“Joe’s going to get sick of me.” The words escaped unbidden and were far too revealing for her comfort. Still, if there was one person she could talk to about it… She lifted her head and met Dylan’s eyes.
“I think I pissed him off. Because I told him I wanted to know about becoming a werewolf.”
Dylan’s eyes widened, but he covered admirably. “Okay. What did he say about it?”
“That it was stupid and wouldn’t solve anything, pretty much. There might have been a few things about turning my life upside-down and acting like a child, but he apologized for those.”
“Sounds like you hit a nerve.” He retrieved the discarded pastry wrapper and crinkled it absently.
“Why do you want to do it? To be safe?”
Trust Dylan to get to the heart of the matter. “Mostly. And maybe if it’s going to happen…God, there are bad ways, Dylan. Alan made sure I knew how many bad ways. If I plan for it, at least I’ll have control.”
“There are bad ways.” His hands shook, and he looked haunted. “You can have control, but are you thinking past that? What will you do when you don’t belong with humans anymore? When you can’t go back to your life?”
“Come on, Dylan. Do you really think I belong with humans now, after all this?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean you’ve really got your head around it, either. Now, I know you’re not one to bitch and moan, even if you’ve made a mistake, but does Joe know that?”
“How could he?” She tried to smile, but it felt weak. She felt weak. “I’m not exactly playing my top game here.”
“There are bad ways,” he said again, “but there’s no going back. I guess that’s what he’s upset about.”
Nervous energy drove her to her feet. She crossed the small kitchen and braced her hands on the counter in front of the window. The view through the back window was one she might have admired under better circumstances. Even now it was hard not to stare.
Joe stood in the backyard, an axe in one hand, propping a section of log on a tree stump. He stepped back, gripped the axe, and the muscles in his back and shoulders flexed as he swung, splitting the log cleanly down the middle. Then, as if he felt her eyes on him, he glanced toward the window and lifted one hand in a wave.
She wished she could blame her heart for the way breathing suddenly seemed difficult, but the inappropriate feelings plaguing her now had little to do with her heart. Lust was her persistent, inconvenient companion, a companion that provided plenty of embarrassment when everyone around her could recognize the slightest change in breathing or heart rate.
That includes Dylan, dumbass. She returned Joe’s wave and turned to level a flat stare on her friend.
“Say it. I dare you.”
His answering stare was a shade too placid. “Say what? That I can hear your heart going pitter-pat from all the way over here?”
“He’s out there chopping wood in a disturbingly manly fashion. No one who likes men wouldn’t be a little hot and bothered right now.”
“Right.” Dylan rubbed his face. “Does Joe think his disturbing manliness is influencing you about the werewolf thing?”
It would explain the awkward tension in his eyes whenever the subject of Guides being involved with their Initiates came up. “Maybe. I don’t know. I guess it depends on how obvious it is. I mean… God, maybe I don’t want to know, but… Is it just my heart or are there other things you can…sense?”
They’d had plenty of blunt conversations about sex over the years, but the tops of his ears turned as red as his hair. “Oh, there’s plenty of stuff. We don’t only have good ears, Brynn. Our sense of smell is superhuman too.”
Which was pretty much what she hadn’t wanted to hear. “Well, shit. So much for subtle.”
“Uh-huh. There’s a reason I never went home alone if I didn’t want to.”
She supposed knowing exactly which women would respond well to some judicious flirting made picking up dates laughably easy. Brynn sighed and resisted the temptation to glance out the window again.
“Fine. So Joe knows I want in his pants, and so do you. So does everyone in this godforsaken town, I guess. This sucks.”
Dylan arched an eyebrow. “Hey, you’re the one who wants to stay here.”
“I only want to stay here if I get superpowers like the rest of you.”
“That doesn’t stop everyone else from being in your business. Just lets you get up in theirs too.” He broke off a corner of her abandoned toaster pastry and popped it in his mouth. “Can you stand knowing, for instance, that your sister and Keith like to have sex in the morning? A lot?”
“I already know that,” she retorted. Then she considered the possibility that a pillow over her ears might not help once she had superhearing. “Though, on second thought…”
“Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide,” he murmured. “Something to consider.”
Brynn rolled her eyes. “No, not really. Not if the alternative is being too dead to care that my sister’s banging a hot werewolf.”
“Your sister is a hot werewolf, and you will be, too, if you go through with this. Has that sunk in yet? You’ll be a werewolf, Brynn.”
“I know.” She pushed off the counter and reclaimed her junk food. “Trust me, Dylan. I’ve thought about it a lot. Every damn time someone attacks us.”
“Have you talked to Gavin?”
“No. There hasn’t been time, and with Richard…” She fought another stab of guilt as she sank into her chair. “God. Abby’s going to feel like it’s her fault.”
“Don’t think there’s any way around that,” he told her slowly.
“Well maybe there should be.” It came out harsher than she intended, riding on a wave of frustrated temper. “Shouldn’t there be a limit to universal guilt, or are alpha werewolves immune?”
He grimaced and pushed away the rest of the pastry. “If you manage to answer that question, Brynn, let me know.”
The sound of heavy boots on the steps forestalled her answer. Joe had obviously reached his time limit for how long he could go without checking in on her. At least he has more self-restraint than Abby.
Though if he comes in that back door shirtless…
He stomped through the door and draped his discarded shirt over the back of a chair. “How’s it going, Dylan?”
“Not bad, Joe.” He was fighting laughter…and losing.
Brynn watched the muscles of Joe’s back flex as he pulled open a cabinet and reached for a glass. A tattoo she hadn’t seen before decorated one arm, something that reminded her vaguely of a military symbol.
It only accented the hard muscles of his upper arm, and she imagined her appreciation of said muscles was painfully obvious to both men.
One look at Dylan confirmed it. She rewarded his uplifted eyebrows with a dark scowl and shoved her chair back from the table. “I’m going to go take a nap. I’m beat.”
“Want me to wake you when it’s time to eat?” Joe asked as he tugged open the refrigerator door.
Not unless you’ve put some goddamned clothes on first. She fought another wave of purely inappropriate desire and fought not to grind her teeth in frustration. “Sure. Thanks, Joe.”
Dylan cleared his throat. “I’ve got a thing, so I’m going to go. See you, Joe.”
“Later, Gennaro.”
Brynn watched Dylan flee with another spike of annoyance that overcame her embarrassment. When the door clicked shut behind him, she spun and glared at Joe. “Are you doing this on purpose?”
He pulled a head of lettuce from the crisper. “Doing what?”
Either he was amazingly oblivious, or he was used to women getting hot and bothered every time he walked into a room. If he’s walking in sweaty and shirtless, I suppose that’s a distinct possibility. Brynn forced herself to take a breath, then let it out in a rush. “Just…Jesus Christ, Joe. I’m not sure how many more stops my emotional rollercoaster can take, so put your clothes back on, would you?”
He reached for his shirt. “Didn’t mean to offend.”
The refusal to acknowledge her none-too-subtle arousal forced her temper higher. “Do I look offended?”
“You look like you can’t decide whether to kiss me or kill me.” His grin was lazy, almost challenging.
“Don’t worry. I have that effect on women a lot.”
Pegging him in the head with something heavy might have seemed mighty appealing, but Brynn settled for a cutting glare and a judicious retreat.
It wasn’t until she was in the bedroom with the door shut safely behind her that she realized Joe had neatly maneuvered her back to solid ground, to a place where there were emotions other than fear and helplessness. Maybe not useful emotions…
But it’s something.
The door shut softly behind Joe, and the porch creaked as Keith moved to stand next to him. His friend held out an opened bottle of beer. “Brynn and Abby are talking to their brother’s roommate about funeral arrangements. He doesn’t really get why they can’t come out there, but he’s rolling with it, I guess.”
Joe accepted the bottle and stared into it. “Did they decide on cremation?”
“I think so.” Keith drained half his beer and closed his eyes. “It’s killing Abby not to be there to handle it.”
“That’s understandable.” Abby had been far closer to Richard’s age, whereas Brynn had barely known him. “I think what upsets Brynn the most is that she’s not as upset as Abby.”
“She was about ten years old when Richard left for college. I got the impression she didn’t see much of him after that, not even when their parents died. He was making too much money where he was, or something like that. Sent home checks, but otherwise it was Abby trying to make a home for both of them.”