the mom who’s constantly interrupting. But nighttime ones are always nice for peace of mind.
Something my mom wasn’t able to enjoy when I was a kid stuck in the visitation loop, because I was raised in the era before there were cell phones in every hand—and my dad didn’t let me call my mom on the landline save for special occasions. I sigh, thinking once again, divorce sucks. Particularly if you’re a kid caught in the middle. If I could go back in time, I almost would have done anything to spare my girls the pain of being ripped between two parents, like avoiding Julién completely, never to marry him in the first place… but then there wouldn’t be a Charlotte and Maggie.
And my girls, I have to have them. Even in the hypothetical.
When I exit the bathroom, there’s a wolf waiting for me—and I recognize him. It’s Deek.
He leads me back to his room, his tail kept low but relaxed, not cringing or anything. I noticed today as we observed the soccer match that some werewolves carry their tails held at about half-mast—and they throw them up like flags when they charge at other wolves or make a stand against other wolves.
Alphas.
Deek is very firmly not of that category. And here, where he’s in his own environment, it’s clear he’s in his element. Three people pass us on our way back to his room, and he sways his low-kept tail as they do, acknowledging them.
A mingled chorus of “Hey, Deek,” and “Night, Deek,” issue from the trio, along with genuinely cheery nods and smiles to me, and then we’re back in Deek’s room.
I try not to feel nervous as I move over to his bed, and climb on it. One, because I’m telling myself I have nothing to feel strangely about. Two, because we’ve been sleeping in the same room for how many nights now—why should the location make this sleeping arrangement feel significant?
He invited me to sleep in his bedroom. But it doesn’t mean anything to a werewolf.
I reach for the bedside lamp, the source of electric-provided light in the room, and snap it to off.
Moonlight spills in from the two windows. And the hall casts a brighter light than I expected.
Deek noses the door closed, bathing himself in nothing but silvery moonlight.
“Oh!” I tell him, chagrined. “I could have done that. Sorry.” If it’s possible, I’d swear his furry shoulders—or maybe just the fur on his shoulders?—rises a fraction, conveying a shrug. Then I frown slightly at the door.
Deek wurfs at me.
Taking the sound and his direct stare as a silent question, I share my thought out loud. “I was just thinking it’s terribly inconvenient for you if you have to change back into human form every time you want to leave—but then I saw that the door handle is the lever-style kind. That’s all.” I give him a smile and pull the covers over myself.
Deek gives me a werewolf’s easy grin, tongue lolling, and walks to one of the puffy floor beds. Instead of circling before he lies down, as a dog would, he collapses flat out. Like a man drops on a comfy sofa.
It makes me grin up at his ceiling. “Goodnight, Deek.”
***
There’s the barest knock at the door. Since I wasn’t sleeping deeply, I’m tensing and instantly awake, only slightly disoriented.
Deek’s head is raised, attention locked on the door. He wurfs.
“Yes?” I call, softly enough it hopefully won’t wake anyone else in the house, but loudly enough whoever is on the other side of the door will hear me.
The door’s lever lowers, the door cracking open. There’s no light in the hall now, and whoever is behind the door is blocked from the moonlight so I can’t see them.
But I recognize the voice. “Sue?” Ginny whispers. “Can I sleep in here?”
I sit up more. “Sure. Of course, come in. You okay?”
“Yeah.” She closes the door and pads on quiet feet to join me. I slip to the inside by the wall so she doesn’t have to crawl over me, but I switch pillows so she gets a fresh one. “I just… I don’t know,” she says. “I just wanted to stay with you for tonight.”
I pull her in for a hug, and over her shoulder, I see Deek watching us, his muzzle on his paws. “That’s fine,” I assure her. Reassure her. “Deek’s bed is super comfy and big enough for the both of us.”
“No kidding,” Ginny says. “You should see the girls’ room.