Page 72 of Sire

“It means,” Sire gazes at me, smiling, “don’t fuck with my little woman.”

I give them the silent treatment, refusing to sing anymore until we make our first pit stop at a Biscuitville.

Despite wearing worn-in tactical boots, faded jeans, T-shirts, and ball caps, my future kings have too many inches, muscles, menace, and ink. All six of them enter the diner like a mountain mafia invasion. Heads turn, eyes freeze, jaws drop, panties melt, and the other dicks in the room shrivel into shrimp.

The guys stand in line at the counter, while I glance around. It feels as if they’re looking at me, too. With my color and curls, I rarely blend in, either. I’m used to it. But now I must look like a little brown beauty surrounded by six white country beasts.

“Yeah,” I mutter behind my hand, “we blend in.”

Sire grabs my other hand, lifting it to his lips. “Let them stare, Angel. All they see is a gorgeous queen and her court of killers.”

Axel stands in front of me, glancing over his shoulder, clocking our audience. “Don’t worry,” he murmurs to me while Loch orders our lunches. “We’ll use Grant as a human shield.”

“Shield this.” Grant punches his arm. “Don’t worry, Wren. We’ll stand behind Axel’s giant ego and be fine.”

Axel smirks, “Fucker, I got my giant ego in my pants.”

Grant huffs, “Wanna get my giant fist in your face?”

“Shut up.” Sire thumps their heads. “Goddamn, I can’t take y’all anywhere.”

But I love it.

We’re like family.

They give each other shit over lunch, shit while we drive, shit when we park the trucks four hours later, shit as we sling our loaded backpacks on, and more shit until we hit a trailhead where Loch raises his right fist in the air.

They fall silent, and Loch turns to me, whispering, “You sure, Wren? There’s no turning back now.”

The familiar smells of home assault my mind with memories. Crisp mountain air. Damp, mossy earth. Clusters of mountain mint bloom to our right. The goldenrod flowers in the valley skunk the breeze while sweet pine needles crunch under our booted feet.

It’s all too bittersweet. I swallow my emotions and focus, pointing up the ridge. “Yeah, let’s hunt.”

Standing behind me, with the rest of his brothers in line behind him, Sire whispers in my ear, “That’s my Iron Angel.”

Then, he swats my ass.

We changed into the proper gear before locking up the trucks: long pants and T-shirts. We grabbed our guns, and the guys let me pick first. I took the Browning X-bolt rifle with a scope; it’s the closest to what I grew up with.

Loch made us wear camo baseball caps, too. I’ve tucked my hair inside mine, and I swear we look like a special ops force, because we are.

Silently, we hike for two hours, and I’m in my element. My pulse triples, but it’s not from the effort.

I’m conditioned for this.

My heart responds to every footstep I take closer to Nannie’s home,my home, and the haunting memories come back. All the sweet days with her, all the scary nights after she died.

I’m quiet while we set up our two four-person tents. Wisely, Loch insists that we leave a small footprint. Grant builds a fire circle, and Axel sets up the camping stove for boiling water. Jace finds a tree a hundred yards away andstrings up our bear can full of MREs while Sire and I take axes and gather firewood.

“Hey.” He gathers me into his arms once we’re alone. “You okay?”

I rest my cheek on his chest. “It’s all coming back.”

We take a breath together before he says, “Well, then, let’s confront it. What’s your worst memory here?”

I close my eyes. “Waking up with a dirty hand over my mouth, and more hands, pinning my ankles down.”

His lungs heave against my cheek, his arms squeezing me tighter. “I’m going to kill him.”