Chapter Seven
TYLER
Ishoot Garth a hard look, flashing my fangs at him to shut the fuck up. If he chases her away by pushing too hard, I will spend the rest of my life making him miserable—well, more miserable.
The dickhead is pretty fucking wretched already.
It’s painfully clear that he’s digging for information, and I want to throw up my hands at how obvious he’s being. Honestly, I’m not sure how he and Dante survived so long without me to smooth things over.
“Why don’t we start with something easier?” I chop vegetables, loving when her eyes stray to me as I work. My fox chirps in excitement at her nearness but doesn’t uncurl from where he’s recovering. Even exhausted, he’s more alert than he has been in years.
Whatever she did to heal my injuries has seeped into my fox as well.
Every inch of me feels overly sensitive, even my insides feel tender, but the bone-deep ache that has been plaguing my soul for the last few years is gone. It doesn’t hurt to move anymore, doesn’t hurt to call upon my fox. My senses don’t burn when I try to use them.
It’s…peaceful.
I feel like a new person, but the healing wiped me out.
I’m beyond tired, barely smothering a yawn as I struggle to stay awake.
My fox is curled up in the back of my mind, his nose buried in his tail.
I would think he’s sleeping if it weren’t for the way his ears swivel, as if searching for any sounds of the girl.
It’s stupid. I just met her today, but I feel connected to her somehow.
Could she really be my mate? My family died before they could share the information on how foxes find their mates.
I’m aware of her every breath, every subtle shift of her body.
My hands ache to touch her, my lungs desperate for more of her scent.
Honestly, I fear that if she tries to leave, my fox will pounce on her…or follow her like a lovesick pup.
I’ve never felt like this with anyone.
That makes her special, right?
Unfortunately, I don’t know if that proves she is my mate or if I’m just horny.
After dumping the veggies into the hot pan, I point the knife at the guys. “The moody asshole you bit is Dante. He’s our enforcer.”
At the reminder, she swipes the back of her hand against her mouth, removing the trace of blood smeared along her lips, but her golden eyes are not the least bit contrite, meeting him glare for glare. Judging by the glint in her eyes, she wouldn’t hesitate to do it again if he tried to get close.
Her defiance is sexy as fuck, and I love it!
I thought I preferred submissive women, but if the way my dick has yet to go down is any indication, I just haven’t met the right woman yet.
“Feisty. I like it.” Just to be a dickhead, Dante winks and waves his bandaged hand. “I’m not opposed to a little love bite, but how about next time, we keep our foreplay in the bedroom?”
I flip the knife in my hand, catching the blade, ready to skin the fucker, which only makes the asshole smirk. I hastily set the knife down and clear my throat to draw her attention, pointing in the opposite direction. “The wolf you met is Garth. He’s our acting alpha in charge.”
I glare at Dante when she finally turns to glance at the other man, but the fucker just shrugs, completely unrepentant. If I didn’t know better, I would swear he’s actually enjoying himself, but that can’t be right. Dante only enjoys tormenting his prey, then killing them.
Not even his gaggle of women can wrestle a smile from the moody bastard.
I swear to the gods, if he even thinks of harming her, I’m going to fucking neuter the bastard.
The two men are so temperamental, it’s like living with two toddlers.
They’re fucking exhausting.
I spend most of my days cleaning up after the assholes and struggling to remain sane after listening to their constant bickering.
It’s a thankless, full-time nanny job with no pay.
The only reason I stay is that no one else would put up with the bastards.
Garth grunts in acknowledgment at the introduction, but otherwise, his expression doesn’t change.
His bright blue eyes remain intense, slightly squinty—an expression he often wears when he communicates with us through the pack bonds.
I have no doubt the fucker is trying to read her mind, and my fox bristles with outrage.
I toss the vegetables to prevent myself from beaming him over the head with the pan.
Part of me is desperate to learn what he discovers, not worried about what boundaries he’s crossing, craving to learn even the smallest detail about her to ease my anxiety.
The other part doubts he’ll get anywhere.
She’s too strong to let anyone past her shields.
I’ve lived with these assholes so long, I know how they think.
It’s part of being pack.
Garth barely even blinks, staring at her like an obsessive stalker, as if afraid that she might be a figment of his imagination and disappear.
I can’t fault him, since that was my first reaction as well.
The girl is gorgeous, striking in a way that automatically draws every eye in the room. It’s not only her looks that are fascinating. She exudes a calming alpha vibe that has everyone around flocking to her. They automatically want to please her, seek her approval and affection.
Since she is female, I doubt anyone has bothered to look beneath the calm exterior to see the barely contained predator lurking under her skin. Female shifters are supposed to be obedient and docile—a survival mechanism that makes them irresistible to alphas and their need to claim and protect.
Any sane person would be put off by the threat of violence that hovers around her like a perfume, but not shifters.
It’s the opposite, in fact—our beasts are drawn to it on a primal level.
It makes her even more irresistible.
If alphas are rare, female shifters are nearly nonexistent. While they should be coddled and worshiped, the opposite happens—they’re often hunted by alphas, claimed as prizes, and used for breeding even stronger alphas.
Because what does an alpha want more than anything?
More territory, more power, and more…everything.
Something tells me she would not submit easily.
I swear I can practically see pure chaos swirl around her, and my fox absolutely loves it.
She’s the opposite of Garth.
His need to control everything is the only thing that keeps him sane some days, even if he drives the rest of us batshit crazy in the process.
I grab the lightly seasoned steaks and toss them into the pan, my mouth watering when the juicy thickness sizzles deliciously.
Though she tries to hide it, she can’t stop stealing lustful looks at the food.
The thought of having that look directed at me is enough to make my cock throb with the need to feel her touch, and I turn away, discreetly adjusting myself.
When she absentmindedly licks her lips, a flash of hunger crossing her expression, my enjoyment fades.
I’ve been hungry more than once in my life, near starving before the guys found me.
It fucking tears me up inside that she’s ever had to feel that gnawing, unrelenting pain that never seems to end.
Patches of red fur bubble up along the back of my fingers as I lose my shit, and I clench my eyes shut, concentrating on pulling my fox back.
From personal experience, I know the last thing she’ll want is sympathy.
The only thing that allows me to pull back my rage is my need to feed the woman.
When I have myself under control, I flash her a wink, needing to lighten the mood before I do something stupid and demand that she allow me to take care of her.
“I saved the best for last. Though my name is Tyler, I’d prefer it if you continue to call me Foxy. ”
Her lips quirk ever so slightly, and my fox yips in my mind, pleased to have her attention back on us.
I wait a beat, but when she doesn’t say anything, I pout a little.
“You don’t have to tell us your full name, but if you don’t, I’m going to have to come up with something on my own.
Beautiful will work.” I rub my chin, pretending to think about it. “Sexy has a nice ring to it.”
Feeling a bit impish, I snap my fingers and smile slyly. “I got it! I’ll call you—”
“Frankie.” She relents with a sigh, but I don’t miss the slight flush to her cheeks as she avoids my gaze. “You can call me Frankie.”
Reaching over, I open the cupboard and drag out some plates, grateful we even have clean dishes—that we have dishes at all, considering the way these fools break things.
I hand them to her, then grab some silverware and toss it on top with a clatter.
She blinks in surprise, scrambling to catch everything, and I nudge her toward the island.
“I’ll finish up the food while you set the table. ”
She reluctantly does as instructed, plopping the plates a good foot away from the guys, as if reluctant to step any closer. A pleased yip echoes in my head when I notice she places our plates next to each other.
Sure, they’re a foot apart, but she’s closer to me than the others, and I call that a win.
I pull the barely seared steaks from the stove, placing one on each plate, ensuring she has the largest slab. The veggies are next. I haphazardly toss a token few onto the guys’ plates, then dump the majority in front of the girl.
If I expect her to protest, then I would be waiting a long time. Shifter women aren’t afraid of enjoying their food, often eating almost as much as the men. If anyone tries to take it from them, they can be downright vicious.
It’s another reason why women often have more than one mate—so we can pamper them like they deserve.
Frankie digs into her food with gusto, not sparing us a glance as she picks up her steak with her bare hands. Fangs flash as she tears into it, barely chewing before she gulps down the food. Garth and Dante exchange measured looks, their expressions grim at her desperation.