Page 3

I love my family, but days like today, I swear, they are going to drive me into an early grave.

Currently, the matriarchs of the town’s founding families are holding court in the middle of our restaurant, Simmer Down.

When I say ours, I mean my family, the Palmers, and by extension, the Martins. My father, Altos Palmer, is the former alpha. He has one brother, Mycah Palmer, and one sister, Domella Martin.

Our family is easily the largest in town, thanks to the multiple births that occur so frequently among shifters.

“Arek, honey,” Aunt Mitzi calls out to me as I cross the dining room. “Can you come here, please?”

Warily approaching the table where my great-aunt Mitzi Palmer sits with Glenys Hamilton and Kendyl Morris, I check over the table to see what’s wrong.

“Ladies, is there something I can get you?” I ask. Too late, I realize they just set me up.

“We are having our weekly book club,” Glenys informs me, tapping a paperback beside her plate. I suppress a cringe. The last time they did this here, the trio started asking every male that passed by if they were into spanking.

“How do you feel about kilts?” Kendyl asks, her eyes roaming over my six-foot-three-inch frame.

“Why would I…?” My question trails off as soon as I realize my error.

“We are reading about Highlanders,” Mitzi announces.

“What’s that got… Ouch!” I exclaim, jumping backward out of Glenys’s and Kendyl’s reach as my pant legs fall back down. I rub my abused shin, where the hair got pulled in the process of them checking out my legs.

“You need to change the uniforms around here,” Mitzi orders, her eyes glued to the ass of one of our busboys. How far can her neck turn?

“This isn’t Hooters! Stop objectifying my staff,” I snap. “Also, we aren’t Scottish.” I hold up a hand as Mitzi starts to speak again. “We aren’t Irish either.”

Walking away, I shake my head. Soft laughter catches my attention. Narrowing my eyes on my cousins, I take my frustration out on them.

“Don’t encourage them,” I gripe at Jathen, Rhodee, and Daegyn.

“They’re harmless old ladies. Leave them alone,” Rhodee states, glaring at me. “You are too serious, Arek. You will be the first shifter with heart problems if you don’t loosen up a little.”

Refusing to get into an argument in the middle of the dining room, I stomp to my office.

They don’t understand. None of them do. As alpha, it is my responsibility to oversee the staff and the restaurant.

Pushing the office door closed, more forcefully than necessary, it’s a surprise when there’s no sound. Turning around, Daegyn fills the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, and a stern expression on his face.

“What?” I bark.

“Dude, you need to get laid.”

“My sex life, or lack thereof, is none of your business.”

“Rhodee is right. You are wound tighter than the skin on a bongo drum. Find someone and take the edge off,” Daegyn urges.

Rolling my eyes and shaking my head at him, I pause.

“What if my mate shows up?” I ask him seriously. So many of our townsfolk are finding their mates.

Daegyn gets a confused look on his face at my question.

“You think she is going to walk in on you doing the nasty with another woman?” he asks, slightly outraged. “Or worse yet, do you think she is going to expect you to hold out until you find her? If you find her?”

“No,” I answer, pinching the bridge of my nose. “What if my mate shows up and comes face-to-face with the woman I have been intimate with?”

“Intimate?” Daegyn’s nose wrinkles. “You are an alpha, not dead. And Aunt Mitzi uses newer language than you do. Hell, maybe you will get lucky and your mate and side-piece will get along,” he says jokingly. “You can have three-ways on the regular.” Daegyn wiggles his eyebrows at me.

Grabbing the stapler off my desk, I hurl it at his head. He easily dodges the projectile as his laughter carries down the hall toward the front of the house.

“Asshole,” I mutter, falling into my chair, using work as a distraction.

Part of his statement has merit. I can’t remember the last time I was physical with a woman. Being alpha, I don’t have much spare time. Between running the Simmer Down, our restaurant, and keeping my many cousins in line, it’s exhausting.