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“I also know that her scent has not changed, even though you have bedded her. And you know what that means.”

“She has not yet gone into heat,” I say.

“Season,” he corrects. “And what will you do with her when she does? What do you know of tending to a doe shifter in her moment of need?”

I know fuck all. He knows I know fuck all. He can read it on my face. His expression turns smug.

I plant my fist in his face.

He staggers back and giant antlers sprout from his head.

Fuck. He’s a big bastard… with a hard head.

He rolls out his neck and the antlers shimmy before disappearing. “Do not rouse my stag, pup. Lest I be forced to teach you your place.”

Gods, I must be ten years older than him, and he is calling me a pup!

My anger drains. I sigh heavily. “I should not have punched you.”

“No, you should not,” he agrees.

Fawn

I should not be listening at the door, but I cannot help myself. Peering through the window yields nothing, for they have movedout of my sight. There are no sounds of a scuffle, as Seven referred to it, but maybe they are being quiet about it.

“…should love to see her in that form…” That is Seven.

“…very fucking presumptuous…” That is Wolf.

“… scent has not changed… And you know what that means…” That is Seven.

What does it mean?

A growl that I recognize as Wolf’s. “…heat…”

“Season,” Seven replies firmly.

Season? He mentioned season earlier, too. I mean, I knew that from my mama. Once a year, she would travel away from home. Papa stayed with me, and I hated it.

An unsettling awareness blooms.

Only now do I realize what she was doing—going away so that Papa could not get her with child.

The pain that grips me is sharp and sudden. Was I a mistake? No, there was never any doubt that they loved me. Oh, how much trouble I brought them with my propensity for mischief and shifting when I should not. How frightened they must have been and perhaps worried about the risks of having another babe.

I slide down onto my knees and put my head in my hands. The tears fall as I think about the brother or sister I might have had, a little deer or wolf shifter who would have been my forever friend. Stags are bold, they are predators and protectors.

Does are prey.

I do not belong here among wolves, and while I tell myself Flint would have treated us with respect, just as he did thinking Mama and me were human, we could never shift while living here.

It is a half-life at best.

The door swings open suddenly, and two huge males crowd around me.

“Look what you've done, asshole,” Wolf curses, lifting me into his arms, where I cling, sobbing.

“Me? Fawn was in a happy frame of mind until you demanded we have words,” Seven growls back.