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A reject like me didn’t belong here.
Or maybe anywhere.
29
Eat and Run
FLOR
“You can’t go!” At least three voices complained at the same time, but I took a breath to keep the dinner knife I’d stolen securely in my skirt’s waistband, and nodded to Margarette.
“Thanks again for the meal, and everything. The saving my life and giving me a home stuff.”
“You’re welcome, Flor,” Margarette murmured. “I’ll have them box up another plate for you for later.” If she hadn’t been across the table, I would have hugged her.
“Flor?” From the far end of the table, a man I hadn’t talked to, sitting next to Finnick—an older version of him, minus the gorgeous green eyes—addressed me in a voice so cold, it stopped all the conversation in the room. I cleared my throat and leaned around Brand, craning my neck to see who was speaking.
The first thing I noticed was that the man wore glasses. That was super strange to me; shifters all had perfect vision, unless they’d lost an eye. I knew our Alpha had plucked out more than one pack member’s eye for discipline over the years.
I shuddered, trying to focus on what the guy was asking. “Yeah?”
“Your name—it’s Spanish for flower,” the older man said impatiently. He peered down over his glasses, like I was a bug under a magnifying glass. “Do you have Latin shifter heritage somewhere?”
“Nope,” I said, catching a curled lip and eye roll from Brand. “I’m not Flor, actually.” I didn’t miss the confused sounds the guys made, Finnick included. But it wasn’t like my name was a secret. Well, not all of it. “My real name is Florida.”
“Florida?” Margarette smiled. “I may like that even better. What’s your middle name?”
“Um, no middle name,” I lied.
The man scoffed. “You would lie to our faces? To members of the Council?” He shot Margarette a glance. “I thought you said she had skills and honor. Margarette, I can’t believe you’d let this one step foot in your home.”
“Father,” Finnick interrupted. “Please.”
His father’s voice dropped so low, I imagined he thought I wouldn’t hear him. “You spoke about her like she was some sort of Valkyrie. She’s ill-bred, unattractive, and her accent is like nails on a chalkboard. Son, if this is what you admire, we need to recall you to the city so you can be around shifters worth knowing.”
“Father, enough.” Finnick stood, his heavy chair toppling to the carpet.
His father laughed in his face. “Why? You can’t possibly be attracted to her. She’s an unranked female from Southern. They pass them around like after-dinner mints. You can play with them, but don’t ever think of bringing trash like that home.”
Finnick growled. “Father. Stop talking.” The waves of Alpha energy rolling off him were alarming, and his father was shivering under it for some reason. That was so odd. His father had to outrank his own Heir. But the way he was almost cowering under Finnick’s display made it clear that something wasn’t right.
“You dare?” Finnick’s father hissed. “You’d risk everything for a Southern slut?”
Growls were now rising from all over—Brand, Glen, Margarette, even Alpha Hillier.
“I said, stop talking.” Finnick’s tone was all Alpha bark.
Everyone at the table was stunned. “A-are you challenging me?” his father sputtered.
Suddenly, the room was thick with emotion. Rage, concern, fear, anticipation. Amusement? I sniffed in Brand’s direction.
“Finn’s balls just dropped,” he breathed. “He’s about to be Alpha. About damned time.”
“Don’t stir the shit,” I replied, thumping him on the shoulder. That weird warmth emanated from his dark hair, and I almost buried my fingers in it. “Why do you smell so good, Bearman?” I whispered aloud without meaning to.
The growling got louder, and Finnick’s eyes swung to me. He was growling now, too.
At the other end of the table, Brand’s father let out a coughing laugh. “Girl has good taste.” He shot a condescending glance at Finnick’s father. “Aidan, apologize for insulting my son’s… friend.” I heard Margarette curse softly, for some reason.
