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His voice was raw when he spoke, still not meeting my gaze. “I have dishonored myself, and the Northern pack. I now owe you a debt of honor. As Heir to Northern, and in the name of Alpha Bradley Hillier, I swear that you will never receive harm from me or mine until the debt is paid, and I will do anything in my power to make restitution for the crime I have done you.”
“What?” Crime? What is he talking about? I pulled my pants up and buttoned them, but he didn’t budge.
Finally, I reached out to get his attention, my hand hovering above his arm. His trembling arm. He was shaking with… shame. I recognized the scent of it, sour and dark, although his eyes were still firmly fixed on the ground.
“I-it’s okay,” I managed to say, even though it was very much not. “It wasn’t that big a deal…” I trailed off, remembering what he had said. “Wait, who are you again?” I stepped a few feet away, suddenly nervous. “You’re the Alpha Heir? You’re from Northern?” Northern was Del’s second favorite pack, after Mountain. He’d told me a ton of stories about his trips to those two packs before he lost his leg.
Glen stood, keeping his head lower than mine and his eyes on the ground. Wow. He had this submissive apology thing down.
“I am. And I’m so sorry. I took something from you I cannot return. You have my sincere regrets.”
I was surprised to hear myself laugh. He was surprised, too, and glanced at my face. I tugged at the short ends of my hair, wishing I had enough to pull over my face to hide my embarrassment. “It’s not like I haven’t had worse done to me. Lots worse.” He cringed, and I reached out and touched his arm, hoping to get him to stop staring at the ground.
It worked. He looked up, his eyes as blue as the ocean must be, and deep—and captured me, drawing me in, drowning me.
Remaking me.
Something spiraled up my hand to my arm to my chest, stopping to spin around like a tornado of emotion in my stomach and then out through my limbs. I let out a shaky breath.
Glen let out a matching exhalation, his hand meeting mine. His face transformed into a look that perfectly matched the picture I’d seen of an angel in a children’s book years ago. Adoration and joy and… something else, something significant.
And then his hand was on mine as he spoke into the shining, shimmering moment. “It’s you.”
8
Not Ready
FLOR
“Yes, it’s me,” I agreed, wondering what was going on. I shook away the strange spiraling sensations that had moved through me and focused on the slack-jawed male at my feet. “It’s me. Flor—I mean, Wills.”
He nodded, his smile dimming. “Oh shit,” he murmured.
I gave my arm a sniff, pulling it away from his strangely magnetic grasp. “Not anymore, I don’t think. Should I take another bath?”
He shook his head, and I watched as the strangest series of emotions played over his face. Sheer happiness, then consternation, then anger, then excitement. What was he thinking?
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” I demanded. “I’m super confused right now.”
“Um,” he said. “Um.”
I waited a long moment. “So. You’re not a public speaker then.” What was it with all these excessively pretty, unbelievably stupid men?
He gulped. “I’m actually very good with words. Usually. But you… I wasn’t ready for you. For this.”
What did he mean? Not ready to creep on some girl in the woods? Well, that made him different from the guys in my pack at least. Maybe he wasn’t that bad.
Even if his grip did make me feel like I was riding a merry-go-round.
“Yeah, welcome to my life. Never ready, no matter how many plans I make.” I shrugged. “I always thought if I could get away from my piece-of-shit pack, I could do more than just react, you know?”
“Yes.” Glen’s voice was once again confident, but his expression severe. “Let’s talk about your pack, shall we?”
I wasn’t sure how I was even able to speak after the embarrassment of him catching me, but this guy had the weirdest way of making me feel at ease. Comfortable, even. I’d never felt that before, especially not around a guy close to my age. I thought he was anyway; he looked to be around twenty-five, though it was hard to tell with most shifters. I almost asked, though I knew better. He felt safe, but that didn’t mean he was.
The feeling might have been because he kept his eyes down, even as he more or less interrogated me. I wasn’t used to anyone showing me that level of respect. Maybe it was his manners. He was more polite than anyone I’d ever met.
The questions he asked were odd, though.
