Wolf at the Door

chapter Forty-two

“What now?”

Rachael stretched beside him. They’d made it back to her bedroom . . . eventually. “Food?”

“I was thinking about the long term.”

“More food?”

He jabbed her in the ribs and she shrieked and jabbed back. “Agh! Yes, yes, we’ll stop by a slaughterhouse on the way to the bluffs and you can gorge until you blow up.”

“Ooooh. Too mean.”

“For reals?” His smile had faded at once as he watched her face.

“No, but . . . borderline. More a girl thing—does this wolf form make my butt look big?—than a Pack thing, though, in your defense.”

“Got it. No more slaughterhouse jokes. Are there any racial slurs I need to be aware of? Wait. Not racial slurs . . . species slurs? Anything I should watch out for? Hey, wolfie! Would that be super uncool?”

“Yes, but not for the reason you think.”

“Har-har. You still haven’t answered my question.” He had hopped off the bed and was searching for his underwear. “What now? You know. With us. With this. What’s next for us? As a couple, I mean.” He colored, and she didn’t think he was blushing about putting his Batman boxers back on. “Assuming there’s an us. Y’know, going forward if we’re already an us. But if you didn’t think so, it’s okay.” He was stepping into his jeans and talking faster. “I’m not saying I thought so, or assumed you thought so, but if you did I’d be okay with that.”

She tried not to stare as he babbled, but the man looked like he was only seconds from going up in a blaze of spontaneous combustion. It was impossible not to stare.

“If you’re in it just to have a little fun, I wouldn’t . . . I mean, I wouldn’t expect—maybe we should just go our separate ways now. Not that I want to! I’m just okay if you want to.”

“Wow. Shut up now, okay?”

“Yes ma’am.” There was no mistaking the relief in his tone.

“Are you all right? Maybe you should sit down.”

“Now that I’m not trying to think and talk at the same time, it’s safe for both of us.”

“This is new territory for me, too.” One of the places they’d lingered was her little shower, which had been too small to have any serious fun, but large enough for considerable foreplay. So she was clean yet rumpled. Not that snoozing in her hobbit hole would have gotten her paws dirty, but habit was strong.

She found clean panties and, for a wonder, a bra the same color. Rachael had nothing but admiration for women who wore matching underwear, but she had never been up to the strain, not to mention the organizational skills. She opened the closet and pulled out a loose, comfortable linen shift in sky blue. Something to match blue flats . . .

She pulled the shift over her head. “Some of my girlfriends have dated guys who weren’t Pack, but my cousin Michael is the only one I know who took one to mate.”

“Yeah? Really? Ooh, I love it, Romeo and Juliet as told by the Pack. His family has too many secrets, and her family Just Doesn’t Understand. Together, they—”

“Married quite without problems or interference of any kind, and had two children.”

“Story-wise, it’s pretty dull. But real-life wise, it’s kind of a relief.”

She stepped into the bathroom and grabbed a brush. “Our kind—sorry about the term—our kind don’t have a problem mating with non-Pack. The cubs—excuse me, the children of those matings tend to be exceptional. So of course my cousins are.” She grinned as she pulled the brush through her dark locks. “His eldest, Lara, she’ll be our next leader, and she’s already leading the family through all sorts of trials, you wouldn’t even believe it. She’s Michael all over again, really, and karma can be a real bitch. She—”

She glanced at Edward, who was listening with rapt attention. “Oh. Sorry, didn’t mean to do the my-niece-is-betterthan-yours thing.”

“Sounds like she is, though! I don’t mind. I’d love to hear about everybody in your family. Although I’m punching Michael in the Adam’s apple when I meet him. Punk’s got a lotta nerve sending you out here like some kind of lycanthropic homing pigeon. Go here, come there, keep an eye out and make a report . . . ha!”

“I wouldn’t advise punching Michael anywhere, and my point is, there won’t be a need for any of that you-can’t-stopour-love! nonsense. Assuming we would even need to go there in the first place. Ah, nuts. I said go there. That’s officially over now, right? I have to be careful. I don’t want to accidentally revive that stupid, stupid saying . . .”

“Okay, I know I f*cked up by assuming you were the undead nemesis of all mankind earlier, but I think I earned a couple of points on the positive side when I didn’t flee screaming into the night once you popped fur, right?”

“Oh my God.”

“Right?”

“Popped fur? Really?”

“Shush. But I did, right? You look really, really pretty in that, by the way. Do you have to be somewhere? I’ve never seen you primp. Maybe I should primp.” He widened his eyes and blinked slowly. “You’re getting veerrrry sleepy. You want . . . to have . . . more sex. With me!” He blinked harder and slower.

“You look like a hoot owl when you do that. One with a degree in accounting. I’ll stop primping if you promise to never primp again. And as far as having to be somewhere, I’m going to return the shoes the vampire queen lent me.”

“Awesome! Let me find a shirt and I’ll be ready.”

“I’m certain my plans for returning footgear to its rightful owner don’t include you.”

“Too bad! The last time you went there, they threw a knife at your head. Who knows what they’ll do next time?”

“Technically they threw the back of a knife at my head. You have to admit, it sounds much less dangerous if you think of it that way.”

“Yeah, you can consider me not comforted. I’m goin’.” He had found his shirt, dark green with white lettering: “I’m Not Unemployed, I’m a Consultant!” “Want to call first? We could call first. Although they apparently don’t mind the pop-in. Would you believe her friggin’ phone number is on the newsletter? At least, a number she says she can be reached at.”

“I saw that as well.”

Edward shook his head. “That’s no way to run an undead empire. Accessibility? Keeping polite zombies and lending shoes to werewolves while making sure pregnant women get proper prenatal care? The whole thing’s too weird and twisted for words.”

“Phoning ahead. Hmm. That’s not a terrible idea.” She’d let Edward call, and while he was killing time playing around with a voice mail account, she could give some thought to the pros and cons of not knocking him unconscious and leaving without him.

She was an accountant, and almost any problem, any situation, could be broken down into numbers. So: would letting Edward meet the vampires be good for him or bad for him, and to what degree?

Oh, and the other thing she’d been wondering about: where did he get all those terrific shirts?