2. Bonfires and Brothers

MARIGOLD

T he campfire crackles as we settle on the split log benches and old Adirondack chairs weathered gray. The scent of woodsmoke mingles with the crisp pine air.

Cedar gathers an armful of kindling while Jasper snags the blankets we use during the winter months from the covered porch. Spring is solidly here, but the winter chill still creeps in once the sun sets.

“Feeling cold?” Jasper stands, a blanket draped over his shoulders with one side held out in an offer to share. When he first arrived, looking like a kicked puppy, I sat with him and shared a blanket, and since then it’s been our tradition .

I let out a long sigh. It’s been a day. I broke up two squabbles today and comforted crying children three times. When talking about school, I only share the cute moments, but the truth is most days, it’s draining. As if sensing my tension, Jasper rubs his hand up and down my arm. I can’t help melting into him.

Slate pulls Hazel into his lap in their favorite chair, tucking another blanket around them. She nestles her nose into his neck, placing a kiss across the ring of tiny scars that show they’re a mated pair who have claimed each other.

“Do we have any s’mores tonight?” Slate asks. Hazel has a major sweet tooth, and he’s always looking for ways to spoil her.

“I think the store is out of marshmallows,” Cedar says apologetically. Onyx lets out a dramatic gasp.

“Are you serious?” Hazel pops up. “Do we have any at home, babe?”

Slate shakes his head.

“I think our mom made some brownies. Do you want some?” Onyx asks. Their mother is our resident baker and makes the most incredible desserts.

Hazel nods enthusiastically.

Happy, I tip my head against Jasper’s shoulder. Onyx hands me a napkin with a thick chocolate confection, the top glossy and crisp.

“This is so mother-fudging delicious,” Hazel moans through a mouthful of brownie, causing me to snort. She holds it out and Slate takes a bite. My heart squeezes at the gesture. It’s what mates do, feeding each other. I hope someday I’ll have that .

The first bite of brownie is gooey and chewy and intensely chocolatey. “Yeah, this is a foodgasm for sure,” I murmur.

Jasper coughs on his own mouthful.

“Careful, don’t choke,” I warn. “You’ve had enough embarrassment today already.”

Clearing his throat, he argues, “Hey, I landed Onyx on his ass. Just because Slate beat me, it doesn’t mean anything. I was tired already.”

Smirking at him, I lick a smudge of chocolate off my finger.

“Dude, I took it easy on you,” Onyx says. “Hey, who do you think would win in a fight right now between me and Cedar? He hasn’t agreed to fight me in ages!”

“You guys are pretty evenly matched. It’s usually a toss-up,” Slate says.

I have to agree with him. Neither twin seems to have the upper hand since they are the same build, trained by the same father, and neither one is particularly motivated to take their combat training seriously.

“I think I’d need to see you guys go at it again,” I say, brows arching.

“It’s a waste of time. Any real opponents will have a different fighting style,” he says with a shrug.

Onyx scowls. “You sound like Dad.”

“At least sparring keeps us in shape,” Jasper adds, and I can’t help but notice the corded muscle in his forearm as he crumples his napkin and tosses it into the fire .

“I have a better question,” I interrupt. Time to lighten this conversation. Campfires are supposed to be fun! “My students were arguing about this yesterday. If you had to shift into any other animal, what would it be?”

“That’s easy, I’d be a bear,” Onyx declares, puffing up his chest.

Hazel gives him a knowing look. “No, I think you’d be a raccoon,” she jokes, her lips twitching.

“How about a tiger?” Onyx asks, pouting.

Fighting down giggles, I add, “Maybe a possum!” Jasper lets out a laugh and I turn to him, raising an eyebrow in question. “What about you?”

Jasper bites his full bottom lip, his eyes drifting upwards to the stars peeking between the branches. “Maybe something that can fly, like a hawk.”

“Oh, I love that idea,” I murmur. My fingers press into the rough edge of the bench beneath us.

“I’d be a goat.” Cedar states. Everyone stares for a moment.

Slate’s brows draw together as he cocks his head. “A goat?”

“Yeah, they’re helpful and they seem to always be having a good time.”

Hazel wipes away a tear from laughing so hard. “Yeah, that checks out.” She twists, cupping Slate’s jaw. “What about you?”

“No idea. What would you pick for me?”

“Oh, let me think.” She sucks her cheeks in. “How about a golden retriever? ”

Onyx guffaws, nearly tumbling off the bench as he throws his head back.

“You don’t think I’m more of a german shepherd?” Slate asks, his dark hair falling across his forehead as he leans back to narrow his eyes at his mate.

“How would you know? You guys don’t have dogs,” Hazel argues, her eyes sparkling.

“But we still know about them!” Onyx blurts, his words blending into laughter.

Jasper leans forward, arms resting on his knees. “What about something like a stag? Like those big elk. Very majestic. No one messes with them.”

“Yeah, let’s go with that,” Slate agrees, gesturing toward his brother.

Watching Jasper’s smirk, I have an idea. Bumping him with my shoulder, I say, “Actually, I think you’d be a fox.”

“Why?” he asks, his voice dropping. I can feel his breath on my temple.

“You’re clever and a smooth talker,” I tease, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. It’s getting too warm under here.

“I’m not sure if I should be offended or flattered,” he says, his smile far too charming. The brightness in his eyes reflects the dancing firelight, flames within seafoam.

“Better a fox than a golden retriever,” Slate grumbles, though his voice is gentle.

Hazel traces the dark trees tattooed across his forearm. “I love you just the way you are.” He leans in, catching her lips in a kiss .

Onyx lets out a cough that sounds remarkably like “Get a room.”

“They have a room, several of them,” Cedar answers automatically, his eyes on the flickering fire.

“What about you, Marigold?” Hazel asks, breaking away from her mate. Her amber eyes glow honey in the firelight.

Tugging my fingers through my hair, I debate. “A dolphin?”

“I love that idea,” Jasper says quietly. My cheeks flush, his praise setting off a flurry of butterflies in my stomach.

He raises his voice for the group. “I’ve got one, what superheroes do you think could be wolves?”

“Wolverine,” Cedar says.

“Obviously,” I agree.

The fire snaps, a few sparks floating into the air and up into the purple sky.

Slate adjusts in his seat, his hands curling around Hazel’s hips possessively. “What about Black Panther? He’s all about family, community, and helping people, right?”

“That makes sense to me,” Onyx says, producing a second brownie for himself and taking a huge bite.

The conversation lapses while we all try to come up with another answer. Hazel finally shrugs. “I have no clue, I’m not a comic girl.”

“It’s okay. You can’t be perfect in every way,” Slate teases, earning a pout from his mate. He murmurs apologies in her ear as she curls into him .

Onyx has that gleam in his eyes that means he’s starting trouble. “Hazel, did we tell you about the time Slate peed his pants over seeing some raccoons?”

“No!” She shoots up. “I haven’t heard about this.”

Jasper chuckles. “This sounds good.”

I press my lips between my teeth, trying to prevent my laughter from interrupting the story.

“It was nothing,” Slate growls, “I was five, and we were having a sleepover, and Onyx dared me to run around the cabin in the middle of the night.”

“In his boxers,” Cedar adds, a reluctant smile brightening his features.

“He was such a chicken!” Onyx says, his grin showing all of his straight, white teeth.

“There were over a dozen raccoons on the porch and when I tried coming back in, they all hissed at me. Of course, I was scared,” Slate explains.

I can’t hold my giggles in any longer, laughing so hard that tears come to my eyes.

Cedar nods, “We accidentally left snacks outside. That’s why there were so many.”

“You peed yourself?” Hazel asks between fits of laughter.

Slate shakes his head. “I don’t remember that part.”

“I do!” Onyx says brightly.

Hazel softens, hooking her hands behind his head. “That sounds fun. I wish I had grown up with you guys.”

My laughter dies away, seeing Jasper’s expression dull. There’s a stiffness in his posture that wasn’t there a moment ago. Jasper and Hazel are the only ones who didn’t grow up here. I know he doesn’t like to think about the years he spent under his parent’s rule.

Clearing her throat, Hazel changes the subject. “Hawthorne told me that almost everyone finally agreed to an Alpha Counsel! So it sounds like that’ll finally happen.”

“That’s amazing,” I yelp, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. He’s spent hours over the last few months negotiating with our neighboring packs to arrange such a meeting, and it hasn’t been easy.

The barest flush colors Jasper’s cheeks. “It’s a good step forward.”

The moment is perfect until Onyx adds, “And your shit-head dad can’t ignore you there.”

“Onyx!” I grimace. At least he hadn’t mentioned Sienna, the mother Jasper and Slate share. She’s the one I’m frightened of between the two Alphas.

Jasper laughs bitterly, “I’m sure he’ll do his best. But it doesn’t matter. I won’t be participating in the meeting, just assisting, if I’m there at all.”

It has to be hard to face your parents after they publicly announced you were dead to them.

I give his hand another reassuring squeeze. At some point, his fingers have threaded with mine, and it feels too nice to break away.

Cedar stretches. “It’s getting late and I have an early morning with Cheddarbelle and Cheesette.” Hazel barks a laugh at the goat’s names.

“Don't make fun of my baby girls,” Onyx snaps, though his voice is playful. I burst into my own fit of giggles until we’re both wiping away tears. Jasper smiles indulgently at me, his thumb stroking across my knuckles.

Cedar stands, smothering the flames and tidying up with practiced efficiency.

“You guys have been extra cozy tonight,” Onyx observes lightly, raising an eyebrow at me. I drop Jasper’s hand instantly.

What’s his problem? We always sit together. And I’d share a blanket with Onyx if he offered.

A blush creeps up my neck. “It’s cold, do you want me to freeze? I didn’t exactly see you offering to sit with me.”

“Don’t be mad, I’m just saying,” Onyx responds, lifting his hands in an offer of peace.

Hazel levels her gaze on me, her lips pursing. “Maybe you guys have been a little extra touchy tonight,” she says hesitantly.

Jasper is silent beside me, and I can feel how uncomfortable he is as he wipes his palms along his sweatpants.

“So what?” I say, “he’s basically my brother.”

“He’s not your brother,” Cedar points out, straightening.

A growl escapes me. “I said basically.” Swallowing, I plaster on my kindest smile. “Jasper is Slate’s brother, and we grew up together. So he’s like family, and if we were anything more, it would be kinda ick.”

Jasper finally reacts, shrugging the blanket from his shoulders and letting it pool beside me. “You don’t have to say it like I’m a toad,” he mutters .

Oh, shit.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it like that.” His frown deepens as I continue to babble. “Besides, if you were a toad, you’d be one of those adorable little tomato frogs.”

“Toads and frogs aren’t the same,” Cedar says quietly, walking away.

Jasper raises an eyebrow, eyes sharp with skepticism. “A tomato frog?”

“They’re my favorite reptile,” I say, goading a smile out of him. “Amphibian?”

I study his face for a moment, begging him to ignore my stupidity. The last thing I want to do is hurt his feelings. Even after these last few months, he is still sensitive about fitting in. I know Jasper belongs here with us. He’s a piece we didn’t know we were missing until he arrived. But he doesn’t see it that way.

“We okay?” I ask quietly.

“No harm, no foul,” he says as his lips curve into a smirk. Jasper winks at me and my breath rushes out, relieved he isn’t truly mad.

He stretches and steps away from our bench. “Night, everyone.”

“Good night.” I fold our blanket and hand it to Onyx.

Jasper gives me one last look, reassuring me that he isn’t upset before I make my exit.

Hazel wraps her arm around mine as we both stroll home, our paths intersecting until we meet my grandmother’s cottage.

Hazel and Slate’s home stands a short distance northeast. It’s a sprawling two-story cabin that sat unoccupied after Slate’s father passed away. Over the last season, the couple has renovated it, keeping the original charm while modernizing fixtures and appliances. It’s only been a few weeks since they moved in.

We walk in silence until my worry overcomes my good sense. “I feel like crap,” I tell her in a hushed voice. “I can’t believe I said that.”

Hazel cocks her head, waiting for more context.

“About him being ick.” Hearing the word again makes me cringe.

She raises her shoulders up and drops them with a sigh. “I shouldn’t have said what I said. I wasn’t thinking and I put you in an awkward position.”

“It’s fine,” I say automatically.

Hazel’s cheeks hollow as she weighs her words. “Honestly, I think it was on my mind because I’ve been concerned,” she says.

My brows furrow as I look at her. “Why?”

“Like I said, you guys have been touchy-feely.”

Scowling, I open my mouth to argue.

“I know shifters are more physically affectionate,” she says, cutting me off. “And I get that he can’t be physically close to me, so you’re the only cuddly one available.”

“That’s all it is,” I say, nails biting into my palms at the swirl of anger and embarrassment heating my cheeks.

“He really values your friendship. And it would suck if you accidentally led him on.”

“That’s not going to happen. ”

She’s right though. I’ve enjoyed comforting and encouraging Jasper over the last few months, but maybe we’ve gotten a little too close. Holding hands was perhaps over the line.

“I’m probably worrying for nothing. And I don’t think you’d ever do something like that intentionally. But he didn’t grow up with close friends like you did, and frankly, you’re always busy staring at Cedar, so I’m not sure you’d even notice if Jasper was staring at you that way.”

I bite my tongue. I should listen to her. Hazel is shockingly insightful and usually correct in her assessments. The situation calls for more thought on my part.

Slate catches up to us as we reach the corner of Cedar’s garden.

“Good night,” she says as her mate takes her hand and pulls her against him.

“Thanks for watching out for us, Hazel,” I say, even though she’s thoroughly distracted by whatever Slate is whispering in her ear. The lovebirds walk into the darkness, stealing kisses as they go.

Jasper is a good friend. Someone I can rely on. But that’s all it is. He’s never given me any indication otherwise, and I’ve been hung up on someone else for most of my life. It’s just a close friendship. Nothing to worry about. But maybe we should curb our physical affection, so people don’t get the wrong idea.

Creeping into the cottage, I open and close the front door at a glacial pace to avoid making any noise. Slipping my shoes off, I tip-toe into the hall .

My grandmother’s bedroom door is closed. I quietly visit the bathroom and change into an oversized t-shirt I stole from Cedar years ago. Recoiling at the rusty squeak, I ease the sofa bed out and crawl under the covers.

Fatigue presses down on every one of my muscles. But before my eyes can drift closed, I hear a door latch click and swing open. My grandmother emerges from her workroom, a tub full of glass jars clinking in her arms.

Sitting up, I rub my eyes. “Good evening, Grandmother.”

“Oh, you’re back. Good, you can help me,” she announces, setting the tub on the table.

Laying back, I sigh. “Sorry, I’m really tired.”

“Don’t be selfish, we need to prep these,” she says dismissively.

I bite back a groan and pull the covers off. There’s no arguing with her when she’s like this, though I’m too tired to deal with it.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m cautiously pouring rowanberry juice concentrate into the tiny jars. Even with a funnel, it’s tricky. My hands slip several times.

“Watch it,” Sable hisses. She sounds nothing like a grandmother. She’s the pack’s crabby healer and I’ve had enough.

“I’m too tired to be any help. Let me get some sleep and I’ll work on it before school.”

She whirls on me, careful to not slosh the pink liquid she’s holding in a quart jar. “You’re always staying up late with those friends, and now you can’t be bothered to help your pack?”

Tears prick my eyes. This feels like the last straw. I should keep my mouth shut, but if I saw a friend or one of my students being spoken to like this, I would tell them to stand up for themselves. Time to take my own advice.

JASPER

It would be kinda ick . Apparently, I’m ick .

The heat of her, through two layers of fabric, went from a comforting warmth to a searing burn when compounded with my embarrassment.

Stripping off my shirt, I grab a glass of water and lean against my kitchen counter. Not that I need Marigold to think that I’m desirable, but surely I’m better than a tomato frog.

My glass makes a plink as I set it aside and pull out my phone. What the fuck is a tomato frog? Bulging gold eyes stare back at me. Its vivid orange-red skin has a black stripe down its pudgy sides. Damn, it is pretty cute.

I’m wound too tight to sleep yet, so I settle across my bed with an old detective novel I found on the shelves of the cabin when I moved in. The pages are yellowed and someone has written notes in the margins, which somehow make the book more enjoyable.

As the protagonist stumbles across a second victim’s body, someone raps against the front door .

Apprehension prickles through me like frost, leaving a primal alertness in its wake. It’s after midnight. Pulse racing, I pull open the door.

“Hey.”

Marigold’s doe eyes stare back at me. “I’m sorry to bother you.”

A huge t-shirt drapes over her lean build, bunching around the waistband of her joggers. She’s scrubbed her face free of any makeup, leaving her looking raw and somehow ethereal. Darkness smudges under her eyes, triggering a protectiveness that has me stepping closer to her.

“Are you okay?” My stomach clenches.

Her smile wavers for a split second. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Placing a hand on the small of her back, I lead her inside, closing the door to block out the gloom and cold. Marigold looks around my cabin, her lips parted slightly.

Seeing her like this, my heart rate is not slowing. She’s always making sure everyone else is comfortable and happy, but I can see sadness beneath her sunny smile.

“So what’s up?” I ask, hooking a thumb into my pocket.

Her fingers curl around the strap of a backpack thrown over her shoulder. “I sort of got in an argument with my grandma.”

“That sucks,” I say cautiously.

“It’s fine,” she says, “It's just… There isn’t room for me in her cottage. And she’s so focused on her work, she do esn’t give me any space. I’m tired enough after a day of teaching, I can’t be her assistant when I get home. It’s too much.”

“That does sound like a lot.” My hands travel to her upper arms, steadying her as her words spill out of her like a damn breaking.

“And today she called me selfish! It’s not like I was sitting around doing nothing all day, but she expects me to jump to whatever task she thinks of at all hours of the night. There’s been times lately when I can’t even open up my sofa bed because she’s packed the room with her projects. I don’t think I can wait until I save up for my own place.”

By the end of her rant, she’s deflated, gaze on the ground, lashes wet.

“Marigold, I’m sorry. That’s really unfair.”

She sniffles. “Thanks.”

“How can I help?”

Those blue-green eyes meet mine and her tongue swipes across her lips. “Well…”

“Anything.” And I mean it.

“Can I stay with you tonight? Until I figure something else out?”

My stomach flips. “Really?”

I expect she’d have potential housemates fighting to have her. She’s wonderful. The idea of sharing a space with her is unexpectedly exhilarating.

“Never mind, it’s rude of me to just show up.” Her face closes off.

“No!” I blurt, “I was only wondering why I’m the lucky person you asked. ”

“Oh,” she answers, hesitating, “Well, my brothers like having their own rooms, so I don’t want to take mine back. Not to mention I don’t want to face my dad over this. And I first thought of staying with Hazel. But..”

“But she and Slate are all over each other,” I finish for her. “I wouldn’t want to stay with them either. Who knows what you’d see or hear?”

She giggles, pressing a hand over her mouth. “That’s about right. So that left you.”

Nodding, I cross my arms. “Sounds like I’m your last choice.”

Her brows furrow. “I think my last choice would be the twins. I can’t deal with that much Onyx.”

She says nothing about Cedar, but I’m not an idiot.

“I can go, don’t worry about it, Jasper.” She shrugs, turning toward the door.

No way am I letting her go.

Taking a wide step, I place my palm against the door so she can’t open it. “Why would you do that?” I ask, putting on an air of confidence I don’t feel.

“Cause you don’t want me here,” she answers.

“Absolutely not true. I would love to have you. I have an extra bedroom and you’re my best friend,” I say, “one of my best friends, I mean. You should stay here as long as you need to.”

She flings her arms around me in a hug, her face pressed into my chest. For a moment, I’m floating, a wonderful friend who smells like lemon and rosemary snug in my arms. The instinct to protect and provide surges in my chest.

Breathing through the rush, I finally say, “It’s late, let’s get your room set up. You’ll probably want some extra blankets. That room gets cold.”

She steps back, a teardrop sliding down her freckled cheek.

“Hey, none of that. This is a fun friend's sleepover, right?” I say.

“Sorry,” she says, batting away her tears and smiling brightly.

“You don’t have to apologize,”

The door to the spare room opens with a creak. A twin bed sits against a window framed in rounded wood trim. Marigold pads across the thick rug and slouches onto the coverlet, slinging her backpack onto the small desk beside her with a thud.

“Is this okay?” I grip the top of the door frame, leaning in without stepping across the threshold.

“It’s great, thank you.” Marigold pulls her feet up and wraps her arms around her knees. She looks so vulnerable, it takes all my self-control to not scoop her up. But that feels like crossing a boundary. Instead, I locate a thermal blanket and drape it over the foot of the bed.

“Okay, well, the bathroom is the middle door and my room is at the end. Come get me if you need anything.”

Her breathing has slowed, her expression softening. She deserves a comfortable space and a roommate who appreciates and respects her. That’s something I can provide .

Tapping the door frame, I wander to my bedroom and lay back on my bed. Eyes closed, I listen to the sounds of her closing the bathroom door, running the faucet, and then a few minutes later, closing her bedroom door.

This woman called me ick . But her luminous eyes don’t say ick to me, they’re full of the warmth and affection I’m starving for. But if I’m not careful, I could mess this up. I’ll never forgive myself if I hurt or upset her.

She’s one of the best people I know, the first one I look for at gatherings, and one I linger to talk with. And now she’s in my home. At this rate, I’ll never get to sleep.