full-blown accusation. “What do you want me to cook now?”
“Cherry pie with your special crust.”
“Cherry pie?” Bastien glared at her. “Do you know how much work it is to get that crust exactly right? And I’ll have to go get the cherries.”
Mercy gave him her best “I’m pregnant with multiples” smile. “I love you.”
“Grr.” Putting a hand on her hair, Bastien leaned down again and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll make you your pie after I finish the casserole you wanted for lunch.”
Smiling as he went back into the kitchen, Mercy patted her belly again. “Yes, Uncle Bastien is the best.”
“Stop sucking up,” her brother growled from the kitchen. “I’m making the damn pie.”
Mercy laughed and picked up the old-fashioned notepad on which she was jotting down ideas for the joint event—officially, it was to welcome the pupcubs, but Mercy knew that was just an excuse.
It was time: DarkRiver and SnowDancer had gone from wary neighbors to wary allies to true allies to blood-bonded friends who’d lay down their lives for one another without hesitation. While they’d never be one pack, their animals too different, they were as close to it as possible. This celebration was about acknowledging that.
Planning a social event wouldn’t usually be a task assigned to a sentinel, and it wasn’t anything at which Mercy was an expert—but she wasn’t doing this alone. Riley was better at this kind of thing. Despite being as aggressive a dominant as Mercy, he’d also long been in charge of SnowDancer’s overall personnel. His experience at organizing a whole bunch of snarly wolves into some sort of order translated surprisingly well into breaking down the manpower required for a large event.
He’d done just that last night, while she did a few exercises with him playing spotter. And scowling. Her lips quirked. Poor Riley. Ending up with a mate who refused to sit still and let him take care of her. Her gorgeous wolf didn’t realize she was taking care of him, too—the last thing Riley needed was peace and quiet. Give him time to think and his worry for her went into hyperdrive.
“I’m amazed at your patience,” Indigo had said to her a month ago, the wolf lieutenant’s eyes curious. “I’d have expected you to have clawed him bloody by now for his overprotectiveness.”
Mercy had promised Indigo a clawing was on the horizon, but the truth was that Riley had earned his right to worry. That massive heart of his? It loved so fiercely that it held nothing back, maintained no protections against hurt. For a man like that, she could give a little, accept what he needed to do to keep himself on an even keel.
Quite aside from her wolf, Mercy had two packs of helpers at her disposal when it came to organizing this event. Plus, thanks to Riley, she knew approximately how many people she needed for each task. “Bas?”
“Yeah?”
“You up for doing some catering for the—”
“N.O. No.”
“But you’re an amazing cook.”
“I’m a genius in charge of DarkRiver’s financial assets, not your personal chef slave.”
She grinned, because grumpy as he sounded, her brother had taken time out of his genuinely busy day—because he was a financial genius—to come hang out with her. The food was just an excuse; this was about family. “Is Kirby okay with you being here today?” Bastien and Kirby hadn’t been mated long, were understandably possessive of one another.
“Are you kidding? She loves the pupcubs.” He poked his head out of the kitchen again. “I think she still occasionally worries about the fact that she’s a lynx and I’m a leopard. The pupcubs reassure her that’s not and never will be an issue.”
Mercy knew her sister-in-law well enough to guess what lay at the root of her fears. “Just love her.” Kirby had been alone for a long time—she was pack now and understood that she belonged, but a little extra affection would help cement that realization.
“I love her until my heart hurts.” Bastien’s expression softened. “She’s smart, sexy, funny, perfect.”
“I just threw up a little in my mouth.” Mercy pretended to gag, wasn’t fast enough to dodge or catch the cushion Bastien grabbed from the closest sofa to throw at her. It hit her in the chest with so little momentum she knew he’d been purposefully gentle. All three of her hooligan brothers had reverted to type now she was pregnant: protective DarkRiver dominants.
You’d think they’d never pushed her into a mud pool or five, or tripped her up, or played