“We know you’re worried,” said Jack. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
“I know you both are doing your best for me—and I appreciate it.” Roxie was wound up tight, and she knew it. It wasn’t that she regretted her decision to marry Jack and Grant. That was right, and good, and perfect. All the same, she felt foreboding in the pit of her belly, a weight so heavy her knees nearly buckled under its strain.
She wanted to believe everything would be okay.
Jack and Grant converged on her, and she held onto the men tightly. By marrying the Earth Pack alphas, she was officially dragging them into Blood Pack business. Crawl was unpredictable. He could let her walk away, or he could come after her—them—and start a pack war just because it was Tuesday.
“Hey.” Grant tipped her chin up. “We’ll get through this. Once we’re mated, your brother will back off. You won’t be a threat to his status.”
“The Blood Pack isn’t going to be better off with him as alpha. Not everyone in the pack likes the way things are. Some members actually try to live real lives—do things that matter, have families. But my mother made it clear that Blood Pack was forever. If she thought any member was disrespecting her or making the Blood Pack look bad, she would have them beaten—sometimes outright killed. And her definition of disrespect varied by the hour.” Roxie dropped her head. “I was born with the DNA of two sociopathic assholes.”
“Genetics isn’t everything.” Jack smoothed her hair. “You have a good heart.”
“A fiery heart,” added Grant. He stroked the part of the dress that hid the tattoo—the fiery heart that had drawn them into her life, into a dead matchmaker’s prophecy. “Is there a story for this?”
“Only tattoo I have.” She shook her head. “My brother Derek got one, too. Except his heart is icy. Fire and ice. We were teenagers, and Mom insisted we start getting tattoos. We decided to each get one—just keep her off our backs for a while. Anyway. I’m fire. I’m the one who charges in. Derek’s the one who thinks ahead. He keeps calm. He’s ice. It’s why he makes such a good soldier.” She sighed. “I miss him.”
“He’s welcome in our pack,” said Jack. “There’s no reason he’ll ever have to return to Blood Pack. He has a place with us always.”
“Thank you,” said Roxie. “Maybe he’ll come home instead of signing up for another tour.” Restless, she drew away from them. She walked to a window and moved the curtain to look down at the street below. The constantly flashing lights on the hotels couldn’t compete with the brightness of the desert sun. Daylight hours were not kind to Las Vegas, revealing the grime so easily hidden by the night. The dirty streets, worn sidewalks, and brash hawkers of all things tawdry reminded her of the Blood Pack compound. Some brave souls had tried planting flowers and cleaning graffiti off the walls, but it was wasted effort. Chaos reigned. Her mother expected her pack to be tough. Destruction of things and people was part and parcel of being a bad ass.
Roxie was so tired of that attitude. And Crawl was a hundred times worse than their mother. Karen was apathetic to anyone who didn’t factor into keeping the pack running with scams and brutality with the exception of her husband Cody. Crawl had no empathy at all. He wanted the world to burn. Hell, he’d pour the gasoline and light the match.
Would marrying Earth Pack alphas provide the protection she needed? Or was she fooling herself—and putting the two men she cared about in terrible danger?
She moved away from the window, sinking onto the couch, while her stomach clutched with nerves.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Grant looked through the peephole, and then opened the door. A gray-haired man dressed in a white suit and a bolo tie stepped inside. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail. He had an open, friendly face with kind blue eyes. He smiled. “I’m Hank. I’m here to perform your wedding.”
Grant shut the door behind older man. “I’m Grant. That’s Jack. And our bride is Roxie.”
“You know about Earth Pack rites?” asked Jack, as he crossed the room to shake Hank’s hand.
“I know every pack’s rites,” said Hank. He shook Grant’s hand next. “It’s part and parcel of being a shifter shaman in Las Vegas. We get our fair share of werewolf weddings.”
Roxie stood up and took Hank’s hand, pressing it between both of hers. “We’re so glad you’re here.”
“Mrs. Pearson filled me in. I understand you want the short version?”
All three nodded. His smiled widened. “I can do that. Come. Let’s find a comfortable spot and we’ll begin.”