Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
JESSE
The clanging of a bell somewhere close by caused Jesse to stiffen, wondering what it meant.
Tristan scrambled to his feet. “Dinnertime,” he said, reaching out a hand to help Jesse up.
Jesse didn’t need help. But something about Tristan made it hard to ignore the outstretched hand—Tristan had offered help as if that was just who he was, rather than because he thought Jesse couldn’t manage on his own.
He accepted Tristan’s hand, though he wouldn’t be doing that again anytime soon.
Brushing off his hands on his jeans, he followed Tristan’s eager path to the house.
The kitchen smelled fantastic—onions, garlic, and seared meat.
Remembering Jason’s lecture, Jesse followed Tristan to the mudroom to wash up, and when they returned to the kitchen, Matt and Bryce had joined them, sitting at the table.
It felt right, seeing Matt in the midst of his pack like that.
Felt good to see him, those green eyes skating over Jesse with a welcome in them.
Jesse pulled out his chair and sat at what had fast become his usual place, trying not to look at Matt.
Because there was looking and then there was plain staring.
Matt’s face was the kind to get smart people making bad decisions—strong jaw, those lips, and green eyes that saw everything.
Shame he had to be so damn bossy. Though he hadn’t been too bossy earlier, just clear in what he expected, and Jesse could work with that.
Better than vague rules and sudden punishments.
The back door opened again, bringing evening air with it, and Jesse looked up to see Dave and Christian.
He’d never seen them apart yet, like they were joined at the hip.
Was that a mate thing? The thought came unbidden, sliding into his head.
Just as quickly, he wrinkled his nose, scoffing at himself. As if mates were real.
Unfortunately, Christian happened to look across as Jesse wrinkled his nose in disgust, and he might have misinterpreted that. Not that Jesse wouldn’t have wrinkled his nose at Christian, but he hadn’t meant to. This time.
“Fuck,” Christian spat. “You’re still here?”
Jesse stretched in his chair, the picture of relaxation, though every muscle was coiled, ready to lunge forward if Christian came at him. “Well, hell—you’re quick on the uptake,” he drawled.
Christian’s shoulders squared, but before he could make a move, Matt’s voice cut through the kitchen, crisp and sharp. “You two take it outside later if you have to, but for now, we’re going to eat.”
“Believe me, Matt, I ain’t letting this one go,” Jesse said softly, holding Christian’s heated gaze. “Don’t much like being attacked when I’m out there, mindin’ my own business.”
“Minding your own business?” Christian’s glare could have melted steel. “You fucking attacked Dave!”
“Because that genius stuck his goddamn snout in my goddamn side. How was I supposed to know he wasn’t trying to take a goddamn lump out of me?”
“Enough.”
Jesse froze at the whip crack of Matt’s voice, while Jason jumped, nearly tipping over the pan he was stirring. His grip tightened on the spoon, shoulders rigid, as if braced for impact.
“I don’t care if you two want to tear lumps out of each other later, but right now, we’re eating,” Matt said. “You will sit down and shut the fuck up.”
Christian plunked down sulkily on his chair, though his gaze didn’t leave Jesse.
Jesse held Christian’s glare a moment longer, making damn sure Christian knew he wasn’t intimidated, before turning his attention to his silverware, running a slow finger along the knife’s edge.
“For God’s sake, it’s like running a kindergarten,” Matt muttered as Jason handed him a loaded plate.
That wasn’t fucking fair. Jesse hadn’t started anything. Was he supposed to roll over and let Christian say whatever the hell he wanted?
Well, it reminded him that the time he’d spent with Tristan earlier hadn’t been typical. He was right that alphas were the boss, always having the final say and controlling everyone else. And that might be fine for wolves like Jason or Tristan, but Jesse? Hell, no.
Except, working with Matt earlier had been different.
Jesse had actually liked it. He’d enjoyed Matt’s quiet, wry humor, the way he just got shit done, the way he took care of everything without making a big deal out of it.
Jesse couldn’t remember respecting anyone before, but Matt wasn’t just talk.
He did what he said he’d do and pulled his weight instead of just giving orders.
Matt actually gave a damn, and it was hard not to respect that.
And then there was Tristan. Sitting with him, talking… that had felt good too. Like he belonged somewhere for the first time. Maybe. Or maybe he didn’t know what belonging meant. He’d never had it before, not in any way that counted.
And if he didn’t understand it, how the hell was he supposed to trust it? To trust them?
Uncertainty twisted inside him, sharp and clawing. Running was safer. Running, at least, was something he understood.
MATT
Matt wasn’t watching Jesse. Not really.
He was thinking about the pack. About the possible threat lurking out there and the fact Bryce had suggested keeping everyone home tomorrow. Matt sometimes forgot he wasn’t the only one scarred by what had happened in Cheyenne. But Matt didn’t want them to live like they were under siege.
He figured the hostile pack had given up on Jesse now that he was no longer on his own, or maybe this wasn’t even about Jesse. Maybe it was a new pack that hadn’t yet registered with the State Council, and they were simply checking out the neighbors. In a rude, threatening way.
With so many unknowns, Matt wasn’t going to bunker down, but neither was he letting his guard slip.
That was what he should be focusing on. But his gaze kept drifting.
Across the table, Jesse was slouched in his chair, turning his fork idly in his fingers now that his plate was empty.
His hair caught the light as he tilted his head to listen to Tristan, and he pushed back stray strands impatiently.
Jesse got impatient about a lot of things, like he was in a hurry all the time.
And Matt couldn’t work out why. Was Jesse chasing life?
Or was he afraid that, if he didn’t keep moving, something bad might happen?
Matt had known a lot of shifters in his life, but he couldn’t remember one as independent as Jesse. And he liked that about Jesse. He really damn liked it, even when he wanted to wring Jesse’s overly independent neck.
The frayed collar of Jesse’s plaid shirt was turned up slightly, the fabric worn and soft, edges curling against the faded black of his t-shirt. Stubble shadowed his jaw and throat, and beneath it, his pulse thrummed, steady and strong.
Matt shouldn’t have been distracted. He shouldn’t have been looking at Jesse at all. But he was.
“Jesse met Chaos and Mayhem after we finished with Missy’s foal, and they didn’t even butt him,” Tristan said. He sounded proud that those damn goats had, for once, managed not to be devil-spawn.
Jesse was still absently turning his fork between his fingers. Of course the goats hadn’t gone after him. Jesse was always watching for danger. He’d have read the goats’ body language like he did everyone’s, like his life depended on it.
Though, that didn’t explain the chickens.
Matt dropped his gaze, unsettled by how much he wanted to know what else Jesse noticed. And whether, if Jesse looked at him long enough, he’d be able to see past the alpha in him.
* * *
Shortly after dinner, Karl reported in. There was still no hint of anything out of place, and Matt had relaxed, slightly. Didn’t stop him ordering double patrols overnight, though. He wasn’t risking anything.
Jesse came with him to bed down the horses for the night.
Christian had simply left after dinner, without another glance in Jesse’s direction.
Matt was glad of it. He was a firm believer in members of the pack sorting out their own differences, but the fact Jesse wasn’t a pack member complicated matters.
Though, as they worked together again, it was difficult to remember Jesse wasn’t pack. He felt comfortable, as if they’d known one another far longer than they had.
Walking back to the house, Matt was hyperaware of Jesse next to him.
The air had cooled, but it didn’t do a damn thing about the heat curling low in Matt’s gut.
He thought it had started when he’d found himself watching Jesse working, his jeans clinging to the shifting muscles in his legs, but if he were entirely honest, it had been simmering inside him ever since that moment by the cupboard.
Their arms brushed as Jesse moved to avoid a tree root, and Matt clenched his jaw, willing himself not to react. It wasn’t a big deal. If only Jesse’s scent wasn’t curling around him, warm and wild, setting something inside him loose.
He mustn’t do this. Mustn’t lose control. But Jesse was close to him, and this thing between them, thick as the summer heat, hummed like the air before a storm.
The kitchen was empty, save for the lingering scents of food.
The dishes had been cleared, and the rest of the pack had scattered.
Jesse ran his hand through his hair, leaving it even more tousled than usual.
He was darting glances at Matt, his tongue flicking between his lips to moisten them for an instant, as if he were nervous.
As if he were working himself up to something.
Matt didn’t know what Jesse had in mind. All he knew was that peek of Jesse’s tongue had wrecked him.
“Jesse.” His voice came out low, urgent. Raw hunger, stripped bare.