Chapter 7
Semantics
IRIS
“Oh, Luna!” Kitty squeals. “This is so great!”
She bounces along beside me as we make our way through Trinity courtyard, and heads swivel in our direction when she lets out a little howl.
“I always thought you two were cute together. But I never thought you guys would—”
My neck cracks as my head snaps around to look at her.
“Cute?” I ask, eyes nearly bulging from my head.
Kitty giggles.
“Yeah! I feel like it should have been obvious.”
She speaks animatedly, waving her hands around her head as if she’s swiping through every thought as it appears. But I’m stuck somewhere between cute and obvious.
“What do you mean obvious?”
“I don’t know. You’re just so similar, and you’re always flirting.” She shrugs but doesn’t look at me as we make our way down Pack Row. “I feel like I should have seen it coming.”
Similar? Flirting?
I may need to look up these words. Surely they do not mean what I think they mean if Kitty is using them in the same sentence as Elliot Cross and me.
Elliot and I could not be further from similar.
He is cocky and hot-headed. And I wouldn’t call what Elliot and I do flirting.
To me, it’s always felt more like a horse swatting at a fly.
But I don’t say any of this to Kitty. Elliot and I have a lie to keep up with. And honestly, she looks too happy to spoil it.
“Now we can be pack sisters!”
She squeals again. This time, roping me into a tight, one-armed hug, and she doesn’t let go until I start to wheeze and tap her arm.
“Oh, sorry,” she mutters, sliding her glasses further up her nose.
“Don’t get too excited,” I say. “I don’t want you to be disappointed if it doesn’t work out.”
At this point, I think she’d be more devastated than any of us.
“Why wouldn’t it work out?” she says, ever the optimist.
“I don’t know,” I say, shrugging. “Shit happens. It’s not like we’re mates or anything. He could find someone else.”
Kitty chuckles, a sweet blush on her cheeks as she hides her smile behind her hand.
“What?” I ask. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing, I just don’t think that’s something you have to worry about.”
I’m about to tell her the only thing I have to worry about is not draining him by accident, when a chorus of meowing strikes up behind us.
“Meoooow!”
“Meeeow!”
“Hey, Crescents!”
Kitty and I both whirl, growling and hissing respectively.
There are a few Blackclaw wolves lounging on the grass patch at the edge of the courtyard, and they start to howl in return.
“Fuck off!” we shout in unison, but they only howl louder.
“Ignore them,” Kitty mutters.
I turn on my heel, prepared to do just that, when I smack head-first into Dame’s chest.
“Oof.” I groan as the wind is knocked out of me.
“Damn,” he mutters. “My bad.”
His hands settle on my shoulders to keep me from toppling over, and I cringe, feeling like I’ve just run into a brick wall. But he doesn’t skip a beat as he shouts at the Blackclaws, “Keep it up, and I’ll give you something to howl about!”
“Is that a challenge?” one of them calls back.
Dame spreads his arms in open invitation.
“It is if you declare one!”
The Blacklaw pack quiets, no longer confident in their chances, and they all grumble as they turn to move in the opposite direction.
“What the fuck is their problem?” I ask, watching as they scramble up and over the little green hill on the far side of the courtyard. A few of the faeries hurry to get out of their way as they trample over the grass.
“They’re just trying to get us riled up,” Dame says. “They think we’re dumb enough to pick a fight during an open inquiry.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re assholes,” Kitty answers.
Dame elaborates.
“Let’s just say the Inquisition isn’t our biggest fan. If we’re even an inch out of regulation, they’ll bring us up on sanctions.”
“Yeah, especially after what happened last year…” Kitty adds.
“What happened last year?”
Dame is quick to pass Kitty a stern glare, and I know she sees it; she’s too observant not to, but she’s not particularly fond of listening to her older brother, regardless of his rank. Or perhaps, in spite of.
“What,” she shrugs. “Iris is with Elliot, it’s fine.”
Dame’s jaw twinges as he clenches his teeth, a clear request for Kitty to shut the fuck up.
But I can already see she’s preparing to fight him on it.
In defense of her “pack sister,” I suppose.
But I’m not interested in getting sucked into some weird pack politics, so I bow out before she can argue.
“It’s alright,” I say, positioning myself between them. “I don’t want to know.”
Kitty’s arms cross, as do Dame’s, and I laugh at them as we climb the steps to Crescent House.
It’s busy tonight. Then again, Crescent House is always busy. If there isn’t a party, there’s a pack meeting. And if there isn’t a pack meeting, there’s a potluck. They tend to gather for just about any occasion, as is the way with wolves.
We pass about fifteen people just on the way to the common room, all of them chatting and laughing and pretending not to look at me.
Ordinarily, I wouldn’t mind the noise and the traffic, but I’m particular about where I feed.
I prefer someplace quiet and secluded, away from the public but also not at their place, and absolutely never at mine.
That only leaves me with a few options, and I’ve taken great care to find my favorite spots over the years.
The potions lab. The observatory. The archive.
I’ve never strayed from them before today.
After our incident, Elliot insisted that we meet at Crescent House, labeling it a “controlled environment.”
I tried to dissuade him, promised I was fine until I was blue in the face, even agreed never to visit the archive again, but he wouldn’t hear it. He swore that Crescent House could be just as quiet and secluded as any other place on campus. Which I find hard to believe.
In the end, Elliot proposed a simple arrangement.
We would meet at Crescent House, but if his controlled environment proved a failure and anyone so much as glanced in my direction, he would owe me 50 drac.
So I pay close attention to the eyes that pass as Kitty, and I drop our bags in the common room.
She tosses a log on the fire before settling into one of the big leather armchairs and curling up in her seat.
Dame breaks off to head for the kitchen, and I make myself comfortable on one of the sofas across from Kitty.
It’s one of those big, plush sofas that swallows you when you sit, and I sink deep into the cushions, watching the flames dance as we wait for Dame to return with a few drinks.
When he comes back, he’s carrying a brew and two sodas in one hand, and a family-sized bag of chips in the other. He crashes down unceremoniously beside me, jostling the cushions and thwacking me in the shins with his tail.
“Oops, sorry,” he mutters as he pops the tab on my drink and hands it to me.
He does the same for Kitty before ripping open the bag and preparing to eat half of it in a single sitting. At Dame’s size, I wouldn’t be surprised if he could eat the whole bag in the next five minutes.
He offers me a few, but I decline, checking the time instead.
“He’s in the back office,” Dame says, words muffled by his chewing.
“What?”
“Elliot,” he clarifies. “You’re looking for him, right?”
“No. I mean, yeah, but—”
“He’s finishing the paperwork to challenge the inquiry. He should be down in a few minutes.”
Challenge the inquiry?
I didn’t know that was something you could do.
I nod and decide to take him up on his offer while I wait. Though by the time I reach my hand into the bag, there’s only a handful left.
He clicks on the TV hanging over the fireplace and finds something none of us are really watching, but I nevertheless feel a streak of irritation run through me as we are interrupted.
“Hi,” a deep voice calls from over my shoulder.
I turn, a snarl already fixed on my face, and beside me, Dame’s ears perk as he shifts to face our intruder.
“Oh.” The young wolf in front of me takes a step back, glancing between Dame and me. “My bad. I didn’t mean to bother you.”
I blink. What a dumb thing to say.
“Yes, you did. That’s why you said, hello.”
The boy chuckles, crossing his arms, and I frown as I recognize the cocky grin on his pale and freckled face—Deacon, and peering out from his shadow, Covington.
“Hi, Covington,” I greet him. “Did your books dry all right?”
Covington blanches, unable to meet my eyes, and Deacon passes him an impatient glare as he sputters out, “Oh, uh…H-hi, Iris. Yes. They’re fine.”
“Do you need something?” Dame asks, tipping the last remnants of the bag into his mouth.
“No,” Deacon responds, a little too quickly. But Covington elbows him in the side, and he coughs as he corrects himself. “I mean, yes. I just-I wanted to apologize. To Ashbourne. For the other night. I shouldn’t have—”
I cut him off.
“Great. Apology not accepted.”
Deacon’s head jerks back.
“What?”
“I’m not interested in your apology,” I say simply. “You can go now.”
I wave a hand, but Deacon doesn’t move.
It takes him a moment to realize that I’m serious. And when he does, he stands there for a few breaths longer, too shocked to move. Or maybe he’s angry, I’m not sure.
I can hear him grinding his teeth, but the taste of his ever-present lust only grows stronger.
He looks to Dame for confirmation, but Dame only shrugs and mumbles around a mouthful of crumbs.
“Better get out of her face before you make her mad,” Dame says.
With Covington tugging him out of the room, Deacon makes his retreat, crossing paths with Elliot on the way out. Deacon and Covington duck their heads as low as they can manage before scurrying down the hall.
“What was that?” Elliot asks.
In response, I hold out my hand, palm up.
“Ugh!” He groans. “Those two idiots. I should’ve just killed them last weekend. Could’ve saved myself some money.”
I smile as he shuffles through his pockets, looking for his wallet, and when he lays the 50 drac in my hand, I can’t help but utter a single, “Told you so.”