Page 6

Grandmother stepped into the lobby with her shawl wrapped tightly around her sturdy frame. She was wearing a sweater underneath it. She’d been covered up all winter. Oliver hadn’t seen any of her various tattoos in months except for the ones on her hands: the spindly ends of branches starting at her knuckles and creeping under her sleeves. Werewolves ran hotter than most, and although the heating in Musgrove Inn was spotty in the lobby, it didn’t warrant two thick layers.

“You look cold,” Oliver said, finally putting the invoices to the side. “Do you need another shawl?”

Her thin lips curled up. “I’m fine. Pup, go get another bucket. This is a heavy-duty leak.”

Leo ran off down the hall, almost tripping in his eagerness.

Oliver inclined his head respectfully at Grandmother as she walked up to the front desk. “I’ll work on the ceiling after the snow stops. I justneed to?—”

“Hire a professional?” Grandmother said wryly. She held up an arm to let Sabine step under it and give her neck a casual nuzzle. Sabine had adapted to wolf customs easier than any human-born werewolf Oliver had met. Most humans were baffled by the amount of physical affection and scenting that occurred between pack members, but Sabine took to it immediately. She was even better at it nowadays than Oliver, who had pulled back since the fire, stepping away from most attempts to initiate.

Oliver cleared his throat. “I’m not having a stranger walk all over our roof.”

Grandmother traded a look with Sabine, then with Ben.

“What?” Oliver snapped. “Sure, he’s a monster. That doesn’t mean he’ssafe. He’s not pack!”

“Bro,” Ben said. “You’re acting like some territorial alpha who snarls at anyone who walks too close. Jackson’s cool.”

Oliver bared his sharpening teeth, eyes flashing gold.

Ben blinked, startled. Before he could react, Grandmother touched his shoulder. “Why don’t you go check on your boy? See how he’s doing with that bucket.”

Guilt curled in Oliver’s gut as he watched his brother and sister-in-law walk down the hall after Leo. Grandmother had been the Musgrove Alpha since before he was born. Standing up for the pack. Stopping conflicts before they start. How an alphashouldbe. Not growing in fangs just because your brother was being annoying.

Oliver swallowed, teeth going blunt. “How’s the party?”

“It’s lovely,” Grandmother said. She didn’t touch his arm like she would have done a year ago. Out of everyone, she was the best about his new aversion to touch.

“Great. That’s great.” Oliver cleared his throat. “Are, uh… Are we, uh… I thought we were going to talk about the alpha ceremony tonight.”

Grandmother appraised him silently. That pause was all it took.

Oliver gritted his teeth, still thankfully blunt. “You want to wait another year.”

“I don’t think you’re ready,” Grandmother said quietly.

“I’m working myassoff,” he hissed. “And you’re not getting any younger! What if your heart gets bad again?”

The conversation wasn’t even half as heated as the one with his brother. But it was still ruder than he’d ever dared speak to her before they moved here, and shame flooded him reflexively.

Over in the corner, the stream of water dripped even heavier into the bucket.

Grandmother’s hand twitched against her shawl. Like she’d started to reach out, then thought better of it. She curled it into her shawl instead, over the scar she’d come home from the hospital with five years ago.

“The surgery put a stop to that,” she told him. “I’m fine.”

“You’re tired,” he said flatly.

She gave him a stern look. “I…mightbetired. But I’m still the alpha, and my heart’s not giving out on me yet. I let you take care of the inn, butI’mthe one in charge. I could go right over your head and ask Jackson to fix the room myself. But I trust you to do the right thing eventually.”

“I do the right thing,” Oliver muttered.

She looked at him with such understanding that Oliver wanted to hide from it. She’d raised him and Ben since their parents died when Oliver was eight. The rest of the pack had helped out—as good packs always did—but she was the one they lived with. The one who got them up in the mornings and was there to kiss them goodnight.

“You don’t trust people,” Grandmother said sadly. “A true leader knows when to ask for help. You can’t close yourself off just because one stranger tried to hurt us.”

The guilt surged back, stronger than ever. Oliver wanted so badly to say it:she wasn’t a stranger.