6 Saucy Burritos & Half-Brothers

Ember

I’m grateful to be having a private dinner tonight, even if it’s with my half-brother who hates me. The suspicious stares of Onyx’s packmates follows me all afternoon, making me sick to my stomach.

It was a relief to head northeast toward Hazel and Slate’s cabin. Onyx walks with me, his careful glances monitoring my emotional state. Since when is he part-babysitter and part-therapist? I want to push him away, but the attentive concern is something I’ve never had before and it’s oddly comforting. Ever since he held me after our fight, he’s been quiet .

Onyx raps his knuckles on their door. A soft squeal and garbled voices inside tells me Hazel is way too excited about our dinner.

The door swings open with a soft creak. “Hi, Ember,” Slate says. “Thanks, Onyx. See you later.”

My guard hesitates, his eyes bouncing between me and my half-brother. “Bye,” I say, hoping he gets the hint and leaves. All of these moments between us are getting confusing and muddying up my thoughts. I’m looking forward to clearing my head, even if it means spending time with a sibling who hates me.

Jaw clenched, Onyx finally turns away and steps off the porch.

“Thanks for coming,” Slate says, stiff and polite.

My arms cross defensively. I don’t want to be here and I hate pleasantries. It would be better if he would air his grievances and we could deal with it. Although that might lead to me being chased out of their territory. Not the worst thing that could happen.

“Ember, do you want some soda?” Hazel calls. Slate holds the door open as I step into their home. The cabin feels old with warm wood trim running along the floor and the ceiling. The front door leads into a cozy living room with a set of leather armchairs and matching sofa. Further in, Hazel buzzes around a small kitchen. The shiny appliances stand out against aged, worn cabinets. The cabin is decidedly a mix of vintage and masculine design styles. Framed sketches dot the walls throughout.

“I’m good with whatever,” I answer, pausing in front of a drawing of a waterfall. The pencil is blended until the gradients are smooth, making the flow of the water in the foreground ethereal. It could pass for a photograph but somehow it portrays more emotion than a still photo ever could.

Hazel appears at my side, holding a chilled soda can in a koozie printed with a wolf wearing sunglasses. It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen.

“Slate is an amazing artist. It seems to run in the family.” Her smile is sweet and genuine, and it feels unwarranted. I’m not deserving of her kindness, of anyone’s kindness, least of all the girl I saw as an interloper needing to be disposed of when we first met.

Shrugging, I look back at the artwork. “Yeah, it’s nice.”

She watches me, waiting for me to volunteer personal information, but I have nothing to say to her. Her human upbringing is obvious at this moment.

“Ember, would you like to see the rest of the cabin?” Slate asks. Hazel sends him a look of gratitude as she heads back to the kitchen to finish some sort of salad.

Slate shows me the office through a door beside the kitchen. The room is set up with a drawing table and a computer desk. Tattoo equipment covers two shelves above the desk.

“What’s with the tattoo gun?” The question slips out of me before I can reign it in. Slate’s arms are covered in tattoos, down to his wrists, so clearly he likes them.

His mouth curves into the first real smile I’ve seen. It feels familiar, and I realize he has the same smile as Jasper. My heart tugs at me, reminding me that I miss my idiot brother. I’d trade Slate in for Jasper if I could.

“I did a tattoo apprenticeship a few years ago. I’ll tattoo you if you want, someday.” Slate offers. The stern Alpha persona is gone and he’s putting out a calming charismatic energy. I feel drawn to him and I don’t like it.

“No thanks,” I say cooly, but then curiosity gets the better of me. “Did you do Onyx’s tattoos?”

“Yeah,” he answers. “I’ve done everyone’s tattoos. Jasper even got his first one a few months ago.

“What?” My brother let Slate tattoo him? It feels a bit like a betrayal. Another sign that Jasper has fully integrated into this pack and left me behind.

Slate heads back to the door. “Yeah, Marigold’s wolf with sunflowers. Ask him to show you when he gets back.”

“Maybe.”

Upstairs holds only their bedroom, with a wide king bed covered in an old quilt, and a line of bookshelves on the wall opposite the windows. I would guess Hazel is the reader, since Slate seems to be the artist out of the two of them.

“Dinner’s ready!”

Back down the staircase, Hazel sets a casserole dish with a vibrant red sauce on the round table. I leave the empty seat to my right between Slate and myself. His arm goes to the back of Hazel’s chair possessively.

In short order, my plate is loaded up with a sauced-up chicken burrito and a pile of salad sprinkled with tortilla strips and tomato. The enchiladas are delicious.

Swallowing her first bite, Hazel smiles sweetly at me. “So, Ember, are you artistic at all like your brothers?”

“No really. I don’t draw or anything.”

“What do you like to do?” Slate asks.

“Um, not much. I listen to music, I guess.”

“Oh, like what kind of music?” Hazel’s voice brightens.

“All kinds. Two thousands rock is good. Nineties rap. Anything with a good beat. I’m not picky.”

“I love that,” she says. “It would be fun to trade some music. Do you ever read? Marigold and I have a little book club.”

“Not really.”

“Okay, well if you want to join us, you don’t even have to finish the book. We’d still like you to hang out with us.”

“I don’t think there will be time before I go home,” I say with a tight shrug.

“Of course. But you could always drive over for the day,” she suggests.

“My mom wouldn’t like that.”

After a minute of silence, Hazel runs her hand along Slate’s forearms and squeezes his wrist. They exchange looks.

Slate clears his throat. “Look, Ember, I wanted to apologize for yesterday. I know the conflict between our packs was difficult for all of us, and I’m really sorry you lost your dad. ”

I could have choked on the bite of meat in my mouth. Swallowing forcibly, I dab my mouth with my napkin, desperately sorting through the conflicting emotions caused by his confession.

“It wasn’t your fault,” I settle on. It’s tempting to blame him. I have for a long time. But after spending time here, I’m questioning the truth of it.

Slate’s voice drops. “I honestly don’t know what possessed her to do that.”

It’s painful to meet his gaze. “You’re her child too.”

His mouth curves into a grimace. “She picked him over me a long time ago.”

It feels too close to bonding, having a vulnerable conversation, sibling to sibling. I don’t want to be close with him. Some day we will be Alphas of separate territories and may have to face off.

“Well, I hope you feel special now.” The words are ice daggers.

Hazel sighs, her mouth turning down at the corners. Good. I’m their political hostage, not a long lost sister to embrace. So why do I feel so wretched?

Hazel fills the rest of dinner with small anecdotes about Jasper’s time with their pack over the eighteen months. It sounds like he’s had a lovely time building a life with them and his new mate. Without me.

It’s a relief when they wish me goodnight. Probably a relief for them too, since I wasn’t contributing anything to our conversation. They even trust me enough to allow me to walk back to Onyx’s cabin unsupervised after I assure them I know the way .

The moon illuminates the leaf-strewn pathway from their cabin to the central clearing, and it’s not hard to find a smaller trail from the underbrush leading south toward the Delta’s cabin.

It’s cool and quiet, and I feel my tension unwinding. Drawing in a lung full of pine air, I let the stress of that dinner trickle away. Starlight illuminates the boughs of fir and maple trees as I wind my way toward my temporary home. The forest is lush south of the river, and my territory seems dry and devoid of life in comparison.

It’s not far to the two-story cabin I’m staying in. The evening is so quiet and lovely, I sink into a chair at the fire pit to decompress.

A dark gray shape moves through the trees ahead. My hand goes to my blade, just in case. A wolf approaches, walking with his tail curled upward and his gait friendly. That citrus scent hits me.

“Onyx,” I say. He rests his muzzle on my knee and my hand goes to his head without thought. The fur around his ears is silken and I can’t help but dig my fingers in. A low rumble emanates from his chest.

Too soon, he pulls away and trots a few feet away into the forest. “Did you even go home? Or have you been hanging around this whole time?” I ask, even though he can’t answer me right now.

His dark eyes watch me reproachfully over his shoulder.

“What are you waiting for? Go run. I’ll head back to the cabin. I can make it on my own. ”

He chuffs, swinging back toward me and nudging my hand. Before I can pet him, he pulls away.

“Fine.” Giving in, I tug my shirt over my head and drape it over the chair. “But you’re coming back to get my clothes. I like this outfit.”

He answers with another chuff. As I strip off my leggings, he watches me boldly. He’s seen me naked before, but it feels different now.

As soon as my clothes are piled together, I shift. Black fur overtakes my pale skin and I drop down onto four paws. The forest lights up around me, bright as daylight. Onyx wears a charming smirk on his muzzle. He’s a fine looking wolf, dark gray with black across his back. Lighter gray-brown peppers his chest and down his belly.

With a wag of his tail, he bolts. My wolf instincts surge, ready to chase him. It feels so good to give in to that urge. My paws dig into the soft earth and launch me forward, wind threading my fur like a caress.

Onyx weaves through the trees ahead, and I duck my head and increase my speed to catch up to him. He zips forward, just out of reach.

Trees whip past, and I spot a dark trailer to our right. Onyx turns, curving our path eastward. I cut the curve and playfully snap at his tail as I get closer.

Wolves are meant to run, and my body floods with feelings of contentment. My instincts whisper that this is right where I am meant to be.

He never lets me catch him, and being a smaller wolf, I can’t close the distance. But utter satisfaction soaks into my being as we lope back toward his cabin. His granite wolf scales the porch steps and shifts back to human, grabbing a shirt off a stack of clothes set out.

I turn my eyes away from his body. “Ember,” he murmurs, “shift back.” Peeking, I realize he’s holding up an oversized shirt for me instead of dressing himself.

It takes me a minute to focus enough to shift back. The naked man standing here waiting for me doesn’t help my concentration. With one hand crossing my breasts, I accept the shirt from him. Like a gentleman, he focuses on dressing himself while I slide the soft cotton over my head. It drapes down to mid-thigh.

Onyx stands in sweatpants, chest bare. Endorphins linger in my blood, and I can’t help but smile at him. He stares at me, a stupid grin spreading over his handsome face. We are a pair of idiots. Especially him, opening himself up to his enemy. But we don’t feel like enemies right now, and I can’t wipe the smile off my face.

Silently, he pulls the door open and we pad toward our bedrooms. His door hangs open and I can see Cedar sprawled across one of the two beds. Onyx follows my gaze and then rolls his eyes.

Instead of going to his own room, he follows me to my door. I twist toward him, wondering what he’s thinking. He moves forward into my space until I’m leaning back against the closed bedroom door.

“Did you have a good time at dinner?” he whispers, his lips moving to my ear. The skin across my cheek and ear light up like he’s touched me, though I can only feel his breath .

“Not really,” I say honestly.

“I didn’t like it either,” he says. “I prefer when you eat dinner with me.”

My hand flattens against his chest and I mean to push him away, but can’t bring myself to do it. He takes it as an invitation to touch, and one hand goes to my hip. His thumb digs into my skin through the thin cotton shirt.

“Onyx,” I say in warning.

“Ember,” he answers. The rumble of his voice skitters goosebumps across my skin. “I like you in my shirt,” he says. His mouth drops to my shoulder and he gently bites my shoulder through the cloth.

“You’re running high off your shift,” I choke out.

His navy eyes shoot to mine, his head coming up so fast his dirty blonde hair flops over his brow. He ignores it, all of his focus on my face. I want to shrink under the intensity.

“No,” he starts, “I can’t stay away from you.” The draw of his brows and the downward curve of his mouth tell me he doesn’t want to feel this pull toward me. I’m a guilty pleasure.

“You’re attracted to angry women who hurt you.” It’s a statement.

His eyes narrow and my heartbeat picks up. “I’d rather fight with you than be with anyone else.”

“Don’t say things to me like that,” I hiss, pleading. “You don’t actually like me.”

His brows furrow, mouth curving into a slight frown. I wait for whatever cutting barb is coming my way.

“I like you too much.”

Pushing off the door frame, he walks away from me. Cold washes down my chest and stomach in his absence. He likes me?

His door clicks closed, and I numbly let myself into Briar’s room. Adrenaline from his touch still rages, compounding the hormones already in my system. It’s too much. Exhaustion seeps in, and I curl up in the bed. Before passing out, my fingers twine through the wide neckline of the shirt, bringing it up to my nose. His scent is faded after going through the wash, but it’s still there. It seeps into my lungs and into my very being as I lose myself to sleep.