The male behind Chapel grunted with clear indignation, his bushy eyebrows drawn together over deep set eyes the color of a summer sky. The she-wolf winced, mumbled an apology, andhurried around the counter with a paper towel to clean up her mess.
Sammy had a pretty good idea that was Thierry.
While he towered over everyone else in the room, even Dominic, he didn’t have the same bulk. Narrow at the hips and shoulders, his lean frame looked stretched, and he had the palest skin Sammy had ever seen. Not simply fair, but more like it had been washed of color.
“Thierry DuPont,” Saint said, following Sammy’s gaze. “He makes sure we don’t live like wild animals.”
Thierry snorted and rubbed a hand over the top of his shorn head. He didn’t respond, and he seemed to be making it a point not to look at Sammy.
He tried not to take it personally. “This place is beautiful…and spotless,” he complimented. “Did you do the decorating as well?”
The wolf still wouldn’t look at him, and his lips puckered as if he had tasted something bitter. After a few seconds of tense silence, he turned and strode out of the kitchen.
Well, fuck. That had gone well.
“Don’t worry about it,” Saint told him, but he sounded subdued as he stared at the empty space where Thierry had been. Then, like flipping a switch, his smile returned, and he motioned to another male at the end of the island. “Boone did all the decorating.”
All eyes turned to the male on the far barstool. Even sitting, he was an imposing figure with a thick neck and an unruly beard a shade darker than his chestnut hair.
When he noticed everyone watching him, he sighed and inclined his head in greeting. “Boone Calloway.”
At that exact moment, a tiny Yorkshire terrier with a glittery pink bow in its hair popped out of the collar of his sweater jacket.Boone’s expression melted into pure adoration, and his onyx eyes softened as he scratched behind the pup’s ears.
“And this is Mia.”
Sammy bit his bottom lip and nodded, Thierry’s exit fresh in his mind.
“And that’s Kennedy,” Saint said, finishing the introductions.
Petite compared to the rest of the pack, with big brown eyes and pin-straight blonde hair, she looked to be the youngest. Probably close to his age. Dropping her half-eaten pizza onto a paper plate, she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and beamed.
“Kennedy Rainier.” She gave him a little wave. “Hi!”
She was so warm and bubbly, Sammy couldn’t help but return her smile as he waved back. “Hi.”
This was the infamous Blackrock Pack? The brutal and merciless band of “devil dogs” everyone whispered about? He knew better than anyone that appearances could be—and often were—deceiving, but he didn’t buy it.
They all seemed so…normal.
“What kind of pizza do you like?” Kennedy asked, gesturing to the stack of boxes behind her.
The thought of eating right then made him feel sick, but he forced a smile and asked, “Which one is your favorite?”
“Grilled chicken Hawaiian.”
“I’ll have that,” he said automatically, barely registering her answer.
“Finally! Someone with good taste!”
A collective groan went around the room, and after some good-natured ribbing, Kennedy brought both him and Dominic plates loaded with pizza and breadsticks.
He ate mostly in silence, nibbling the end of his breadstick and speaking only when someone asked him a direct question. Beyond that, he had little to add to the conversation.
Especially when most of his concentration was occupied with trying to maintain control.
Crowds usually helped. With so many emotions at once blending together, the input became diluted until it formed a constant, bearable hum. Uncomfortable, yes, but bearable.
This wasn’t that.