Page 16 of Bone Collector’s Mate

Chapter Thirteen

Noir

I had gotten up, intending to bring my mate breakfast after a night of fretting. My second night of worry. Apparently, a big part of being an alpha was worrying.

I took it as a blessing.

I worried about Benji. About how he would take the news of having a stepfather or another father figure in his life. What he would call me. What Rook would say to him. How the conversation would go.

When I would see him again. Both of them.

And then came the nonsensical questions that crawled through the rafters of my mind as they did once the night fell and the moon rose.

Would Benji be goaded or picked on because of who his father’s mate was? Would Rook be outcast or shunned because of his mate?

Would either of their lives be less joyous because of Rook’s choices?

One day, would they grow to resent me?

Or worse, fear me?

A good breakfast was the least I could do, and the alpha side of me wasn’t pleased that our mating wasn’t the romantic experience Rook deserved. There was no fun shower afterward. No sweet morning after. Very little cuddling.

All of it had been not in a bed.

Maybe I’d just been a romp in the leaves. A quickie. A fuck.

I decided on French toast, a breakfast item I’d grown fond of while experimenting with all kinds of breads depending on what the bakery had day-old that week. Not only was it a bargain, but it made better French toast. Today, I had a cinnamon brioche.

I really needed a phone to look things up, like recipes. I asked a question at the market and another townsman showed me his phone and pulled up vast amounts of information in seconds. I’d seen humans with their phones. Some of them glued to the five-inch screen only a breath away from their eyes.

Never cared to have one before.

I whipped up the toast according to the cookbook I’d found tucked away in a closet in my little cabin and cut up some berries and an apple to make a fruit salad. I was packing it up, when I heard something or someone walking up.

Voices.

My heart stopped. It was Rook and Benji chattering away.

Even the goat bleated.

I moved to the door and shifted to my human head so the little tike didn’t scurry away even though he hadn’t before.

He had his glasses on now.

“Good morning,” I said, opening the door before they took the first step.

“Good morning.” My beautiful mate’s cheeks turned red, and he lowered his gaze as he spoke.

I hoped he was remembering the day before. Sweet omega. I wanted to rush over and grab him up in my arms, but we had to take our time.

Patience was in order, and I had that by the truckload. A learned habit. Forced, almost.

“Good morning, Benji. You have your glasses back in shape today.”

The little one climbed the stairs, gripping his papa’s finger like a lifeline.

“I saw Homer. He was eating grass.”