Chapter 19

T hat evening, I strolled across the backyard and admired the pretty lights strung around the back windows of their dining room. The rain had let up an hour ago, but more was coming.

Inside, people moved about, laughter and boisterous chatter making me pause on the steps. I gripped the rail and faced right, looking across the open space at the corner window of the dining room, which jutted out from the house. Melody raced around the table, Lakota chasing after her. I glimpsed Robyn and Montana stealing a kiss before moving out of sight.

What am I doing here? I'll just bring everyone down.

A sonorous howl startled me, and when I turned, Catcher craned his neck to the sky and sang. Then he barked at me, tail wagging.

The back door opened. "Cecilia?"

I looked up at Robyn, my mouth open but nothing coming out.

"Come inside." She padded across the deck and leaned over the railing. "Catcher, stay on the porch tonight. We have a guest. I'll bring your food out later, okay? "

He barked and trotted off.

"Does he understand you?"

Robyn shrugged. "Sometimes I think he knows certain words. He certainly knows food . Come in."

I looked at her pajamas. "Am I late?"

Glancing down, she said, "No. Don't mind us. We're not the type to dress up for family functions." Robyn led me inside. At the end of the right corner, we wound up in the kitchen, which was five times the size of my old one.

The plates were stacked on the island, and the heavy scent of fried peppers and onions filled the air.

When Robyn disappeared into the dining room, I approached the island. "Can I help?"

Bear flicked off his hairnet and wiped his hands on his apron. "That's mighty nice," he said in a Southern drawl, "but I've got everything under control."

A buzzer made him jump, and he yanked open the oven.

I collected the stack of plates and carefully made my way into the dining room.

"Whoa! Who put our guest to work?" Lakota hopped out of his chair and rushed over.

"Bear had his hands full," I explained, letting him take half. I quietly walked around the table and set a plate in front of each person. Hope and Melody were seated closest to the Packmaster, and Lakota's chair was next to his mate. When I finished, I lingered near the windows. "It's pretty in here at night."

Hope tapped her chin. "Someone get the candles. Let's make it special since we have a guest."

Robyn hurried out of the room.

Virgil flipped a flour tortilla onto his plate. "Shortcake, did you bring the butter?"

Mercy, who was sitting in a chair opposite me, looked around. "I could have sworn I brought it. "

"I got it," I said, already making my way into the kitchen.

Bear winked as he walked by me with a large pan. "Hope you like fajitas."

I noticed they had two refrigerators on either end of the cabinet.

Who has two refrigerators?

And large ones at that. When I opened the left one, I was astounded at how much food they had. Then again, a pack lived here.

Hmm, butter. Where's the butter? Nine hundred eggs, strawberries, blueberries, radishes, cheese… Why is there so much bologna? I thought wolves hunted and ate squirrels all day.

"Ah. Butter." Then I searched the drawers for a butter knife.

"Gotcha."

I jumped, dropping the knife onto the floor.

Archer moved in and grabbed it. "Sorry. I need to quit doing shit like that. I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay. I just startle easily, that's all. It's not you."

He set the knife on the counter and stared at it. "It's no wonder." Then his countenance switched to a warm smile—the Archer I knew. "Thanks for coming. I was starting to wonder if you'd show."

I looked at his white socks and jeans and no longer felt underdressed in sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt. "Where's your pink shirt? I'm disappointed you didn't follow through."

He quirked a smile. "Melody wanted it back before I stretched out the material."

"We need salt," someone called out from the dining room.

I searched the countertops until I found it.

"You don't have to do that," Archer pointed out.

"I enjoy helping."

"Anything else?" Archer yelled back with irritation.

After an indistinct murmur, someone shouted, "Onions! "

Archer snorted. "Lucian and his onions."

"Aren't there onions in fajitas?"

He walked toward the dining room. "Yeah, but he likes to eat them raw on the side. Weirdo."

When we entered the room, they'd lit candles. They had two long tables but only occupied the one by the back windows. Tiny lights were strung along the tops of the windows, and the wooden ceiling had dim, recessed lighting.

Mercy and Robyn waved me over to sit between them, which I was glad for since my chair faced the pretty windows. Bear sat across from Mercy, chin tucked in the palm of his hand as he smiled at his mate. Joy was across from me, sandwiched between Bear and Virgil. I must have been sitting in Salem's usual seat.

"What's wrong?" Hope asked.

"Nothing." I quickly sat but then jumped when my chair scooted in.

Archer had given it a push before walking to the other side of the table and sitting between Virgil and Krys.

It wasn't lost on me that Robyn and her mate were touching hands a lot beneath the table. During conversation, she squeezed his thigh. He draped his arm around the back of her chair and drew invisible circles on her shoulder. Montana looked different without his cowboy hat on. I could see his soft brown eyes much better. They twinkled when Robyn laughed about her and Melody getting stuck in the mud earlier.

In fact, all the idiosyncrasies shown by each couple at the table consumed my thoughts. They seemed so in love, and it only validated what I'd been missing in my own relationship.

I'd thought dinner would be awkward, but they made me feel at home. Everyone engaged in separate conversations, and fajitas were passed around along with Mexican rice, chips, guacamole, and tortillas. I watched and helped pass things around, deciding I would wait until the pack started .

"Sales are going good," Joy informed me. "Mercy's been helpful with the accounting, and Milly has been absolutely wonderful. Hasn't she been wonderful?" she asked Mercy.

"The best," Mercy agreed.

"She has?" What in the world was Milly doing at my store?

"Maybe we should set her and Calvin up on a date," Mercy suggested with a mischievous grin.

Bear chuckled and shook his head. "I don't think that would be a good idea."

After sipping water, Joy set down her glass. "Lucian took inventory of all your titles and created a spreadsheet. He sent it over, and between Milly and Salem, we've been able to accurately price many of the books."

"I can't thank you enough," I said. "I should probably get back to the store now."

"No rush." Tak filled a flour tortilla with beef strips. "The longer you stay gone, the more this one will decorate it."

Melody leaned into view, her pink hair tied back in a ponytail. "Sorry. I might have painted the back wall. Possibly the bathroom. Nothing extreme. It just needed a fresh coat."

"We had to pry her away from the counter," Hope said with amusement in her voice. "Mel was eager to express herself all over your store, so we had to drag her away."

"Kicking and screaming," Lakota added.

"We opened the back door and used fans to pull out the fumes," Joy assured me. "Your books still smell like books."

Mercy tapped my plate. "Get yourself something to eat."

I glanced around. "Would it be all right if I had the vegetables by themselves? Maybe a strip of meat to go with it. Just a small one is fine."

A few of the men flicked glances at each other, but I wasn't sure why.

"You don't have to ask," Mercy said. "Get whatever you want."

I worried my lip. I'd spent my whole life cooking meals for my father and sticking to routine. But the past couple of years had been spent having someone dictate what I could eat, constantly reminding me that I was too greedy. This pack had gone out of their way to accommodate me and help with the bookstore, so I didn't want to make a bad impression.

Tak finished chewing his bite. "Tigers hunt alone. Did you know that? In the wild, they rarely share their food. Wolves do. Our animals usually eat based on hierarchy, but at my table, no one goes hungry."

Robyn stood and put three tortillas on my plate with a pair of tongs.

"Don't do that," Archer complained. "Let her decide what she wants."

Robyn grimaced. "Sorry about that." She put the tortillas back into the warming bowl and sat down.

I couldn't be certain if they sensed my discomfort, but they continued their conversations. When I no longer felt the spotlight on me, I filled a tortilla with peppers and chicken. Listening to their banter and sitting among them made me grateful to have friends like these, even though they were wolves who could shift at any moment and rip me apart. That's what had me on edge. Noah had always reminded me how wolves were savages, but maybe he had inserted that fear so I wouldn't trust anyone but him.

Embraced by the glow of candlelight, I listened to them recount hilarious stories about Virgil getting sprayed by a skunk when they first arrived here and a trip Bear and Mercy took where they got lost on the drive home and wound up in Louisiana.

They kept me wildly entertained, and in quiet moments, some of the mated couples shared private whispers and loving glances. That distracted me more than anything.

What's normal? What's not? Do they ever fight?

I honestly couldn't recall the last time Noah had held my hand. His public displays of affection were calculated but his private ones nonexistent. Not unless we were having sex, but even then, he wouldn't touch me afterward.

Aside from the couples, I took notice of Archer. He was affable and charming with an infectious laugh. Everyone liked him, which left me wondering what warning signs I'd missed with Noah in the early days.

Everything had come on so subtly. Noah ordered my food, which I thought was a romantic gesture. He decided on the grocery list and wanted me eating healthy, which made sense. Then he started buying me clothes that were more conservative than I liked and criticizing anything short, tight, or revealing.

He rebuked me if I talked too loudly in public, which rarely occurred. Men never hit on me in his presence, but if any said a kind word, Noah made me feel guilty about it. In the second year of our relationship, he started taking me out less and less. All my decisions were questioned, and he always found a way to disagree with them. He never asked if I was in the mood for sex and certainly never stopped if I told him I wasn't.

Looking around the room, I saw nothing but happy couples. How did they know it was right? How did they know they weren't getting involved with a lunatic who might one day murder them?

After everyone finished eating, they remained at the table, carrying on about future plans and new design ideas for their boutique.

Are all packs like this? Supportive, compassionate, and trusting? While they had unique personalities, no one squabbled or talked negatively about other Breeds. They didn't put each other down. They didn't shame their mate for eating another helping. They didn't talk over each other to hear their own voice.

I wish I was a wolf.

As people got up to leave, I watched, curious what their rules were, but they had none. Some took their plates, others left them. Tak—the Packmaster—even collected dirty dishes.

Passing by my chair, he said, "You were right about Luna."

I turned around and looked up at the giant.

"She goes in a lot easier when I take her riding." He smiled, stacked my plate on his, and walked out.

Virgil laced his fingers together and stared across the table at me. His turquoise eyes were electric in the candlelight, and when he smiled, a dimple appeared on his cheek. He had a youthful attractiveness like a musician and probably made a lot of women swoon.

He arched his eyebrows at me. "The lady has a pressing question. What's on your mind, sugarplum?"

"I was wondering if I could look around. It's a beautiful home, and I was curious about the rest. But if that's not appropriate?—"

Virgil chuckled and stood. "Come with me. I'll give you the tour."

"I'll chaperone," Archer volunteered while rising from his seat.

I followed them through the kitchen, and we entered the center hallway.

"Are you always so polite?" Virgil asked.

"What do you mean?"

He glanced over his shoulder. "You asked permission to use the bathroom."

I cupped my elbows when we entered the dark living room. Virgil was barefoot, and because of the humidity, I could hear his feet sticking to the floor .

"You've seen the artsy-fartsy room where you do yoga." Virgil waved me toward an open archway that led into another room opposite the fireplace. "This is where we have the most arguments." He switched on a light to a spacious yet empty room and said, "Welcome to the game room. A couple of us want a full bar, but Tak?—"

"Doesn't want to turn his house into a pub," Archer finished, jabbing Virgil in the ribs.

"Some of us like booze," Virgil grumbled as he dramatically opened a wooden sliding door on the opposite wall. "And feast your eyes on our magnifique athenaeum."

I gasped when I entered the grandest private library I'd ever laid eyes on. It surpassed my father's with its floor-to-ceiling shelves, rolling ladders, stunning wood floors, and dim shelf lights.

Drawing in a deep breath, the air fragrant with wood and old paper, I relaxed as a feeling of peace washed over me.

Virgil sat in the only chair and crossed his legs, his knees poking out of the rips in his jeans. "Why didn't we make this into a skating rink? A shiny little disco ball in the center, retro music, colorful lights…"

"Because then you wouldn't have this ." I scanned the shelves, which were only thirty percent filled. "My father would have lived in here." I strode to the other side of the room and read the labels. "Sometimes I wonder if he's a ghost. Perhaps he's curious what I'm doing with my life."

Virgil reclined his head. "If you had a phantasm attached to you, believe me, you'd know it."

"How?" I pulled a medical book out and flipped through the pages.

"Do you ever do things that seem against your will?"

I frowned. "No. "

"Do the lights ever flicker?" Virgil asked. "Or your electronics go out? Power surges?"

"Not unless it's raining."

"I rest my case. Those are all clear signs of a specter." He raised his head and examined his fingernails. "Most of them move on when they die. The ones that linger are a nuisance and wreak havoc. The way things were going with your boyfriend, I'm certain if your father were floating around in the afterlife, he would have located a Gravewalker and paid them to do unconscionable things."

"Paid with what? How can a ghost pay for anything?"

Virgil rose to his feet. "Because immortals have living friends who owe them. Because many of us hide valuables in secret places. There are ways for the dead to pay the living." He collected the book from my hand. "Ever wake up with a song in your head—especially an oldie or one you don't listen to, like an old show tune? Fun fact: that's them. Sometimes they're trying to communicate through lyrics; other times they just like fucking with us. Why does your nose always tickle when your hands are full? Hmm?" Virgil slid the book back into its spot and gave me an impish grin. "When they're close, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up."

"All right, that's enough ghost stories," Archer cut in. He gripped Virgil by the back of the neck and led him to the open archway at the back of the room. "Time for bed, Taz. And quit shifting in the shower. Last night was the third time I had to get your wolf out of there."

"He likes water!" Virgil argued before disappearing down the back hall.

"Why do you call him Taz?" I asked.

Archer lowered his head and laughed. "When he shifts, he does it with pizzazz. Haven't you ever seen the cartoon with the Tasmanian Devil that spins around? "

I shook my head. "I've never watched cartoons."

"Never?"

I crossed the empty floor. "My father put on musicals. I liked singing along with them."

As I drew closer, I admired the tattoo on Archer's neck. It wrapped all the way around, and I had a strange desire to trace my fingers along the thorny path. Standing there, I realized how little I knew about him. He had the stature of a man who might have stood at the front of a battlefield centuries ago. A fit body, perfect posture, strong features. Yet his missing limb suggested he'd survived a battle of his own.

We passed through the archway into a recessed area connected to the back hall. The right side had a wall that closed it off from the back hallway, and there was so much room to add more things. To the left were chairs and a small table, and I imagined curling up in them and reading a book. "This is nice. You've got so much room. Around every corner is another place to escape."

He turned right and tapped his finger on a corner door. "This is Tak and Hope's room. Down there is where Montana, Robyn, and Lucian sleep."

I peered around the right corner at the long hall. "Together?"

He chuckled. "I'm sure that's what it probably feels like to Lucian. He's got that Chitah nose and all. Sometimes I wonder how the hell he can smell anything over the onions he eats." Archer led me back to the kitchen.

Bear peered at us through the entrance and then disappeared. When we reached the kitchen, he presented me with a pie. "I made this for you."

I marveled at the intricate detail of leaves and the precise edging of the golden-brown crust.

"It's apple," he said proudly.

"A whole pie?"

"Yes, ma'am. "

Meanwhile, the voice in my head cheered: A whole pie! Just for me!

Despite his beard, I could see his lips pressed in a tight grin as he offered me the dessert. "I wanted to thank you for helping us that night with Mercy."

"Milly did all the saving."

His eyebrows slanted. "Mercy would have died if you hadn't stopped."

"I love apple."

Bear chuckled. "I know. Archer dropped a hint. I'll put it in a bag for you to take back. Do you have plates and foil?"

I nodded. The heat house kitchenette had all the basics, but I wasn't certain that I would need any plates. I might devour that pie with nothing but a fork. "Could I trouble you for a few napkins?"

"You bet. I'll be back in a wink."

"Take your time," Archer said. "She'll pick it up after the tour. This way, my lady." He escorted me to the staircase.

"I've already seen upstairs."

He leaned against the wall and gave me a panty-dropping smile. "Do you want the official tour or not?"

How could I say no to that?

Once at the top, I thought how odd it seemed with a window on the left and a short hall on the right. "Why did he build it like this?"

"Because a pack needs a lot of rooms. They're not big, but the separate hallways help with privacy. People aren't always walking by your door unless they have a room in your hall. We also put as much soundproofing between the rooms as possible."

Archer showed me their two bathrooms and supply room, which stored their towels and linens.

"Joy and Salem are down there," he said, pointing to the last hall on the left. "Across from the bathroom. Maybe you know already since you two talk."

"Where do you sleep?"

Archer ushered me back the other way toward the staircase and turned right in the hall just before it. There were four doors—two on each side.

He tapped on the first one on the left. "This is an extra storage room, but we're not allowed to put anything in there yet. It doesn't have a closet, but if the pack grows fast, we can always use it as a bedroom until we add on to the house. The next one's mine."

I approached the window, which overlooked the backyard, and touched the doorknob on the left. "Can I?"

He shrugged. "Enter at your own risk. I didn't clean."

When I walked in the dark room, Archer moved ahead of me to the left and switched on the lamp next to the bed. I wasn't sure what to expect, but he didn't have many possessions. To the right of the door, a comfy-looking oversized black leather chair filled the corner. The bed had an abundance of pillows despite the absence of a headboard.

I strolled past the curtainless windows and gestured to a door. "Closet?"

"Yep. There's a dresser in there. Most of the stuff I shipped down was gym equipment."

He'd built a shelf to the left of the windows to store his prosthetic arm. The black device reminded me of a sci-fi machine part, but I didn't touch it.

Nearing the dartboard by the bed, I noticed a dart pinned to the bull's-eye. Upon closer examination, there weren't any holes in the wall. "You're an excellent shot," I said. "Either that, or you rarely play."

"Oh, I play."

I peered into a recessed nook to the left of the closet and stared at a rack with several bows on it. There were also arrows on display as well as a quiver hanging on the wall.

"That's just a bunch of junk from my past," he said offhandedly.

But it wasn't junk. I could tell by the proud display that these things held special significance.

"What do you do for a living?" I asked.

Leather creaked from behind me. "Nothing now."

I turned around. Archer had made himself comfortable in his leather chair, watching me with keen interest as I skirted around the bed to his nightstand.

Lifting a giant bottle of coconut oil, I gave him a playful smile. "Aha."

" Shit. That's not what it looks like. I moisturize after my showers."

I smiled and sat, the bottle in my hand. Archer always carried a faint smell of coconut, and his supple skin suggested he took care of it in every way possible. I squirted some in my palm and spread it across my arms. "What did you used to do for work? Or do you come from family money?"

He sighed and stretched his legs out. "I lived in a prestigious pack, so I didn't have to work. But I made money through betting."

"What kind of betting?"

He rested his elbow on the armrest and rumpled his hair. "I was into archery. Nobody could beat me, so people were always throwing down a challenge they deemed impossible. Hitting a small target from different angles and distances, sometimes blindfolded or facing away. One guy put an apple on his head."

"Did you always win?"

"All except the apple guy."

I set the bottle on the nightstand. "You shot him?"

Archer snorted. "Not exactly. He panicked and hit the ground before I made the shot. He refused to go through with the bet, so we called it a draw. I would've felt guilty taking his money since his girlfriend was watching."

I toed off my laceless sneakers and stretched my legs across his bed so I could see him better. I could imagine myself easily falling asleep on Archer's bed with the moon setting in the sky. After fluffing the pillows, I stared at the expansive window. "This is a nice room. You could watch the sunset."

Archer stood up and rolled his right shoulder in a circle. "I'm a sunrise guy."

"Why didn't you pick a room facing east?"

He barked out a laugh. "Across from Mel and Lakota? No, thanks. Those two are always going at it. Virgil's in the back hall, and he likes to sing at all hours."

"How many rooms are there?"

"Twelve upstairs. Plus the one next to me, which I hope we keep as storage. I like the privacy." He winced when he turned his arm. "Might as well enjoy it now before we get more packmates."

I frowned. "What's wrong with your shoulder?"

He paced in a circle. "Sometimes I get a kink in it since I use it for everything."

"Sit down." I swung my legs over the bed to make room. When Archer sat next to me, I rubbed his shoulder.

He sagged. "Harder."

That word sent tingles to places it shouldn't have. I massaged his tense muscles with a firmer touch and watched his expression to make sure it wasn't hurting him. But the blissful way in which he closed his eyes led me to believe I was doing it right.

When I glanced down at his jeans, the length of him was large and outlined.

Archer caught the direction of my gaze and covered his erection with his hand. "Sorry. This is just too familiar. "

As I leaned in closer, still kneading his shoulder, his breath hitched.

"You should stop," he suggested quietly.

"Why?"

Archer twisted to face me, releasing my hold. "Because of your wrist. You're still healing." He delicately traced his fingers over the skin around my eye, which was no longer swollen but still carried a faint bruise. We were intimately close, and the heat from his body embraced me.

It was so quiet that every sound amplified. His breath, the wetness of me licking my lips, the rustling of the covers as he rested his hand beside me.

I gazed into his brown eyes, deciding he was the most handsome man I'd ever known. Not just outside but also within.

His gaze dropped to my lips.

Archer wasn't advancing—not without my consent. The reluctance in his expression never faltered, but neither did the desire in his eyes.

As I leaned in, my heart lurched when my lips softly pressed the corner of his mouth. I held the kiss, my blood feverish as he closed his eyes and released a ragged breath. Then our lips brushed over familiar territory. I kissed his top lip, and he lightly drew in my bottom. It was delicate, sensual, and came to an abrupt halt the second a bell sounded.

Archer shot to his feet. "Someone's at the gate."