Wolf at the Door

chapter Forty-one



Rachael opened her eyes, surprised to find herself a) in her bed, and b) alone. Now last night of all nights, where would Edward—

She heard the door open, heard his light, eager step stop outside her bedroom door. He poked his head in and brightened when he saw her. “You’re awake! And you’re the other you again! Awesome.”

She was startled and touched by other you. Many people would have said back to normal, and she would not have taken offense. She loved that Edward had so easily grasped that she wasn’t part human and part wolf; she was all Pack. It was a tricky concept for non-Pack to grasp, and the centuries of negative press from fairy tales didn’t help.

“Oh my God,” he said, looking horror-struck. “You’re awake. Oh, Rachael, I’m so sor—”

“Shut up now, will you?” she said kindly. From the look of him, Edward had been up most of the night with her. He had that starry-eyed need-a-nap-but-too-keyed-up-to-sleep expression. He had seemed to spend the night waiting for her to do something. All night he’d waited, and there had been no way (beyond the obvious) to tell him that curling up in a hobbit hole listening to crickets and the evening breeze was the plan. She believed he’d finally caught on around four o’clock in the morning. “You had cause.”

“I didn’t, Rache. You’re nice to say so, but I absolutely didn’t.” Forgetting he had an armful of grocery bags, he rushed to her side of the bed. Regret. Regret. Sorrow. Shame. “I was such an a*shole.”

“I know you’re sorry, Edward. No need to keep on about it.”

“Mmmm . . . nope.” He appeared to do some sort of inner analyzing. “Nope. I’m still crushed with remorse and feel the need to keep cowering and groveling. Not that you didn’t leave tons of clues, because you did, but you even told me (more than once!) and I still took that as my cue to try for Douche Bag of the Year.”

She started laughing at his given title, but he didn’t so much as smile. “For a guy who considered himself open to paranormal shenanigans of any kind, I turned out to be stupidly close-minded.”

“And a contender for Douche Bag of the Year,” she teased. His face, pale with tension, suddenly lit, and this time he was laughing with her. “Have you considered where you’re going to display the trophy?”

“I should probably have a case made, huh? Listen, I just got back from Cub Foods . . .” She rose from the bed and padded after him to the kitchen. “You were all out of raw hamburger and milk and Pop-Tarts.”

“I loathe—”

“Yeah, well, they’re for me, so just back off. Also, it’s un-American not to like Pop-Tarts.”

“Why do I hate America?” she mused aloud. “Because I sure do. America and everything she stands for, including Pop-Tarts. Hatred fills me at the mere thought of a chocolate fudge Pop-Tart.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what I’d expect from a Cape Cod liberal pinko werewolf.”

“Hey!”

“You heard me,” he said smugly.

“I’m no pinko, you ape-evolved troglodyte.”

“Hurtful.” He sighed, putting on an expression so pious and sugar-sweet she wondered if he’d have an insulin reaction. “So, so hurtful.” He brightened. “And here! See? I got the seventy-thirty hamburger mix. By the way, the explanation for your unstoppable appetite for everything in the world finally occurred to me about four A.M. And again, let me say to myself: duh.”

“And eggs and juice and pork chops,” she said approvingly.

“I didn’t know . . . I thought maybe you’d be pretty hungry once the sun came up.”

She smiled at his anxious expression. “Don’t worry, I hardly ever eat people anymore.”

“Ho-ho-ho. But seriously: please don’t eat people. I figured you’d be hungry.”

“Nope. That Ziploc o’ Meat bag is still holding me. But this was thoughtful . . . I keep telling you, you shouldn’t pay for me to eat. Ever. You realize if you keep it up, you’ll eventually have to take out a loan.”

“I know, now.” He laughed, then tentatively reached for her. “Did anyone ever tell you, you’re gorgeous on all fours?”

“Well, of course you’d think so,” she teased, delighted to see him blush. She hadn’t thought he’d flee. Hadn’t thought. But there was no way to ever truly know about someone until they were facing what you feared.

“That, yeah, ask me if I think bluff sex could cure all the world’s problems—but I meant—I meant your other self. Those four legs.”

“People have told me that, yes.” She reached up to push his bangs to the side, out of his eyes. “But only other Pack members. You’re the first—I mean, you’re my first—” Now it was her turn to blush. Fair’s fair, she thought ruefully. “I’ve never slept with anyone who wasn’t Pack.”

“Ah, but you know the old saying. Once you go off Pack, you can’t wait to head back. No. Wait. That’s not it.” He pulled her into his arms and nuzzled her neck. “Once you renounce the Pack, you have to try out for track? Now that you’ve been exposed to Pack, you’re gonna have to hire yourself a hack? Closer, I think . . .”

She reached down, past the waistband of his shorts, and found him already thickening. “The next time we need a motto, I promise you’ll be the first one we call.” She squeezed gently and heard his soft groan. “The very, very first.” Lust. Lust. Lust. “Have I mentioned . . .”

“Yeah?”

“I love your scent.”

“Ummmm . . .”

“I absolutely love it.” Squeeze. Release. Squeeze. He was unzipping his fly to give her more room, but she ignored it. Squeeze. Release. “You know the only thing I like better than how you smell?”

His groan was drawn out and his eyes were rolling up; he tried to speak and could not.

“How you taste.”