The whiskey twilight falls over the forest outside the window and the light fall of snow.
I am dressed in a warm, woolen blue dress.
It turns out that Phantom, no matter that he looks like a giant scary Alpha, is in fact a teddy bear on the inside. On his way back from having the doctor tend to his injury, he also went shopping for us like we were already pack, rather than prisoners.
Who does that?
Phantom bought both Bird and me a range of warm clothes with disturbing accuracy on our sizes, which tells me how closely he has been watching us. He even bought new coats, socks, boots (and got the size right), as well as scarves and hats.
Bird appeared overwhelmed.
It seems that he is as unused to being bought things as I am.
It makes me want to buy him the world.
Bird and Joker sat next to each other, squealing and giggling as they pulled things out of the bags, while Phantom and I stood next to each other indulgently watching them.
I enjoy Phantom’s stoic silence.
I need it to balance out the other two hyper members of our newly formed pack.
When Joker discovered the chocolates shaped like bullets, he leaped up and kissed Phantom’s cheek. “You are the fucking best. My sweet, romantic Alpha.”
Phantom blushed, before he swept the much smaller Beta into his arms with a tenderness that surprised me.
Now, behind me, I can hear the bubbling of the pan on the small, propane stove. It is domestic in a way that I haven’texperienced before, even with weapons, rather than cutlery and plates being laid out on the table.
Maybe especially because of that.
I glance over my shoulder to watch Bird helping Phantom to cook, although Phantom is still remarkably efficient with his arm in a sling. He stirs the pasta, while Bird dances around him in a brown sweater, joggers, and soft socks that made him purr with their sensory sensation when he pulled them on. He is throwing herbs and chopped tomatoes in like he is brewing a potion.
“It needs more garlic,” Bird merrily suggests. “I helped to grow a vegetable and herb garden with the other staff in the hotel where I lived. We only had this tiny outside space and little to eat. But we could grow some stuff for ourselves, you know, and that was special. I planted a sensory garden for my Omega niece, and she loved that. Hey, shall I add some more chopped tomatoes?”
I take a deep breath of the smell of cooking pasta, tomatoes, and olives.
I would stand as a kid outside the kitchens in Adonis Hall, while delicious pasta dishes, far fancier than this, were created. But only for theAdonis family’splates.
Never mine.
I don’t care how this meal tastes or how plain it is. It’s being cooked for me by the pack I have decided to stay with for the moment.
I don’t know yet if that is a mistake.
Yet the Hunters are trying. Phantom is cooking with Bird, while Joker is sharing with me his hobby — weapons.
We have so much in common.
How can I doubt that I made the right decision this morning to stay?
I pick up a dark gray semi-automatic handgun. I feel the heft of it in my hand.
This is a serious weapon.
I turn it over, pointing it at an onion, which stands on the cutting board, imagining that it’s Mr. Baskerville’s head.
“She’s Baby One.” Joker’s voice is hushed. Why is he suddenly serious? “I’ve had her the longest. She’s seen me through some shit.”
I lower my arm. “This was your SIG when you were in the SEALs?”