14

His phone rang, and he contemplated not answering it. But it wouldn’t work with who was on the other end. She’d call back. His younger sister had a thing about not giving up. There hadn’t been an emergency when they left the restaurant or when Viv called Eloise in the first place. Just his sisters playing matchmaker. He’d bet his life on it.

“Reagan.”

“Dumbass.”

“What did I do now?”

“The twins set you up on a perfectly good date and you blew it. Do you know how hard it is to find a decent prospect for you? Someone you haven’t already slept with and not a relative? Do you?”

Flint held the phone away from his ear. How had his little sister found out about his transgression?

“Don’t even talk about it like you didn’t mess it up. I was in the Pick-n-Pay when Mrs. Anselm came in and she told me how you and the cute redhead left the Riverside Cafe before eating, and she was all for it because she was worried you were going to be getting it on in the middle of her dining room and she didn’t know how she was going to keep Nate the cook from flipping his lid and walking out in the middle of his shift. Cooks are so temperamental. And then Mrs. Anslem goes off about how she saw the very same redhead storming over the bridge three hours later looking like she was going to cut someone’s head off.” Reagan took a breath. “And the three of us assumed the person’s head she wanted to cut off was yours. So tell me, big brother, what did you do?”

Flint glared at his phone.

“I’m switching to video chat. I want to see your face,” Reagan announced.

Flint took a deep breath. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. The phone chirped, and why he pushed the accept button was beyond him. “What do you want me to say, Reagan?”

His sister’s face appeared. “You fucked up. Again.”

“I guess that depends on your interpretation.” He’d messed up, but it wasn’t something he was going to admit to her.

“You have to come to the pack run tonight.”

Flint tried to not let his irritation show.

“You don’t get into fur enough, and it makes you all cranky.”

“I get into fur enough. If you talked to the twins, then you know I left Eloise’s place last night in fur.”

“Right, but one night in the last six months isn’t enough to appease your wolf, and you understand that, right? The pack is having a run tonight.”

“I’m not coming.” He put his phone on the counter and opened a bottle of beer. “And I’m not Tad. I shift plenty.” He thought about how he’d slept on the ground on Saturday. He doubted that all of his siblings combined had had as much time in fur for the month as he’d had this week.

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter why.” The fact that he’d sprayed his mother’s bushes and his alpha, his cousin, was going to want to know the answer to the same question wasn’t the only reason. Moreover, his wolf had been itching for him to get into fur since he’d come back to the house, and if he did, he had a good idea of where he was going to end up. And he already had a crick in his neck from sleeping on the ground outside of the little apple’s townhouse.

Reagan huffed. “All right. I need you to come.” Flint picked the phone back up. His sister’s eyes flitted to the side. “Ross is going to be there. At least, that’s what Tonya said, and you know I can’t––”

Fur prickled the skin on his forearms. “Who said that ass could run with us?”

“He’s related to Bonnie’s mate. He’s visiting, and . . .”

“Third cousin or some shit. Might as well be a stranger.” Hell, now he had to go. Ross, his sister’s ex, was the son of the asshole alpha of the Philly Grand pack from out east. Spencer, the Hundsburg alpha, couldn’t not let him run with them while he was in town. There was too much tension between the two packs already. But the hell would he let his sister be out there with no protection.

“Never mind. Cousin Duncan and Gunnar will make sure he doesn’t get near me––”

“Reagan. What time?”

“Really? I owe you.”

“Do you owe me enough to stay out of my love life?”

“No.”

“It was worth a shot.”

Flint left his truck and phone at the fire station. Not that he was planning on ending up at Emma’s, but anytime he faced the bridge, his wolf tugged at him. He was going to have to get things under control because the last things he needed were commitment and a witch.

He jogged down Main Street past the old school. When he came to the school parking lot, he slowed. A black sedan was in the lot, one he hadn’t seen before. He stopped and stared. But there wasn’t anyone in the car. He’d been keeping a watch on the place even before he’d met Emma. Like most of the town, he’d been a little curious about what was going on with the place where he’d spent so much time as a child.

There were two expensive cars that came once a week at most: a flashy green Range Rover and a quietly conservative black Mercedes. Also, a red clunker sat next to the bear shifter’s blue truck every day, which he’d confirmed was Emma’s. Occasionally, a bright pink Mini Cooper would show up. But never a dark sedan, so mundane that it screamed up to no good.

Flint cut through the woods to the building. The sedan was empty, and as he jogged around the backside of the building, he picked up a scent he didn’t recognize. A human male. But he couldn’t figure out much more than that. He jogged around the back past the door, glancing into the dark windows around the side where Emma’s office was, in old Mr. Thompson’s classroom. The windows were closed and the room was dark too. When he finished his loop back to the parking lot, the sedan was gone. Flint frowned at the empty lot.

He shrugged it off. Probably an investor who’d missed out on the sale wondering what was going on in the building. Flint jogged down the road to the edge of the pack lands and left his clothes at the bins on the property edge. His shift was fast enough to be painful. Bones snapped into place, and fur sprouted over his skin. If Reagan hadn’t told him of the ass that was coming, he wouldn’t have any control of his wolf trotting over the bridge and up the hill. He cut through the woods and meandered up the pack road to the field where those coming from off the compound would park.

He chuffed and faced the music, trotting off to the tailgate of a large white truck where his cousin and alpha were sitting with his youngest brother and others, waiting for everyone to show up.

Spencer held his little son on his lap. Their alpha hadn’t shifted and still had on his Larsen Construction T-shirt and ripped jeans. His mate, Lauren, stood a few steps over, talking to Reagan. Spencer’s forehead scrunched. He nodded to the other pack members Spencer talked to, and most of them looked at Flint and moved away.

Spencer handed Ashton off to Duncan, the alpha’s youngest brother. “Shift,” Spencer ordered Flint in a low rumble. And while Flint’s own father had been the pack alpha before his murder and Flint himself considered himself more alpha than not . . . another shift ripped through Flint and he crouched before his cousin.

Before Duncan could move away with his nephew, Spencer shook his head at him and he stopped.

Flint stood, his lips pursed. “Spencer.”

“I’m glad you’re joining us.” Spencer cocked his head down the hill at Ross. “Before I move on to the other topic, I want to tell you I don’t really want Ross running with us. But I also don’t want a war with the eastern half of the state.”

“Exactly.” Flint knew the next topic.

“You going to explain your actions yesterday? You planning on challenging me?” His dark eyebrows shot up.

“What? Fuck no.” Flint laughed.

Spencer didn’t laugh.

“Right, listen. I get that your house is right next to my mother’s. I was . . . I was behaving like a cub. It was stupid and I should have called you this morning. I apologize, alpha.” Flint inclined his head. What he’d done was disrespectful to more than his mother, and he should have thought it through.

“Accepted, once you apologize to Lara as well.”

Flint took a shallow breath. He didn’t know how to respond. In a way, his mother had become closer to his cousins over the years. In hindsight, she was continuing her job of taking care of the oracle by looking after her children. But that wasn’t his cousin’s fault.