Chapter - Lola

Rejected. I've never been rejected like last night, never even had the chance to because I never gave any males the chance to have me.

But I kissed Richard last night, and he pulled away. He came to the treehouse but I didn't answer; I pretended to be asleep.

I glance to my right where my favorite chocolate chunk ice cream sits in a tub on the bedside table. Oh yeah, I'm gonna finish the tub right now. Leaning over, I grab it, thankful I was a smart girl who didn't even remove the spoon. I dig it deep into the half-melted treat and drop a huge dollop in my mouth.

Chocolate and cherries and a teeny hint of whiskey fill my senses. Inside my mind, my wolf whines for the millionth time. She never liked confrontation, and being at odds with the pack alpha is the worst sort of confrontation for our kind.

Homesickness washes over me so hard and heavy, I nearly choke on the ice cream. Gods, I miss Leo and Lupe and even Santa Alaya, which is hard to imagine since I was always so excited to leave home. I miss the castle and Papá. I miss the sun and the bay and the smell of fried fish down by the waterfront. I miss the band.

I hop out of bed and grab the comm disk off the wall. Jogging back, I tuck myself under the covers again and drop the disk on my lap.

"Call Leo Wild."

Moments later, Leo's handsome face appears. His rakish grin is so familiar, so lovely, that I tear up at the sight of it.

"?Princesa, qué pasa?" he murmurs. What's wrong?

"Miss you," I whisper around the lump in my throat. "Hey," sobs threaten to steal my voice, "can you do me a favor and go down to visit Lupe and the others? I don't know if anybody is doing that in my absence."

Leo's smile falls. "Your papá is doing it, but it seems performative. I'll go in the morning and bring her coffee like we used to as pups."

"Thank you," I breathe. "How's home? I heard Eliel hasn't challenged Papá yet."

Leo shakes his head, sighing as he rubs ring-filled fingers over his face. "No. Any day now, if word on the street is true. To be honest, Lola, I'm glad you're not here. Eliel's been sneaking around, talking shit about Marco. Goddess, I'm glad I'm not the king. Remind me not to ever get into politics."

I snort at that. It's unfathomable. Rolling to my left, I grab my guitar and strum a few notes.

Leo laughs. "You sleeping with that thing?"

I nod and continue playing one of our favorite songs. "Always. Wanna sing with me for a bit?"

Leo nods and disappears out of view. Moments later, he's back with his black electric guitar. It doesn't have the built-in magical amp like mine does, but, damn, it's pretty. Leaning down, he plugs it into his smallest amp so it doesn't sound tinny.

When he plays the first notes, I fall in. We strum and sing for a solid quarter hour before there's a noise somewhere behind him. Leo glances over his shoulder then looks back at me with a sheepish grin.

"We're packing to get outta town for a few weeks. I don't want to be here when shit goes down with Eliel. If he wins…"

My heart clenches in my chest, and I set the guitar down. "You don't think he could actually win, do you?"

Leo hands his guitar to one of the Lobos and shakes his head, slipping his hands under his armpits. "I don't know, Lola. There's talk of Eliel using magic."

I gasp. "Does Papá know?!"

He shakes his head again. "Hard to say, but your father is a political genius, corazón. I can't imagine this would take him by surprise."

I grit my teeth. "I'm calling him as soon as we hang up."

Leo smiles, but he looks sad all the same. "Te ves triste," he says quietly. You look sad. "Is Ever not treating you well?"

"I'd be better if you came to visit," I say, feeling guilty. His free time is limited.

He steps closer through the hologram, dark eyes focused on me. "If you need me, I'm there. We've got concerts the next couple of nights, but I can skip those or come in four days. Do you care which?"

I shake my head. "Don't skip. The music would be sad without you. But if you can come in four days, goddess, I'd love that."

"Done," he states, placing his hand flat over his heart. "Te lo prometo." I promise.

A weight lifts off my shoulders at the idea of seeing him and showing him around Ever. I think he'd love it here.

We say goodbye, and the moment he disappears from the screen, I dial Papá. Except it's not Papá who answers. It's Nu?ez, who tells me in a curt tone that they're already aware of what Eliel's up to. My former bodyguard clicks off before I get a chance to ask exactly what's going on. I stare at the comm disk, experiencing a range of emotions from fury to understanding to worry to resignation. I don't want to be another thing for Papá to worry about, but damn…

In the silence that follows, I stare around at the beautiful guest treehouse I'm currently staying in. Glancing at the ceiling, I let out a wry chuckle. "So, friend, what's a girl to do given the current sad state of my sitch?"

On cue, the giant round window to my right splits in half down the middle and opens like shutters, a breeze blowing into the room and rustling my curls.

I sigh. "Point taken." Rolling out of bed, I dress and put my guitar back in the case. Slinging it over my shoulder, I leave the treehouse and run almost immediately into Hana. Her hand is poised to knock on my door, and she's got a plate of what smells like freshly baked cookies in the other.

"Oh moons," she says with a laugh. "I was about to knock and see if you wanted cookies. I haven't seen you all day."

I beam. "I was just about to make the rounds and see if anyone needs help with anything. Want to come with? We can share the cookies."

Hana smiles, black lips parting to reveal perfectly straight, flat teeth. "I'd love that." Her tail swishes side to side, brushing against her fuzzy dark coat.

I lift the foil covering to see red velvet macadamia nut…brownies? Glancing up, I cock my head to the side. "Are these the fluffiest cookies ever, or did you make cookies into brownies?"

Hana chuckles and glances skyward as if considering her answer. "Umm, technically cookies but you're probably right that they're really brownies? These are Arkan's favorite, so I thought I'd bring them over. He's in meetings in town with haven leadership."

Ah. So Richard isn't around then, unless he skipped.

I take one of the brownies and turn it over, admiring every perfect, moist side. When I take a bite, the familiar sweetness combined with the sugary hit of the white chocolate fills my senses. I moan and shove the whole thing in my mouth, grabbing a second one as Hana smiles.

"I take it they're okay?"

"Two thumbs up," I murmur around a mouthful of brownie.

We head down the mossy flagstone walkway between my treehouse and the next one over, onto the side street. Hooking a left, we walk slowly toward the main drag—in silence, because I can't stop eating the brownies. Shit, I don't stop until there's only one, and I realize Hana hasn't eaten yet.

Grimacing, I lift the foil to show her, but she just laughs.

"Not a problem, friend. I always make two trays—one for Arkan, and one for everybody else."

I grab the last brownie and shove it in my face without further ado. Damn, they're amazing.

"Need that recipe," I manage.

Connall and a shifter I vaguely recognize from the challenge appear around a bend in the road before Hana gets a chance to respond. They wave as they come closer but stop when they reach us.

Connall glances at me. "Lola, Richard was looking for you earlier. I had to remind him that he had a meeting downtown, but he seemed in a rush. Maybe find him later, if you've got a minute?"

My cheeks heat, and I'm thankful for my dark skin tone that covers what I'm sure would be a bright red if I were as pale as he is. "Noted." I gesture to Hana. "We were going to take a walk and see if anyone needs anything."

"Rounds, nice." Connall beams at us. "Don't let us hold you back. There are a group of kids playing Skyball the next street over if you want to go join in. I'm sure they'd appreciate a little grown-up assistance. Plus"—he winks at Hana—"Hana is an all-star."

Hana pretends to brush something off her shoulder and laughs at me. "I used to play on my haven's official Skyball team. I'm pretty good."

My eyes spring wide as I laugh with her. I never followed Skyball all that closely, but I resolve to look her up if she played for her haven's team.

Connall and the other wolf continue up the street, and Hana and I make our way over to find the kids. It's a mix of shifters, centaurs, and pegasi younglings. For the next two hours, we play, basking in the joy of the children's carefree adoration of sport.

My thoughts take a turn back toward Richard at the end of the second hour. There's a prickle down the back of my neck, like he's somewhere nearby watching. I can't shake the feeling, but every time I turn, there's nothing.

Maybe it's simply instinct, that deep tether that pulls me to him. Just like last night.

I don't know if it's the release of endorphins from playing, but I come to a determination.

I need to talk to him about what happened. He tried, and I was too upset and embarrassed to have the conversation. But I've got a little distance. I don't want it to fester. Harmony is the goal.

Hana trots up to me, the skyball tucked under her toned arm. She smirks at me. "You look very thoughtful all of a sudden, Lola. Why do I get the sense you're about to make some huge move?"

I snort. "Huge move? No. I need to apologize because I already made a move."

Her eyes go wide as her mouth drops open. She zips it partially closed and chuckles. "Well, if you ever want to talk about whatever it was, I'm here."

"Thank you," I say effusively, dipping my head respectfully in the way of her people. "But I need to talk with him first."

"Of course," she says. "I'll leave you to it. I'm going to kick some tiny butts a little while longer."

Out of nowhere, a fuzzy pegasus child zooms out of the sky, landing on Hana's humanoid upper half with a battle cry. She pretends to be shocked and staggers to the side as the rest of the younglings attack her, grasping for the skyball.

I'd laugh at their adorable antics, but nerves clang in my stomach at the idea of seeing Richard. I'm not one to partake in disagreements and drama—I've seen far too much of that living in Santa Alaya. I don't want that for myself, and that's a decision I can actually make. While I'm here, at least.

Gritting my teeth, I slip my hands into my back pockets and head toward Richard's place to see if he's there.

Time to face the music.

Fifteen minutes later, I worry I'm making a mistake. My hand is lifted to knock at Richard's door. I've been standing here for at least five minutes, heart racing, mouth dry as a desert, staring at the chunky wooden surface. The guitar across my back that I brought for emotional support is making me sweat.

I move my hand and slap my cheek, muttering to myself, "C'mon, Lola. You've got this, girl."

No sooner have I said the words, the door swings open, and Richard appears in the doorway with a smile. He's got a kitchen towel in one hand, but he throws it over his shoulder and leans into the doorframe, one big arm reaching up to grip the top of the frame. He cocks his head to the side and grins at me, fangs peeking out from his beautiful lips.

I kissed those lips. Almost. And they did not kiss me back.

"You gonna keep standing on my stoop talking to yourself? Or would you like to come in?"

Fucking moons. Of course if he was home he'd have heard me standing out here. I call on literal decades of princess power to plaster a smile on my face and stride under his arm, into the giant open space.

He's at my back, a quiet, dominant presence as I walk to the kitchen. The countertop is littered with ingredients. He was cooking. Moons, I've interrupted dinner. Maybe he was cooking for someone. Shit, maybe he's got a fucking date. Oh gods. I resist the urge to run. Instead, I sit on one of the industrial metal stools and clear my throat.

He rounds the island and grabs a handful of prepared tamales from the countertop. The familiar scent of corn masa takes me right home to Santa Alaya. I can almost hear music echoing over the bay as I sit on the boardwalk and share a meal with my guards.

Richard glances at me as he stands the tamales upright in a steamer on his stovetop. "I'm cooking pork tamales. I was planning to bring them to you. Lucky that you came to me first."

Oh goddess. How does everything he say manage to sound so sexual?

I clear my throat a second time. "That's thoughtful, thank you. I wanted to apologize for last night and making things awkward. I'm missing home and Papá and Lupe and Leo and…I got carried away." I glance up at him. "I've known you my whole life, and I crossed a line. I'm sorry."

It feels wrong to apologize for something that felt so right in the moment. But it was one-sided, even if I didn't think it was. Maybe the intense pull I've been feeling this entire time is really just admiration for someone I've known forever.

Richard remains quiet until the tamale steamer is full. His dark brows furrow in the middle when he puts the lid on the pot and looks over at me. "You have nothing to apologize for, Lola."

"I do," I press. "You didn't ask for me to?—"

"I was on top of you, naked," he reminds me with a lift of one dark brow.

I could scream from the heat that sears through me at that memory. I try desperately to wave it away. "I know, but?—"

He turns from the stove, rounds the island, and reaches a hand out for me. "My head and heart have been at war, Lola. I want to talk to you about that, but before we get into a conversation that heavy, let's dance. Then I want to feed you. And then we can have a conversation we desperately need to have."

Oh moons.

"Yes," I practically moan, taking his hand and sliding off the stool.

Richard guides me to the center of the living room and glances up, clearing his throat. On cue, the treehouse moves all the furniture to the far corners of the room, clearing a spot for us. When the music comes on, I could cry at how beautiful it is.

Salsa. Salsa from a band my mother introduced my father to when they were dating. That music style didn't originate in Santa Alaya, but it's beloved at home anyhow. The music is old, but good salsa music will never go out of style. That's a hill I'm willing to die on.

Richard takes my guitar and sets it down. Then he drapes my arm over his shoulder and brings his hand low in the middle of my back. He takes my free hand and places my palm flat over his chest, his nostrils flaring as he pulls our bodies flush.

He dips down, lips hovering above mine. "Lista, Princesa?" Are you ready, Princess?"