“I think I should go home for a while,” Wolfie rumbled softly, and my body tensed up. Yes, I knew that Haven’s pack was going to have a hard time accepting Wolfie, but surely they’d have just as hard of a time taking orders from a woman. Plus, it felt like eons since Wolfie and I had been able to just laugh together, and I didn’t relish the idea of spending more time apart.
As usual, Wolfie read between the lines and understood everything I didn’t say, as well as what I did. “Crazy Wilder’s daughter will be easier to stomach as the new pack leader than an out-of-pack bloodling would be,” he murmured. “The separation won’t last forever, but I think you’ll be a better alpha for Haven than I would during the transitional period. Don’t worry, though. I’ll take the troublemakers home with me and leave you some of our pack in exchange.”
“The troublemakers?” I said, Wolfie’s words making me laugh despite myself. It was hard to imagine blood-thirsty werewolves like Milo being described by such a childish term. “Hit man” would be more appropriate, or maybe “murderer in training.” On the other hand, I did see Wolfie’s point, which had been aptly illustrated by the dissipation of tension within the pool room once I made my way home.
“How about this?” Wolfie bargained. “I take everyone from Haven between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five, and you get the yahoos in exchange.”
“Kids? Seriously? You want me to run this pack of wolves with the help of kids?” I retorted, only half kidding.
“You don’t need any help at all, sweetheart,” Wolfie answered, his mind clearly beginning to turn to other topics as his hands made their way over my body. “I’m leaving you with the yahoos because I’m sick of them.”
“Some alpha you are,” I growled, but the heat in my words had less to do with Wolfie’s bargain and more to do with his hands, which made me shiver as they slipped over my skin and, yup, slid down below the waist. My wolf and I arched into his touch, and this time I really do think we purred.
Epilogue
I half expected the Haven werewolves to rise up in revolt after Wolfie and the majority of his pack hit the road with Haven’s young adults in tow, but the remainder of the community instead came to me with heads bowed starting that first morning. They needed advice on this problem, help with that problem, and I found my hands full just getting the village back into shape.
In an effort to keep the yahoos out of trouble (and to lighten my own load), I kept Wolfie’s loaned helpers running so ragged with errands from the first day that they didn’t have time to get into mischief. Cricket fed their voluminous appetites, which seemed to give my stepmother something to worry about other than the fact that her husband’s wolf appeared to have completely taken over his human side. My father spent most of his time hunting rabbits in the woods now, and when he came to the back door to check on his mate, I couldn’t see any hint of the man I’d known in the canine’s eyes. But that absence was almost a blessing—it seemed that the ruthlessness of Crazy Wilder had been within the man, not in the wolf.
Like the yahoos, I stayed too busy to worry over anything that wasn’t directly in front of me over the next few weeks. Despite my full hours, I expected the ache in my stomach to reappear when Wolfie slammed his pickup truck door and sped off, but I seemed to have finally accepted that the young alpha wasn’t walking out of my life permanently—he was just living somewhere else for a while. It also helped that my wolf and I were able to trade off responsibilities, and I often let her simple canine brain take over when exhaustion was threatening to turn me melancholy.
On one crisp winter day, the wolf had treated us to a run on four paws, and I was smiling when I stepped back into my clothes in the foyer of my family home, smelling stew bubbling in the kitchen and hearing the yahoos chattering away at the kitchen table. But I smelled something else too—leaf mold and pine needles and a hint of peppermint … .
I whirled, hoping that the scent meant Wolfie had come to visit, even though I knew that wasn’t true. Instead of my mate, a young woman in her late teens stood uncomfortably in the formal sitting room that no one ever used. I couldn’t quite imagine Cricket parking a visitor there, but my wolf could see that the stranger’s canine half was skittish and ready to bolt, so I immediately understood how this girl might feel more comfortable alone than in the midst of the revelry clamoring forth from the kitchen.
The girl looked me up and down, sniffing the air with a human nose much like I would in wolf form, then she silently extended the hands that had been hugging a book to her chest. Her offering was the new Patricia Briggs novel that I’d left in that bookstore so long ago, and even without bringing the paper to my nose, I knew the pages smelled of Wolfie. Although I should have been welcoming my visitor, I couldn’t resist opening the cover of the book instead to see if my mate had written anything inside.