Chapter 8-Rosalind
It’s just dinner.
Pizza and beer with friends.
Totally normal. Totally casual.
So why the hell am I parked outside Hope’s house, gripping my steering wheel like it’s the last line of defense between me and a full-blown panic attack?
Because you’re weird, Rosalind. That’s why.
No, correction—because I’ve had, like, maybe two real friends in my entire life.
And one of them was a feral Fox Shifter who moved to Arizona after his tail got stuck in the car door and had to be surgically removed.
The point is—I’m not great at this part.
The socializing.
The showing-up.
The pretending I’m a relaxed, normal person who doesn’t recite the three ways to break a Shifter’s hold on you playing on repeat in her brain at all times.
Or that my day job—at Furry Smiles—doesn’t break my heart on the regular when there’s an animal situation we can’t salvage.
Plus, my probationary Enforcer status is starting to chafe my ass.
Breathe.
I can do this.
It’s just dinner. Just Hope.
She’s sweet. Warm. The kind of person who makes you feel like you belong, even when you don’t.
She’s also mated to a cinnamon roll of a Bear who could rip a tree out of the ground if someone looked at her wrong—so yeah, she’s kind of terrifying in her own cozy way.
But it’s not just Hope tonight.
It’s Hope and Miles.
And—of course—Honor.
Dear Lord, that brother of hers is the exact kind of complication I do not need in my life.
Mate, my Bear chuffs inside me, all smug and dreamy.
No. Absolutely not. Bad Bear.
I give her an internal shove, trying to drown out the now-familiar heat that sparks every time Honor so much as breathes near me.
Whatever my inner beast thinks she knows, she’s wrong. She has to be.
That’s not the mission. That’s not the assignment.
I’m here for work. For the Clan.
I’m here to make sure Hope’s transition into clan life goes smoothly—and to keep her brother blissfully ignorant of the supernatural world humming just beneath his feet.
That’s it. That’s the job.
And yet, when Hope invited me to dinner tonight, not one of our usual scheduled check-ins, she said it like it was no big deal.
Casual.
Friendly.
Like maybe she really meant it.
And that might be the scariest part of all.
To me, it is kind of a big deal.
Because I’m not here to make real friends.
Not even sure I know how.
The real problem? Shifters hate lying.
It goes against every instinct in our bones.
We’re built for honesty. Directness. Truth.
So me pretending I’m here just because I’m Hope’s buddy?
Yeah. That sucks.
Mostly because I’m scared to admit I really want to be her friend. I want this to be real.
I’m still locked in that self-pity spiral when a sharp knock on the window startles the ever-living hell out of me.
I yelp, body jerking as I slap both hands to my chest.
Yes. My boobs.
I’m grabbing my boobs like they’re under attack.
Hope’s wide-eyed face appears through the glass, blinking at me like she’s not sure whether to laugh or call for help.
“Oh my God—are you okay?” she asks, eyeing me strangely because yes, my hands are still firmly latched onto my own chest.
“Hi!” I say, my voice going about an octave too high. “Nothing to see here! Just, uh, securing the girls.”
She grins.
“Well, they are pretty amazing. Do you wear underwire?”
“What?”
“Never mind. We can do bra talk later. Now, if you’re done copping a feel, you wanna come inside? The boys ran out to pick up the pizza, and I was just about to throw together a Caesar salad.”
“Right. Yes. Totally. Salad.” I nod like an idiot and fumble for the door handle.
“You might have to let go of your boobs to do that,” she says sweetly.
I glance down.
Yep. Still clamped on like I’m guarding national secrets.
“Right,” I mutter, releasing them and mentally writing off this entire evening as a disaster.
But she just laughs, no judgment in her tone, and leads me inside like this is all completely normal.
The house smells like fresh paint and new wood—Miles must’ve been busy adding on again.
It’s warm. Lived-in. Cozy.
And there’s something about being here that hits me in the chest like a wave.
I want this, I realize. Not the house. But the feeling of it.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Hope says, guiding me toward the kitchen. “But every time I try to cook lately, my stomach turns. Like, instant nausea.”
I sniff the air instinctively, but I don’t catch anything obviously off. She smells like Bear, settled and claimed, but I don’t know her well enough.
“Could be the Bear adjusting,” I offer with a casual shrug. “Happened to me after my first shift. Everything tasted like metal for a month. Even ice cream.”
She wrinkles her nose.
“That’s awful. Miles said it might be a phase. Something to do with my system recalibrating.”
“Sounds about right.” I lean against the counter, trying to appear relaxed even as I catalog every knife within reach. Habit. “So, how are you holding up? Any more trouble from his old Clan?”
Her face falls slightly, then brightens again. “Wow. Jumping right into the heavy stuff?”
I flinch. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
““No, it’s okay,” Hope says quickly, waving me off when I apologize. “You’re not wrong to ask. And honestly? It was scary. Two Shifters showing up like that, threatening me.”
She shudders, then exhales.
“I thought it would be bad enough if they were human men, but normals have nothing on angry Shifters. And it happened so fast.”
“I read the reports,” I murmur, guilt flaring hot and sharp in my gut. “I just—I can’t imagine being attacked without even knowing Shifters exist. I’m so sorry, Hope.”
She smiles softly.
“You don’t have to be. My life changed for the better because of that night.” Her eyes soften even more as she says, “Miles stormed in like a Grizzly hurricane and made sure they knew exactly who I belonged to.”
I feel the shift in her then.
Not fear.
Not anger.
Pride. Peace.
“And you’re not mad at him?” I ask quietly. “Not even a little?”
“Mad?” She laughs and grabs a bottle of dressing from the fridge. “At Miles? No way.”
She twists the cap and glances at me.
“He gave me everything. My Bear. My heart. This whole magical world I never even knew existed—it’s mine now. And I love it. I love him.”
My chest tightens as I smile back.
She knows I’m here because of orders. She has to. And yet she talks to me like we’re real friends, like I matter to her outside of Clan politics and probationary Enforcer nonsense.
And I like it. More than I should.
Maybe—if I don’t mess this up—I could have a real friend.
The sound of tires crunching on asphalt reaches my ears a heartbeat before Hope stiffens and brightens all at once.
“They’re back,” she says, already grinning.
The back door opens, and Miles steps in first, pizza boxes stacked in his arms.
Honor follows close behind, sleeves rolled up, hair mussed by the breeze, the familiar weight of him filling the room like gravity itself.
Hope practically launches herself at Miles. He laughs, shifts the boxes to one hand, and wraps her up, kissing the top of her head like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Something sharp and aching twists in my chest.
God, I want that.
You can have that, my Sow whispers softly. Tell him.
Shh.
Honor takes the pizza and sets it on the table, then looks up—and his gaze finds mine.
The world narrows.
Just him. Just me.
His eyes linger, dark and intent, like he’s cataloging every inch of my face.
My pulse stutters, then races, heat blooming low in my belly as my Bear presses forward, pleased and possessive.
“Hey,” he says, voice rougher than it needs to be. “You hungry?”
“Yeah,” I answer—and immediately want to crawl into the oven and roast myself alive because that came out way too breathless.
One corner of his mouth lifts. Not a full smile. Something slower.
Something that promises trouble.
“Good,” he says quietly, still holding my gaze. “But first, tell me how you feel about pineapple on pizza.”
“Does it have bacon and jalapenos? Then I’m good. But if you put ham on it, hard pass.”
He grins, flips open the box, and my smile gets wider.
“Bacon, jalapenos, pineapple, and extra cheese,” he says.
“That’s my order,’ I whisper.
“I know,” he replies. “I asked the chef.”
My face hurts, I’m grinning so wide. And my heart slams hard against my ribs so hard I’m sure the Shifters in the room can hear it.
“Rosalind,” Honor whispers my name, his dark eyes glittering at me.
I look away first.
Because if I don’t, I might do something stupid.