Page 1 of My Pucking Mates (Pucking Werewolves #4)

B eing quiet is so hard for Dolos. It’s my job to help him stay silent while we sit on the edge of the vast fields ahead of us. I finally convinced Pop to teach us how to hunt. He doesn’t think we’re ready. I heard him tell Mama we’re still too immature.

But I want to prove him wrong. I want to show him that we can do this. We can learn. We can help provide for Mama and the family.

The problem is that we’ve already been out here for hours, and nothing has happened. Dolos is getting twitchy. He can’t physically sit still this long. He’s not trying to misbehave or disrespect Pop; he’s just wired different.

I hate the look my twin brother gets on his face when he gets in trouble just for being who he is.

He’s not a bad boy like Pop says he is. He’s happy and kind and helpful.

It’s not his fault he has trouble staying focused and sitting still.

He’s not a bad boy…but sometimes, he can be too much for people who don’t understand him.

I’ve started working on mimicking some of the things he does so that he doesn’t feel so alone for just being himself...but only when Pop isn't around.

He’s my twin brother. We’re supposed to be the same person. We look the same if you put us in front of a looking glass, but whatever we’re made up of on the inside is just different.

I’d rather sit and read, enjoying the peace. Learn to hunt and fish. Help with work and chores. While he can’t seem to focus on tasks and directions long enough to enjoy what he’s doing.

“Dammit, Eris!” Pop roars, interrupting my thoughts.

I was only distracted for a minute before my head snaps toward the sound of our father’s angry voice, finding my brother’s feet barely touching the ground.

Pop’s giant scarred fist is bunched in Dolos’ shirt, their noses nearly touching.

Pop growls as Dolos pinches his eyes shut tight, his shoulders nearly touching his ears, trying to curl in on himself.

I scramble across the small space between us, immediately trying to wedge myself between them.

He tosses Dolos to the ground and snatches me up, but I don’t lock up like my little brother does.

“Thought you wanted to learn? Thought you were gonna keep him quiet?” he barks at me, but I refuse to cower, only responding, “Yes, sir.”

His eyes narrow, that big, blue vein in his forehead throbbing as he gets more and more upset that I’m not afraid of him like Mama and Dolos are.

Someday, he’ll be afraid of me. Someday, he’ll regret the way he’s treated us. Someday, Mama and Dolos won’t have to deal with his temper…ever again.