At her fucking wedding.
When I stopped it. Hopefully.
Or murdered her fucking fiancé and started a war between the bear shifters and the kitsunes.
We’d win, of course. But they’d put up a fierce fight. One none of us wanted.
So I should probably try not to kill him. No matter how badly I wanted to.
Reed dropped off the other two guys, and turned up the music for the drive to his place. When we got there, his wife and two little boys were already asleep, so he just tossed a pillow and blanket on the couch for me.
I grunted what I hoped sounded like a thank you. It probably didn’t.
I still wanted to shift and chase Madison down.
When morning came around,I was still staring at the ceiling.
Wrestling the bear in my chest, too.
I should’ve been exhausted, but every fucking part of me was on edge. Waiting. Worrying.
I itched to at least text or call Madi. Anything to make sure the alpha hadn’t hurt her or forced her to mate with him earlier than planned. But her phone was gone thanks to the car fire, and mine was back at my cabin.
A loud whisper caught my attention as the sun rose. I’d heard movement and quiet voices for five or ten minutes already.
“Why can’t I go in there? He’s not asleep. I can hear him breathing weird.”
I bit back a snort.
That must’ve been Reed’s oldest son. He was five or six. I couldn’t remember the kid’s name, though.
“He’s worried about his mate and probably wants privacy,” his mom murmured back. Her name was something bird-like. Raven. Or Robin, maybe.
“He doesn’t care,” Reed called from the bedroom. “He probably needs a distraction, anyway.”
“Like Legos?” the kid asked.
“Sure,” Reed agreed.
Fast footsteps followed as the kid ran into his bedroom. The sound of a bunch of tiny pieces crashing into each other echoed as he ran back down the hallway a minute later.
I looked at my torso when he set the bucket down on my abs.
Then looked at him.
His curly brown hair was a mess, and his pajamas had rocket ships on them. His skin was tan like Reed’s, and his eyes were the same gold color as his dad’s too. The dirt I could smell on his skin told me he spent a hell of a lot of time outdoors. Just like any happy shifter kid would.
He'd probably dug a little cave under the snow to reach the dirt. I’d done that a couple times when I was young, though I’d done it out of necessity rather than fun.
“We’re building a drone,” the kid said. His voice was cheerful.
“What kind of drone?” I asked.
He shrugged. “A good kind.”
I grunted.
How was I supposed to builda good kindof drone with Legos? What was that supposed to look like? What kinds of drones had the little punk even seen?
