “That will be an uphill battle.”

“Hopefully Marigold’s grandparent’s come through for us, then,” I mutter without thinking. Slate glances at me briefly as I say Marigold’s name. Clearing my throat, I say, “We need to watch those cameras we installed, and I think we should consider drones.”

“Drones?” Hawthorne echoes, his eyebrows rising. Heath’s mouth turns downwards, but he looks to Slate.

“If we have any evidence to support our suspicions, it’s more than warranted. But ideally, Nyx would agree and we could stay on her side of the border to block anything from happening,” Slate says.

Hawthorne nods. “We really need to talk to her. I’ll see what else I can do.”

Heath looks to Slate. “Set up a special patrol to run the borders along Granite Ridge, Raven, and Ironcrest.” The Beta nods. “Jasper, send me the information on drones. Cost, how long it’ll take to get them up and running, all of that.”

“Yes, Alpha.”

“I’m going to call Cashel and see what he thinks. Let’s check back in the morning, or come find me sooner if you have anything notable.”

With that, we are dismissed. Slate trails after Heath, and Hawthorne claps me on the back as we head toward the door. “That’s clever thinking. I hope you’re wrong, but I suspect you aren’t.”

“Thank you, me too,” I say grimly. We walk together toward the training building, but as he steps through the metal door, I turn south toward my cabin and the gorgeous girl waiting inside.