With nothing more to be said on the subject of Thom—for the moment, at least—Ambrose and Dane take turns filling Freya in on the situation with the thefts. She asks a few keen questions, but for the most part she just listens. I know that, besides being the best tracker in our Pack, she has something like a photographic memory, and will remember everything she's told with no need to take notes.

When at last we've caught her up, the talk turns to other, lighter fare.

Grace tells us about her plans for the farm, and Freya entertains us with stories of some of the more unusual jobs she'd been hired for, which sound like a recap of a wild season of some crazy tv show.

When she tells us how she cleared out a nest of feral ghouls that had taken up residence in an abandoned subway tunnel, I try to catch her in a lie—or at the very least an exaggeration.

"Yeah, I've done that, too," I laugh, "in a video game. 'Feral ghouls' aren't real."

She shoots me a look that says 'challenge accepted,' and pulls out her phone. She has pictures. They certainly look real.

They also look kinda like normal people, except for the dead gray skin, black eyes and black, needle-like teeth.

"Ghouls feed on the dead," Freya explains matter-of-factly. "The real ones, that is. Most are pretty well-behaved, really, and keep to themselves. It's when they get together in larger numbers that things get messy."

"Oh wow," Grace breathes, having taken Freya's phone to look for herself. She scrolls to the next picture, and the next, and Freya happily details her thrilling encounters with a number of unusual beings. I guess it explains why she'd barely bat an eye when I announced I was dating a dragon, and I feel a twinge of uncalled-for jealousy as I realize that her life is about a thousand times more interesting than mine.

"What's this guy?" Grace asks, holding the phone towards Freya. I catch a glimpse of a handsome dark face and a cheeky grin. "He looks hot. Is he an incubus or something?"

"Oh... no," Freya says, taking her phone back and quickly returning it to her pocket. "That's just Darius."

Grace narrows her eyes with a slight smile. "'Just Darius,' huh?"

Freya sips her drink with studied nonchalance. "Yeah, we've been, uh, working together for a bit. I left the RV with him when I flew out here."

She turns the conversation to another topic, and Grace lets it go, but when Freya's not looking she casts me a wink and mouths just Darius, while trying to hide a grin. I file the name away for future use.

~ ☾ ~

Eventually, our little party winds down. Ambrose, Freya, and Dane turn back to discussing the case, while Grace and I compare some of our favorite books. Chloe leans against Grace, content to listen, while Julian has slowly inched closer to Dane. He lies curled with his head in his lap, seemingly asleep, while Dane absently strokes his soft, dark chocolate-colored hair.

The pair of them might have hit a rough patch, I reflect, but they're still on the same road.

It's late when Ambrose and I depart, Freya giving me a final rib-cracking squeeze and a playful pretend punch to the side of my face on our way out.

"Weasel," she says, shaking her head. "I'm happy for you, though, you know that right?"

I nod, eyes stinging a little. "Yeah, I do."

She hugs Ambrose next, and I see her whispering something in his ear that makes his eyebrows lift. In the car, I ask him what she'd said.

"Let's just say that if I take your brother's threats to my person seriously, it is your sister whom I'd truly fear to cross."

I laugh. "Me too."

The rest of the drive home passes in silence. I stare out the window at the night-darkened world, watching trees and fields, and then houses and the streets of the town slide by, like a dreamy film reel. I'm sleepy and relaxed, and strangely content, and I realize that as uncomfortable as it was to share my story, I feel better now that I have.

Despite having seen him only that day, and despite Dane's prediction that I'll see him again, I feel like I'm finally free of Thom.

So I'm a little surprised to see, as Ambrose pulls into the garage and shuts off the engine, but makes no move to get out of the car, that he doesn't seem to share my lightened mood. In fact, he looks almost grim, staring straight ahead with his hands still on the wheel.

"Ambrose?" I ask after a moment. "What's wrong?"

He takes a breath and then, still without looking at me, speaks in a quiet, low voice.

"You're not to see him again, Noah," he says. "Do you understand me?"

I blink a few times, taken aback. "Who? T-Thom?"

"Who else would I be talking about?"

"I don't want to see him again," I reply, frowning. "You know that."

"Then see that you don't."

My frown deepens. His tone is almost harsh, and he sounds as if he's laying down the law for a troublesome teen and wants to make it clear he means to be obeyed.

"Hey," I object, "you don't need to tell me that. I'm well aware of the danger, in case you missed that part."

"Are you?" he asks, finally turning to look at me, his eyes flicking between each of mine. "Did you not, this very day, meet him in secret, having told no one of your planned assignation ahead of time? Would you not have done the same again, if the wretch had promised you repentance, and if your brother had not put his skills to use at last and discovered the true nature of the man?"

"What? No!" I protest. "And I did tell someone. The only reason that someone wasn't you is because I didn't get the chance! I tried to tell you all this last night, remember? What's with you, anyway? Thom or not, who I see or don't see isn't something for you to decide."

Quick as a striking snake, he grabs me by the back of the neck, pulling me towards him across the space between our seats.

"Listen here, little wolf," he hisses between his teeth. "Do you have any fuckin' idea what you are to me?"

Alarmed by his sudden, unexpected aggression, I stare back at him, hardly daring to blink.

"I'm your... your M-Mate," I answer, with less certainty than I'd like.

He shakes his head. "You know you're more than that. You're my heart—my weakness, my wealth, my joy, and my greatest fear. And if dragons are prone to any particular vice, little wolf, it is not wrath. It is jealousy."

I try to pull away from him, but he doesn't let me go. "Are you seriously saying you're jealous of Thom? Because that's ridiculous."

Again, he shakes his head, pulling me closer. "I'm jealous of every minute you're away from me. Every word you speak to someone else. Every glance that isn't cast my way. I'm jealous of your trust, and your friendship. I'm jealous of your love, and of every second you spend thinking of something that isn't me."

His voice has turned low and dangerous, and his teeth show at the corner of his lips.

"You know that's crazy, right?" I whisper, still not sure how alarmed I ought to be.

"You make me crazy," he replies.

For a moment, his eyes continue to blaze dark fire. Then he lets me go and sits back, blowing out his breath in a long sigh and resting his head against the back of his seat.

"Sorry," he says after a few tense seconds tick by, and he sounds much more like his usual self. "I've been holding that back all night, since the moment I learned where you'd been today, and with whom, and the sort of danger you might've been in. Your sister's lovely, by the way," he adds, glancing over at me again.

I'm still watching him warily, unable to quite judge how serious he'd been just now. He sees my look and gives me a wry, half smile. "Hey—come here."

He reaches for me again, gently this time, and leans over, stopping with his lips just barely touching mine.

"I'd very much like to kiss you, right now," he says softly, "if you'll grant me that privilege."

I return his smile. "Consider it granted."

It starts gentle and sweet, a soft press of lips, a tentative taste of something more; but Ambrose is volatile tonight, and the smallest spark sets off a roaring flame. I part my lips, opening my mouth to his, and he takes the invitation readily. What started innocent gets hot, wet, and dirty fast.

He slides his tongue against mine, in and out with unmistakable intent, exploring me with a passion that makes it clear he wants more than a taste, and I gasp when he gently bites my bottom lip and pulls away, a string of saliva still connecting us.

"Gods, I want to fuck you," he whispers, eyes lifting to lock on mine as he wipes the pad of his thumb across my mouth. "I want you now."

"What, right here?" I laugh.

"Mmhm," he murmurs. "I want to bend you over, sink right into that tight little ass, and fuck you 'til the only word you know is my name. I want you shivering and breathless. I want you all undone and begging me to let you come. I want—"

"Ambrose, shut up," I say, and pull him back into a kiss.

After a minute or so, during which I try to collect my widely scattered thoughts, I let him go.

"Tell you what," I whisper, resting my hands on his chest and not quite meeting his eyes. "Let's get to our room, clean up, calm down a bit, and then... Well, then how 'bout you listen while I tell you what I want?"

I raise my eyes and see his flash bright with a deep red flame. He smiles, dangerous and slow, and I shiver.

Before, I'd been sleepy, ready to take a quick shower, slip into bed, and call it a night. Now, it seems the night is far from over.

~ ☾ ~

"Noah... God, please... let me..."

"Not yet. Not til I say so."

"Fuck."

Ambrose's voice is strained and breathless, and I smile down at him, even as I wonder at myself. A few weeks ago, even the thought of doing something like this would have had me blushing. I pull off him and slide back down, straddling his hips and riding him slow, enjoying the sight of his sweet torment maybe a little too much.

I'd told him he couldn't touch me, couldn't move until I let him, and I've been taking my time. I can tell he's reaching his limit though—dragon or not—and has nearly had enough, but I find I rather like this view of him. His hair is spread across the coverlet, his arms above his head where he grasps the top of the bed; a flush lights his cheeks while coals smolder in his eyes, and the muscles of his firm abdomen shiver and twitch as he fights to restrain himself.

"Noah—" he gasps, and bites his lip, and I know he's right at the edge.

I slide off him almost all the way and then stop and hold still.

"Alright," I whisper. "Finish it."

He grasps my hips and pulls me down while thrusting up at the same time. I try to move with him but holds me in place, fucking me hard and fast until with a final thrust he buries himself deep, then works his hand up and down my stiff shaft until I come, my body spasming around him as he fills me with a sudden spill of heat.

I pull off him and collapse over his chest, breathing hard and listening to the rapid thud of his heartbeat echoing mine.

After a moment, he rubs his hands slowly up and down my back, laughing softly under his breath.

"That'll teach me to talk dirty," he says. "Seems there's a bit of Wild in you, after all, little wolf."

"Shut up, Ambrose," I say, for the second time that night, though this time I say it with a smile. Then I sigh. We're going to need a second shower as well.

~ ☾ ~

By the time we finally get to sleep, it's well past midnight, and we both drop off quickly, Ambrose spooning my back. Usually I might have found it a bit stifling, to be held so tightly, but tonight I find it comforting because I can tell Ambrose finds it so. He presses a kiss to the back of my head, gives me a final squeeze, and falls into unconsciousness with a happy purr in his throat, utterly content.

Sometimes he alarms me with the things he does and says, making me shy away from his intensity as I might from the heat of a blazing fire, or a powerful light; but at the end of the day—as we've arrived at it now—I trust that he loves me, and that my heart is safe in his hands. With this thought circling my brain like a flock of restless doves, sleep gathers me in a soft sly embrace, so that I don't even know it has taken me until I wake again.

When I do, it's still dark, and I'm not sure what's woken me until I turn over and realize I'm alone. The place beside me is empty, and when I shift my eyes to those of a Wolf I see that so is the room.

I wait a bit, thinking he might've just gone to the toilet, or to get a drink of water, but when five minutes go by and he's yet to return, I rise and pad softly across the room.

We'd let Dougal in after our... activity (I'd found the thought of being watched, even by a dog, absolutely unbearable), and now he sleeps, undisturbed on his dog-bed in the corner. Checking the bathroom and finding it empty, I head into the hallway, padding softly towards the stairs. Nothing stirs, and the house is entirely still.

When we'd come in, we'd found our guests mercifully already retired to their rooms, and had seen no sign of anyone as we'd passed, hand-in-hand like horny teens eluding our parents—up the stairs to the refuge of our room.

Now I descended, feeling like a sneak in the night, not even daring to whisper Ambrose's name in the dark.

At the bottom landing, I pause. Everything is still, nothing out of place.

Except the front door, that is, which is wide open.

Feeling a bit like that character in the horror movie who does something stupid while the audience screams from the other side of the screen, I move towards it, shifting my ears as I go.

Stepping through, I take in the scene on the other side. The lawn is bathed in moonlight, looking slightly less parched for the recent rain, but still sparse and bald beneath the light of the moon and stars.

In the center of the yard, a figure stands, clad in a long tartan robe, his loose hair spilling down his back in a cascade of auburn curls. At his feet lies another, immobile and prone.

I approach, reaching forth a tentative hand.

"Ambrose?"

He turns, but in the flat blankness of his eyes I see no recognition, and his face is like a mask.

"Ambrose?" I repeat, shaking him.

He stares at me a moment and then looks down.

I do as well.

At our feet, Brutus Oakfield lies, eyes open and unseeing, a pool of blood leaking from a wound on the side of his head.

In his hand, Ambrose holds an iron fire-poke, its end bloodied and stuck with clumps of hair.

I back away from him.

"Ambrose?" I ask for a third time.

He stares at me and tilts his head to the side.

"Ambrose?" he repeats, in a strange, unfamiliar voice, and laughs. "No, little wolf. It is Ainach to whom you speak, and Ainach to whom you have bound yourself. Ambrose is merely the pawn to my king, while I am the player."

I retreat another pace and trip over Brutus' feet, falling to my back on the lawn. Ambrose—or whoever he is—stares down at me a moment, and then seems to shake himself, a shiver coursing the whole length of him.

When he looks down at me again, he does so with a look of confusion and surprise.

"Noah? What in the name of all the gods..."

He takes a step towards me and stops as his feet bump against Brutus' side. He looks down, then at what he holds in his hand, then at me.

"Ah... fuck." he says. "Not again."