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My lips fall open. “Y-you’re not mad?”
The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Damn right, I’m mad. He got to you first. I’m going to have to punch him later.”
Cassian’s version of flirting is so different from Damon’s. It’s dry. Almost matter-of-fact. Which somehow makes it even hotter.
He drops his forehead to mine, nuzzling gently, holding my gaze while he covers Damon’s scent-mark with his own. Inhaling, he makes a low growling sound in his throat.
Heat flashes in his green gaze. He grinds his teeth together before he tries to distract both of us. “Did you eat breakfast?”
Smith cuts in. “I’ll get her fed once we’re home. You two have practice in an hour and a half.”
I probably shouldn’t like the way they clearly discuss me among themselves—otherwise, how would Cassian have known what happened upstairs?—but it feels good, somehow. Like they must really, truly care. Plus, I like being something they have in common.
Cassian frowns at his stepbrother but presses in closer, essentially letting me snuggle into his body without having to unbuckle my seatbelt. When I rest my face against the soft part of his shoulder, he gently winds his fingers into my hair, pausing to touch the embarrassing butterfly clip that I wore just for him.
His touch is reassuring. Damon has a more direct approach.
“You’ll have to excuse Smith, sweetness,” he says, still upbeat. “He took the morning off to come here and that’s, like, an earth-shattering event for him. He’ll probably have a bunch of calls and stuff to catch up on this afternoon. Plus, he’s just an asshole in general. But you know that.”
Well. Yeah.
But I can’t really agree, can I?
I’m saved when Smith’s phone buzzes in his pocket, proving Damon’s point. The pack alpha rolls his eyes while he answers, but Damon catches my gaze in the rearview mirror and winks, waving his hand at their leader as if to say, You see what I put up with?
Everyone stays quiet while Smith goes through his work call. I get the feeling that silence might be normal for Cassian; but the slumped set of Damon’s shoulders and the slight edge to his scent make me think he’s struggling.
While Smith argues with someone about a zoning restriction, Damon steers us out of the city center, heading toward a very familiar residential area. Through the car’s enormous moonroof, the copse of ancient oak trees and Spanish moss overhead catch afternoon sunbeams, forming kaleidoscopes of leaves and light. Wind whispers through the canopy, overlapping with cheerful bird chirps and the sound of our tires bouncing over brick roads.
The historic neighborhood is one of the most sought-after in Central Florida. The combination of posh and homey make it perfect for well-to-do packs who also want a quiet hollow to raise a family.
Under ordinary circumstances, I’d be giddy. This is my dream neighborhood—and when we turn off one of the main streets, onto a quiet loop, I realize we’re only a few minutes away from Meg’s pack mansion.
From here, I could safely walk to her house. She could come to mine.
Well, not mine.
Theirs.
But, still.
I should be excited. Instead, I feel the buzz of panic, humming under my skin.
A pack like this? In a place like this? With an alpha who already thinks I’m incompetent? My margin for error just went from minuscule to nonexistent.
You practiced for this, I tell myself, bracing as Damon flicks his blinker on and begins to turn off the side street. Just remember your graces.
Because I may not have had those when Cassian knew me, before, but I do now. I made sure I would never disappoint any pack that might take me home, and it’s time to put my money where my mouth is.
The SUV rocks slightly as we exit the brick road and roll up the base of a long, curved driveway. From my vantage point behind the driver’s seat, I see that the piece of property must be quite large. There’s a big open lawn, shaded by towering oaks. The outline of the house sits way back from the road, mostly obscured by the twisty, low-hanging tree limbs.
Whoever is responsible for their landscaping needs… help. The lawn is shaggy, longer in some places than others, and full of dandelion weeds. There are some dead palm fronds off to the side, piled haphazardly next to the ten-foot-tall hedge wall that seems to surround the entire lawn.
Even with those hints of disrepair, the property feels stately. With a little polish, it could be beautiful.
We roll up the drive slowly, prolonging the moment when we finally pass the cluster of trees and the house emerges.
Oh. My. Lord.
