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7. Sparring and Subterfuge

MARIGOLD

“G ood morning, Sunshine,” Jasper murmurs into my hair before he climbs out of his bed. My muscles are liquid and I couldn’t follow him if I wanted to. The sheets smell like him. Burying my nose into my pillow, I breathe in the soft spiced scent. It’s so comforting, I start to drift off again.

After his morning run, I hear the shower crank on. I’d better get myself up. But it’s so cozy, I don’t move until he comes into his bedroom wrapped only in a towel, with an expanse of wet, golden skin that heats my blood.

Memories of his mouth against mine bombard me, urging me to leap at him, wrap myself around him like a deranged sloth. Suck on that full bottom lip.

Maybe I’m less okay than I said.

Scrambling out of bed, I head into my room to change, giving him privacy. And as I shimmy out of my clothes, I don’t think of him taking that towel off. Not one bit.

Saturdays are for sparring. Every pack member takes either a position like Theta or Zeta, or a normal job, like mine. But regardless, everyone needs to train and be prepared to defend our territory at any time.

I meet Hazel in the training building. Her dark hair bobs in a perky ponytail. “Ready for some exercise?” she says, as if she doesn’t work out every single day. Hazel’s only been a wolf for a few months, and she trains harder than anyone else to make up the difference in experience. As the Alpha’s heir, she has to be ready for challenges. Yet again, I’m glad to not have a leadership position within the pack. Teaching might also make me sweat, but it’s way more fun than the endless training exercises that leave bruises across Jasper’s ribs.

“Yup!” I twist at the waist, swinging my arms and giving her a bright smile.

Hazel’s eyes wrinkle as she smiles back. “You look peppy today. More than normal, I mean.”

“Hey, ladies!” Onyx yells through the open garage door. A few older wolves are setting out for a run, but otherwise it looks pretty quiet .

I toss my jacket down on a bench. “Hey Onyx, ready to get your ass handed to you?”

“You couldn’t handle me,” he shoots back with a grin.

Warmth presses against my arm as a hand slides across my lower back to grip my waist, igniting sparks under my skin. “Don’t waste your time with him.” Jasper’s voice leaves goosebumps along my arms.

“Think you can do better?” I flirt back, leaning into his chest.

One eyebrow arches. “You’ll see.”

Sliding past me, he greets everyone. Cedar is missing, and Onyx makes an excuse for him, something about the chicken coup.

“Marigold, you up for a match?” Hazel asks.

“I’ll take on Jasper, actually,” I announce.

“Are you sure you want to fight me?” he asks, warning in his eyes despite the fact it’s clearly what he wants.

Shrugging, I hold my arm across my chest in a stretch. “Hazel can train with Slate today. I want to see what you’ve got.”

This leaves Onyx, and he decides to practice with weaponry, throwing slim daggers into a target nailed to a tree.

Slate is more than happy to grapple with his mate, and within minutes they’re trading punches and kicks in the graceful way partners do when they know each other's movements as thoroughly as their own.

“Ready?” Jasper asks, ushering me onto the blue mats. “Want to up the stakes? ”

“How?” I bounce between the balls of my feet, psyching myself up.

“Loser has to give the winner a massage,” he murmurs.

“Sure, I’d love a massage.”

Jasper watches me, utterly relaxed.

Edging forward, I take my first strike, my fist flying at his shoulder. His arm knocks it aside, but instead of simply blocking, he surges forward, forcing me to step sideways and wrapping his arm across my upper chest and hauling me toward him. He could easily put me in a headlock. Biting my cheeks, I resist the urge to melt into him. The corded muscles of his forearm stand out, begging for me to run my fingers along them.

“I think you’re my favorite sparring partner, Sunshine.”

“What’s with the nickname?” I ask, waiting for him to release me, instead of struggling against a hold I know I can’t break. That is, without kicking his shins or scratching his face, or some other move that would injure him. And I like my roommate uninjured, to be honest.

“I think it suits you,” he purrs, voice quiet enough it’s private. The heat of his breath feathers against my ear. My body shivers and he releases me with a low laugh.

Frustrated at my reaction, I set my weight back and twist, aiming a hard kick to his ribs. Grinning, he grabs my ankle and uses my own momentum to throw me onto the mat. Walking past, he waits for me to scramble up .

That was humiliating. I thought I was a bit better than this. I’ve beat other opponents. But other opponents don’t lean in and whisper distracting words.

“I’m going to get you back for that,” I say, panting.

Taking my time, I look for an opening and feint a punch followed with a swift kick to his thigh, lower so he can’t grab me. His smile returns, something akin to pride warming his face.

He likes when I successfully land a hit? Fantastic.

I step closer, ready to try the same trick again. But the scent of baking spices wraps about me, muddling my focus. He gets close, too close. I can’t land a hit when his forearm shoves my chest, and his other hand grabs my shoulder, twisting me as I fall backwards. My torso hits the mat, arms pinned behind me in his grasp. His knees frame my hips as he kneels over me. “Had enough? I’m happy to throw you on your back a few more times if you’re not done.”

Growling in irritation at his teasing, I wrench my wrists free and roll to my feet, causing him to step back. His cocky grin usually amuses me, but right now I want to strangle him.

I throw another punch allowing him to block it, but then hook my other hand at the nape of his neck. Not a traditional move. He hesitates, trying to read my intentions. Putting my weight into it, I grab the arm he blocked with and tug, while pulling his entire body sideways. He goes down like a rock. My knee hits the ground beside him and I grin down triumphantly.

His blonde hair fans across his forehead and I like seeing his typical sleek composure ruffled. He smiles back, sweet and genuine. “Very good,” he praises, his words lighting my whole body up.

Why is he so stunning? It’s unfair to the rest of us.

After two more matches that include me landing on my back approximately five times each, Hazel suggests we shift and find the twins for a good run.

Jasper’s hands find my hips as he leans in. “We can finish this later, if you like.”

“Maybe, if you behave yourself,” I flirt back, blushing at my own breathy tone.

That was interesting. Last night, he said it was stupid to kiss me and told me to pretend it never happened. But the way his hands grip my skin and pull me to him, I’m not sure what to think.

Onyx retrieves Cedar, and we all shift, stashing our clothing away in lockers. My reddish gold coat looks particularly bright against Jasper’s snowy white as he rubs his shoulder along mine.

Slate leads us toward the doorway and into the trees. Energy floods me, excitement that is not only mine.

Jasper’s white wolf dashes ahead, nipping at Slate’s tail as the boys race. Hazel runs beside me. The forest chatters around us, swaying branches, scurrying chipmunks, and even the hurried chirruping of western tanagers.

The boys are out of sight when we hear the rustling and growling. Excitement seeps through our pack bond. We increase our speed until they come into view.

Onyx’s dark wolf rolls on the ground with Slate, while Jasper bounces around them. As Slate pins Onyx, Jasper dives for him. They collide in a whirl of gray and white, snapping and shoving with paws.

Jasper subdues Slate for a moment, but the older brother squirms free and abruptly dives at him. With a bark, Jasper takes off running again. Onyx and Slate give chase.

Hazel watches them go, and I’m confident if she was in her human form, she’d be rolling her eyes. Stepping closer, I nudge her muzzle with my nose in a sign of affection. She tilts her head, ears swiveling. With a wag of her tail, she dashes after the boys, inviting me to give chase.

Our endurance as wolves is considerably better than as humans, and it’s another hour before we are panting and finished with our play. I haven’t won a single game of chase, but the attachment and loyalty between us is stronger than ever.

JASPER

Eight of us gather around the meeting table, the air heavy. Heath sits at the center, with his heirs beside him. Hawthorne rests across from him, with me at his right hand. Fisher, our Delta and trainer, sits on his other side.

To Hazel’s right slouches Sable, Marigold’s grandmother. The healer’s long memory of the local packs has been helpful in preparations for the Alpha Counsel. And at the end perches Linden, our business manager. With mousy brown hair and a reserved demeanor, Linden often joins our meetings to take notes for logistics, budget, or supplies, but I don’t know him well. Being a few years older, we’ve never socialized together.

“How large of a team do you think each pack will bring?” Slate asks. Hazel leans back in her chair, her fingers tapping against her chin.

Hawthorne exhales. “I would expect around ten. Their top three, and then half a dozen guards or so.”

“We should set a maximum number,” Hazel muses.

Sable purses her lips. “Setting a rule about how many wolves an Alpha can bring is a sure way to make them wary and trigger them breaking that rule.” Hazel frowns at her.

“We already have some advantage as the hosts, though it’s minimal. I don’t think anyone will bring twenty wolves, it would make them look frightened,” Heath says. “They’ll want to appear confident and powerful in their own right.”

Nodding, Hawthorne adds, “Ferris and Zephyr will likely display wealth in any way they can. And all of them are likely to bring not only their closest advisors, but also their most physically impressive.”

“Displaying power without numbers,” I conclude. Hawthorne’s mouth quirks, his approval sending a satisfied warmth through my chest.

“So who do we want to bring?” Fisher asks.

“Everyone here, although I think I’d prefer you stayed behind with our pack as leader de facto in my absence.” Fisher nods at Heath’s edict .

“There is no reason for me to join you.” Sable raises her chin. Heath nods in acknowledgment.

“So how many additional Zetas and Thetas should we bring?” Slate asks.

“Two,” Heath says, “Lazuli and Cassia.” The mated pair make an impressive team. Lazuli stands tall and intimidating with his athletic build. Cassia is smaller, but she is perhaps our strongest Zeta. She’s quick, clever, and fairly ruthless, although only in a fight. It’s quite the contrast to her calm temperament and role as a mother to Oliver, the youngest baby in our pack. He’s six months younger than Dahlia and only recently started running.

“I’d like for us to have additional security measures,” Hazel says.

“Yes?”

“Perhaps additional members standing by at a distance? Vale, Elm, and Aven?” Slate suggests, mentioning the last three of our warriors. Elm is Marigold’s father and the oldest of our Zetas, and Vale is the youngest Theta at barely eighteen, though Vale’s talents at scouting earned him the position as a teenager.

Several people nod at the suggestion. Taking a measured breath, I say, “Perhaps a hidden stash of additional weapons within easy reach?”

Fisher’s lip curls. He knows I mean handguns, and he disdains them. Though we pack in shots of wolfsbane which disable our opponents instead of kill, he still sees it as dishonorable. That belief makes him a critic of me .

“Yes, please arrange that,” Heath says. I fight to keep my face relaxed when I want to smirk. Hazel’s gaze flicks to me and her mouth twitches in a subtle praise.

Heath sits up straighter. “What do we know about the objectives of each pack? We need to consider how their desires may conflict.”

This is Hawthorne’s area of expertise. He leans forward, speaking directly to his Alpha. “Zephyr seems intent on rebuilding an alliance with us, at the expense of his relationship with Ferris. So we are primed for a conflict between them in addition to Ferris’s general dislike of us. But outside of them, I don’t foresee any requests or complications from the Valley Pack. So it’s whatever we bring to the table.”

“What are we pushing for?” Hazel asks. Her wide brown eyes look up at her uncle.

“Peace and order,” Heath says simply.

Slate frowns. “We need to publicly hold Granite Ridge accountable for their recent offenses toward us.”

“Do we?” Sable asks. I scowl at her. Knowing the depths of her unkindness to Marigold has set the healer in a new light for me, and I see her compassion extends furthest for those she is healing, and least for her family.

“Everyone is already aware of their crimes,” Hazel says, crossing her arms. As the chief victim, her word will weigh the most in this matter.

“Do you want a public apology or other repercussions?” Heath asks .

Hazel’s face scrunches up as she thinks. “Only if it benefits the pack. My pride is not delicate.” Her uncle nods approvingly.

Respect for Hazel rises up in me. Less than a year ago, she was living as a human in Los Angeles. But now she has blossomed into a generous and competent leader.

Smiling at her, I joke, “I mean, you already took their heir away from them, so there’s that.” She rolls her eyes at me. From the corner of my eye, I catch the slightest smirk on Hawthorne’s face.

“We could focus on our requested agreements including a counterbalance for their slights,” Linden suggests, surprising me.

“I like that idea,” Hazel says. Slate’s brows crease together. I suspect he’d prefer a public display of groveling and punishment.

Everyone pauses, the topic heavy. Finally Heath says, “We need to carefully consider what changes we may enact. And have variations prepared to adjust for the other pack’s input.

“The goal is peace. So we must consider the actions that threaten our peace and what measures we can take to curb them.”

“Granite Ridge’s thirst for new recruits,” Slate says automatically, and I have to agree.

Heath glances around, checking the faces of all of his subordinates. I give a small nod.

“They have outright stolen wolves from nearby packs,” I say carefully, “but not from our neighboring packs, excluding their move against Hazel last year. So they have deniability. So whatever guidelines we push for agreement need to take that into account.”

“What about using phrasing that better fits what they are claiming to do?” Hazel asks.

“They say the other wolves are choosing to join them,” I say grimly.

“You could call it head hunting,” Hazel says, earning confused frowns. “Or poaching. They’re poaching wolves from other packs.”

“How can that be monitored or enforced?” Fisher asks.

“They should be held accountable. If we push the point of their offenses toward us, we could ask for interventions such as inspections,” Slate says.

Heath sighs. “Unfortunately, I think that’s unlikely to work.”

“It’s more than fair,” Slate says, his brow furrowing.

“That doesn’t mean it’s doable,” Sable reprimands. Slate’s mouth thins, his irritation a physical sensation through our pack bond. He’s hot headed when it comes to his mate.

“There has to be solutions we haven’t thought of yet,” Hazel says, smoothing things over.

The debate trails off, eventually being set aside for a future discussion. As the last order of business, Hawthorne outlines the top leadership of each pack to remind everyone of names and positions.

My parents, Ferris and Sienna, of the Granite Ridge Pack, will likely bring whoever their current Beta is, though that role changes hands often so we have no assured name. And perhaps they will bring their heir, my younger sister Ember. I’m curious how her training has evolved in my absence, since she is now first in line and not a spare. Knowing her, she’s probably ecstatic. I’m not doubtful she had been scheming to remove me at some future date, and I did it for her.

Zephyr leads Ironcrest, with a Beta named Beryl, and his Gamma, Dell. Beryl is effectively Zephyr’s heir, for he has no mate or children that we are aware of.

Unfortunately, Nyx of the Raven Pack will not be joining us, therefore the only other pack participating will be the Valley Pack.

Cashel has led the Valley Pack nearly as long as Heath has led Bracken Creek. He’s our closest ally. He’s likely to come with his heir, Beta, and son, Malachite. Hawthorne reminds us that his Gamma is a cousin, Zinnia.

My head is swimming by the time we’re done. But during the Counsel, my only role is to observe and interpret the actions of the leaders that I know. And to provide security. I won’t even be at the table.

We’ve discussed and planned for this meeting for months, but now that it’s concrete and fast approaching, anxiety gathers in my gut. Particularly with Zephyr’s strange meeting a few days ago. I have no idea what to expect when I set eyes on my parents.

The tension in my shoulders uncoils as I approach my cabin and hear giggling from inside. Marigold is perched on the sofa with a stack of papers on her lap .

She looks up and her face brightens from relaxed amusement to affection.

“Whatcha up to?” I ask, settling beside her.

Holding up the pages, she says, “Just grading. Do you want to help?”

“How would I know what’s correct?” I ask, spinning the pink felt marker from the table between my fingers.

“It’s math from elementary school, I think you can manage,” she says, giving me a lopsided grin.

“Sounds doable,” I say, hand squeezing her leg pressed against mine. She extracts a paperclipped bundle from under the pages she’s already marking up and sets it across my lap.

“Anything that’s wrong, circle what’s incorrect and they’ll have to redo it in class. And if it’s the word problems on the next page and they didn’t show calculations, circle the empty space where calculations should have been.”

It’s easy enough. There’s only six pages, and they’re pretty close to perfect. Marigold leans over, throwing her head back in a laugh. “Check this out,” she says, holding a page up.

“If you have eight apples,” I read, “and eat five of them, how many do you have left?”

Marigold reads the scrawled answer, “An upset tummy.” I snort, checking the name at the top - Daisy. “She is so sassy,” Marigold says, giggles punctuating her words.

A few pages later, I hold out a paper toward her, it’s from one of the younger students. “Triangle, square,” I read, “hexagon, and…” pausing for dramatic effect, I point to the rhombus, “a squished square.”

“Geez,” she says, rolling her eyes.

I work through the rest of the pages fairly quickly, and help Marigold with a second bundle. Math finished, she pulls out a larger pile of multiple choice quizzes.

“These are super boring. I’ve been putting them off for ages. Do you want to watch a movie or something while I suck it up and finally grade these?”

“I don’t have a T.V.,” I say, frowning.

“My laptop has a bunch of movies loaded up. Pick whatever you like.” An ancient, thick laptop sits closed on the coffee table, a charging cord snaking over to the wall.

Easing it open, I spot a folder labeled movies right on the desktop. Marigold’s nose is in her tests, and she sticks her tongue out as she starts writing a note on one. I smirk, seeing her selection of cheesy early 90’s slasher thrillers and chick-flicks.

“You’ve got some interesting taste in movies,” I say.

She wrinkles her nose, pushing her knee into my hip. “Hey, these are classics.”

“Any preference?”

“Pick something you haven’t seen.”

I’m familiar with most of them, but haven’t actually watched most, save for a few horror movies. Trying to avoid overthinking it, I pick a particularly cheerful looking romantic comedy .

Marigold hums her approval, and I can’t help reaching my arm around her shoulder so she nestles against my chest. I’d watch anything if it meant she was this close.

Eventually she completes her grading and she slides down until she’s laying across my lap. My hands groove through her hair, marveling at how the reddish gold waves gleam in the low afternoon light.

“We need to get dinner,” she realizes as the credits are rolling. I want to stay there with her, stroking her hair and enjoying her smiles, but she needs to eat.

We’re late for dinner, and everyone else seems to be sitting with relatives. Many people are already finishing their meals and cleaning up.

Luckily, Crickett hasn’t put the food away yet, and we’re able to heap Chinese food onto plates.

Marigold picks a quiet table on the edge of the gathering. We sit across from each other, and I miss being close, but it’s nice to watch her expressions as she tries the fried rice.

“So if you had a different job from teaching, what would you do?” I ask, curious.

She takes a big bite of sesame chicken and stares into the distance while she chews. Eventually, she says, “probably something where I get to help lots of people. Like being a hairdresser or handyman. What about you?”

“Environmental lawyer,” I answer without thinking. I used to imagine life among humans, when I thought perhaps that would be my only escape. One I’m glad I was too cowardly to take. A wolf without a pack is cut off from a vital part of themselves.

“Why?”

“I’m not sure,” I say. “I took a lot of classes on environmental sustainability in college. And it seems like something worth doing. If I wasn’t involved in a pack, I guess.”

“Interesting,” she says, studying me. “Okay, new question. You win the lottery, what are you buying?”

I shrug. “I don’t know.”

“What about a fancy sports car?” she asks.

“I’ve got the car I want.”

“What about something ridiculous like a lifetime supply of your favorite candy. Or a bathtub full of sprinkles.”

“That sounds like your dream.” And now I’m imagining her in a bathtub of sprinkles with whipped cream instead of bubble bath. Freaking fantastic.

“Maybe.” Her giggle dances around me, infusing warmth into my skin. “But I think I’d prefer a swimming pool full of marshmallows.

“What would you buy?”

Marigold pauses, nibbling on the tines of her fork. “I would have said my own cabin. But I’m kind of enjoying staying in yours.” She grins at me, and it draws out my own smile in response. “But a car would be nice. Something practical but also cute like a sunflower yellow jeep.”

“I could see you in something like that,” I say. It’s tempting to make that vision happen, but a new car is not a gift you give to a friend. Maybe someday .

She asks more inane questions and we laugh over our answers. It’s a luxury to eat together during a pack dinner. No one bothers us or even looks twice at us, or not that I notice. It feels normal, like we are a couple. For a few minutes, I can pretend.

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