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ZOEY

The roar of a motorcycle rumbling down Grandma Minnie’s drive has me smiling.

“Is Dad here?” Carver turns to the room, the plate he was half-done washing dripping water onto the floor.

“That can’t be him. He has a gig in Boulder tonight.” Byron moves to the front window, pulling the curtain open and peering out, Donovan at his shoulder.

“Looks like some pretty-boy biker guy,” my youngest brother announces, and I try to stifle my snort as I start screwing the caps back on my paints.

Some of my humor fades when Abram stands from his chair, his looming rugby build taking up more than his fair share of the cabin’s family room. He stares down at me, his face blank, but I know his protective instincts are firing to life, like a series of gears he always keeps well oiled.

“Who is he?”

“He’s my …” So many different words bombard me that I struggle to finish my sentence.

Friend? I don’t tend to have wild sex with my friends.

Boyfriend? We haven’t talked about commitment because that would mean I have to think about the future.

Biker werewolf protector? Well, I don’t want to give my brothers any reason to think I’m hallucinating. Or that I need protection.

“Warner,” I finish with a hopeless shrug.

“ Your Warner?” My brother’s jaw tenses. “Or does he think you’re his ?”

“What are you talking about?”

“We stopped in to see Mom before heading out here. She had some interesting things to say about the local biker gang.” Abram takes a step toward the door.

Holy shit. Did she tell them about the werewolves?

“What interesting things?” I forget my paints, shoving my chair back to follow my brother.

Abram glares at me. The expression doesn’t intimidate me, but it does make me worry about what is about to go down.

“She said these guys aren’t like Dad’s group. Not just casual riders. She said they make their own rules. That more than half this town is scared of them.”

I grimace, not able to refute any of that.

Thanks a lot, Mom.

Abram clearly thinks The Dark Moon Riders are some outlaw motorcycle club that’s smuggling guns and dealing drugs.

I want to tell him that they don’t follow our rules because they can’t . No lawmaker ever took supernatural creatures into account when they were drafting legislation. And, yeah, people are scared of them. But not because they terrorize the town. They’re scared because the existence of werewolves is disconcerting.

If I was sure my mom had told my brothers about werewolves, then I’d make this argument.

But it seems like she left them in the dark on that important point.

And it’s not my secret to share.

“Zoey?” Warner calls from the driveway.

I can imagine him staring at the SUV, wondering who my visitors are.

“Mom also said these guys get possessive when it comes to women. Like they think they own you.”

What the hell?

“That’s not?—”

Heavy boots crunch on the gravel outside, and Abram turns away from me to pull open the door. I try to follow right after him, but Carver, Byron, and Donovan somehow get there before me. Their massive bodies clog the entryway. I’m not sure if they’re keeping me inside intentionally or if they’re just oblivious.

“Who are you?”

Even through the wall of Gunners, I can hear Warner’s voice.

“Move, you oaf!” I shove at Byron’s back, but he barely shifts his weight, waving me off as if I were distracting him from an entertaining show.

“You’re the one who showed up here, unannounced.”

Great. He’s decided to be Abram the Asshole.

My oldest brother has a history of anger issues, but I thought he was dealing with them.

Apparently, therapy isn’t working.

I growl and try to shove Donovan to the side with my shoulder. He smirks down at me before leaning to block even more of the doorway.

“Where’s Zoey?” A deep warning note twists into Warner’s question.

Trust my brothers to piss off the most easygoing werewolf in all of Pine Falls.

“Busy. Not that it’s any of your business,” Abram replies, voice cold.

This is quickly turning into an Occurrence.

And I’ve had enough.

“Stupid, overprotective, moronic, pigheaded brothers,” I mutter to myself as I stomp over to a window.

The glass has grown wavy with time, and I still need to clean the panes to see out of it properly. But I’m not looking to wave from a window like a damsel in distress. This Rapunzel is getting out of her backwoods tower.

With an angry tug, I swing the window open, then throw my leg over the low sill.

“Stop trying to start a fight, Abram!”

All the men—scratch that, boys—whip their heads in my direction in time to see my toe catch on the windowsill, causing me to stumble onto the porch. I’m just able to keep from falling on my face, or my ass, and I make sure to come up glowering.

Warner seems relieved at the sight of me and even manages a tight smile before turning wary eyes back on my brother.

Abram stands on the top step, arms crossed, blockish face wearing a foreboding scowl that he still has turned on Warner. Most people would find the sight intimidating. My brother is huge in a Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson kind of way.

But Warner is a werewolf, so yeah. Game, set, and match.

Not that Abram knows he’s got nothing on Warner.

“Get back inside, Zoey,” mutters my brother.

“Get your head out of your ass, Abram!” I’m yelling. My family can always get me to yell. “This is an irrational response, and you three are enabling him.” I throw my glare toward the Gunners lingering in the doorway.

“Zoey”—Warner speaks in a careful, almost-soft voice as he holds out his hand—“why don’t you come on over here?”

And I realize that even while he talks to me, Warner keeps his eyes on Abram. As if he’s waiting for my brother to make an aggressive move.

Against me.

“Werewolves are territorial. We’ll get violent to protect what’s ours. Especially if it’s someone we care about.”

Nerves course through me at the memory, and I rush to stand in front of Abram.

“This is my brother, Warner. They’re all my brothers.”

Warner gives me a tense nod, but doesn’t lose any of the tension in his face or body. “They’re trying to keep you locked up.” He continues to use that overly calm voice. Someone might believe he wasn’t upset.

But I can see his eyes.

The normal enchanting amber color bleeds into black.

Not good. Angry werewolf is not good.

Problem is, I can’t think of a way to defuse the situation.

If I step toward Warner, I can guarantee Abram will approach too. He might even grab me. Warner wouldn’t like that.

But if I move back toward my brothers, the wolf will think I don’t have a choice. That they’re trying to keep me contained.

And if I decide to say, Screw you , and sprint into the woods, leaving them all behind, who knows what kind of chaos would erupt?

It’s while my mind cycles through all these impossible options that I notice Warner’s eyes flicker to the side slightly, as if he hears something.

A moment later, the crunch of tires disrupts the tension.

A sunshine-yellow pickup truck appears, barreling down the driveway. When it comes to an abrupt stop, I swear I hear a squawk.

The driver’s door flings open, revealing a grinning woman.

Courtney has arrived.

“Looks like I’m crashing a party! Sweet!”

Today, she has on a pair of torn jeans, a simple black sweater, and compared to the bejeweled footwear I’ve seen her sport, a relatively tame pair of purple cowboy boots. For the most part, she looks like a normal, beautiful woman.

That is, if I ignore the chicken she’s cradling.

“What are you doing here?” Warner asks. He doesn’t sound overjoyed at her appearance, but I’m relieved to hear resignation in his voice rather than the barely restrained anger.

“I came to give Zoey a housewarming present.”

She holds up the chicken like we’re in the opening scene of The Lion King . The bird writhes in indignation.

“She doesn’t need a housewarming present.” Abram’s scowl is practically audible. “She’s not staying.”

Whatever distraction Courtney’s sudden appearance provided evaporates. Warner’s eyes seep into black again as he glares over my shoulder.

“Zoey doesn’t need you making decisions for her,” he growls.

This is a side of Warner I haven’t seen before.

My domineering brother steps around me, practically flexing his muscles in an intimidation move. “And I’m supposed to let you do that?”

Warner scoffs. “As if I need you to let me do anything.”

Courtney bounds up the steps to stand beside me, wearing a delighted smile. “If I’d known your place was so interesting, I would’ve come over weeks ago.”

I don’t have the mental capacity to respond, my brain too focused on how to defuse this situation. Things only get worse when Byron, Carver, and Donovan step forward, leaving behind their spectator roles in order to back Abram up.

Four against one. Warner will still win.

I care about all five of them. I don’t want anyone getting hurt.

The thought pisses me off because they’re all being so immature .

Abram steps up in Warner’s space. “You’d better be happy I’m letting you leave here with your face intact.”

They’re so close, and it’s as if the pin on a grenade has been pulled and we’re just seconds away from a bloody explosion.

There is no doubt in my mind that there will be blood.

Since my brothers have abandoned the doorway, I’m clear to sprint inside. I search the cabin for some solution to the shitstorm brewing outside.

A mixing bowl full of soapy water and the sight of my crafting supplies give me inspiration. I grab the bowl, along with a container I set on the kitchen table earlier.

Back outside, the men are so wrapped up in making my life decisions for me that they haven’t even notice I stepped away.

“Zoey’s been doing fine, making her own choices these past few weeks without you looming over her,” Warner snarls, nose to nose with Abram.

My brother lets out a hard laugh. “Like I’m supposed to believe you and your biker thug friends haven’t tried anything?”

When he lifts his arms, ready to shove Warner, I lose my last twinge of hesitation.

I step up to the edge of the porch and fling the water from the bowl, taking half a second to admire my accuracy. The wave beautifully hits my target—their heads—soaking them both.

“Yeah! Hose ’em down, girl! I want to see some mud wrestling!” Courtney claps me on the back as the two men blink in surprise.

But I’m not done. Water is too easy to ignore in the heat of anger.

“Heads-up!” I call, and they’re both dense enough to look my way.

They each get a face full of glitter.

The sparkles engulf them like a fairy princess bomb went off. Every shimmering bit sticks to their wet skin, clothes, and hair. They’ve gone from two irate, intimidating men to two disco balls. They belong in the middle of a pride parade.

Carver shoves a fist against his mouth, but it does nothing to suppress his delighted snicker. The noise seems to help Abram recover some of his mental faculties.

“Goddamn it, Zoey!” He brushes at his arms in disgust. “Do you have a lifetime supply of glitter?”

“You know I do!” I chuck the empty bowl and container at their feet, still furious despite the hilarious scene in front of me. “And I will happily plaster you both in it. Then, if you still feel like fighting, I’ll grab my phone and record every ridiculous second, build a whole website to house that video, send the link to every person you’ve ever met, and make sure the entire cosmos knows that you two decided to become glitter gladiators!” By the time I’m done with my rant, I’ve reached a righteous volume that practically shakes the trees surrounding the property.

“Hell, that’s some intricate revenge,” Courtney whispers to no one in particular. She sounds delighted.

“Now,” I snarl at the two of them, “are you going to get along?”

Abram glares at the ground, still trying to rub away the silver sparkles adhered to his upper half, but it’s no use. Glitter is the herpes of the craft world.

The silence is broken by a choking snort. For a second, I think it’s Carver again. But then I realize the noise came from Warner’s throat. The werewolf stares at his hands, flipping them palms down, and then up again. Then, he throws his head back, laughing, as if he wasn’t just seconds away from brawling.

He laughs so hard that he has to bend over, clutching his knees.

Seeing Warner lose it chips away at my fury, and I fight hard against a smile.

Then, faster than any of my brothers were likely expecting, Warner bounds up the steps, wrapping his arms around my thighs and lifting me into the air. He doesn’t race away with me as his captive. Instead, he twirls us both around, chuckling as he buries his nose against my throat.

One of my warm spots. I can feel his breath there, the way he inhales deep.

For the moment, I’m able to forget all the worries over decisions I need to make. In Warner’s arms, the world seems funnier. Not so full of impossible decisions.

I clasp his head, tilting his face until eyes of pure amber meet mine. Loving the sight, I press a gentle kiss to the middle of his forehead, sure my lips come away shimmering.

“Aw. You two are so cute; I could vomit.” Courtney skips back down the steps and walks straight up to my oldest brother. “Here, you sexy, sparkly tower of a man. Hold my cock.” She shoves the disgruntled chicken into Abram’s arms, and he’s too shocked to do anything other than accept it. A wild grin splits her face, and she gives him a hearty slap on the shoulder. “Just kidding! It’s a hen. Now, where is that big dog I’ve heard about? I need to introduce him to Queen Omelet so he doesn’t eat her.”