Page 22 of The Brave (Black Arrowhead #6)

S alem’s words had been weighing on my mind all the next day. Atticus left early in the morning to go to work at his club, so we didn’t get a chance to see each other.

It was relatively quiet around the house. Melody and Hope had gone to Austin to check on their employees at Moonglow, their boutique. They wanted to open up a second store in town, but before they could do that, they had to make sure it wouldn’t create an issue with their suppliers. Montana and Robyn tagged along since they wanted to grab a few things, including faucet covers to keep the outside faucets from freezing in winter. Mercy and Bear left for work midmorning and dropped Cecilia off at her bookstore on the way. Lakota and Tak kept busy building a chicken coop and wouldn’t let me help.

Blues music drew me into the activity room at the front of the house. I strolled through the archway and smiled at Virgil, who was grooving to the music while organizing his record collection.

The room was relatively empty since the pack was divided on whether to make it a game room exclusively or a general activity room. I preferred the latter.

“This music is nice,” I said.

“Did you think I only liked rock?” He set another album on the shelf. Virgil had chosen the right corner by the window to set up his turntable, speakers, and tabletop shelf. He twirled an album between his hands and showed off the artwork. “I collected one for every band I saw live. Joplin, Bob Marley, Muse, Otis Redding?—”

“You saw Otis perform?”

“It was a little club in Georgia. Nice guy. Smart. So many great singers died in plane crashes. I didn’t fly for a long time.” He set the record on the table and put his fists on his hips. “I thought you rubbed shoulders with all the celebs.”

I shrugged. “That was a different entertainment circle.”

He leaned against the table and stared down at his bare feet and jeans. “I’d give my left kidney for a time machine. My biggest regret was missing out on Woodstock. I thought it was going to be like an arts and crafts fair with music on the side, so it didn’t sound like my scene. Little did I know…” He stuck his hand beneath the collar of his white T-shirt and scratched his shoulder. “Anything you wish you would have done?”

I leaned against the wall and gave it thought. “I was invited to go on the Hindenburg .”

His eyes widened. “The Hindenburg ? The one that crashed in flames?”

“I was in my thirties at the time and dating a wealthy gentleman who offered me a ticket. I told him I wouldn’t get on that thing for a million dollars. So I don’t get nostalgic about missed opportunities. Perhaps there’s a reason for missing them.”

The record crackled while it changed to a new song.

Krys swaggered in with his hand shoved inside a pretzel bag. “What’s up?”

“Joy was almost on the Hindenburg .”

Krys continued crunching on his snack. “I met a Shifter who was on the Titanic . One of the unlucky assholes stuck in third class. He managed to get on deck and escape.”

“How?” I asked. “They didn’t let third class on those rafts.”

Krys pulled out another pretzel twist. “He was an eagle.”

“Lucky bastard,” Virgil remarked.

Krys shoved the large pretzel into his mouth. “Tell that to him. He flew almost four hundred miles before he hit land. Stopped on a ship to rest, but they kept trying to capture him.”

“Someone has a craving.” I grinned, noticing Krys’s bag was almost empty.

Every Shifter had a specific food craving after shifting back to human form, and Krys loved pretzels.

He shrugged. “I was out with Catcher all morning.”

Virgil inched closer to me. “You never told us your craving, sugarplum. Pretty soon you’ll be shifting again. Do we have it in stock? Because I have a whole peanut butter stash—just in case.”

“We all know about your stash.” Krys pulled another pretzel out of the bag. “You stockpile that shit like we’re going into the apocalypse.”

Virgil leaned against the wall in front of me and folded his arms. “What if there is an apocalypse? I don’t know how to make peanut butter from scratch.” He nodded at me. “What’s your craving?”

“Actually, I have two.”

Krys ceased chewing. “What?”

“Because I have two wolves, each has their own unique craving when I come out of their shift. With one, it’s walnuts. That was easy to figure out. But with the other, I crave salami. It took me years to find that out since I never ate stuff like that.”

Virgil reached into Krys’s pretzel bag. “The craving thing is a trip. I knew a guy who craved Pop-Tarts. He was two hundred years old and spent his entire life craving something that hadn’t even been invented yet. You can imagine his relief when he finally had one.”

“What in the world did he do after a shift?” I asked.

Virgil chomped on the pretzel. “He ate strawberry preserves on stale bread. Just think, he could have invented Pop-Tarts and become a millionaire. Speaking of millionaires, your suitor had a bunch of fancy new clothes delivered for you earlier. Since you were in the shower, I put them away in your closet.” He locked eyes with Krys. “It’s a complete wardrobe.” Virgil gave me an impish grin. “Melody mentioned the cake and blanket he sent over last night. If that’s how he courts, where do I sign up? I’m available for consideration, and I love bakery treats.”

Krys rolled up his bag and dusted salt off his goatee. “There’s nothing wrong with being single. You’re in a pack, and we take care of our own.”

“It doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to entertain options,” I informed him.

He gave me a punishing stare with those crystal-blue eyes. “You’re playing with fire. Those fangs only come out to feed, fight, or fuck. So if you see those pointy little daggers, maybe you need to ask yourself what he really wants from you.” Krys made a hasty exit.

Virgil put his arm around my shoulders and led me out of the room. “Ignore him. He has too much pent-up sexual frustration for his own good. You and Atticus are an odd couple, but don’t let anyone change your mind, least of all a guy who obsessively goes around locking windows like the boogeyman is going to crawl in. You do you. Have you ever dated outside your Breed before?”

“Of course.”

“Ah yes. The ultimate birth control. Trust me, I know all about that. Women get pregnant outside of heat sometimes. Look at Hope. The world isn’t ready for another little Virgil.” He stopped in the hallway and swiveled around to face me. “With a Vampire, you can’t get pregnant. Something to think about if you want to expand the family.”

“One is enough.”

“If I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard that…” He waggled his eyebrows, and suddenly we weren’t talking about children anymore. “Atticus Rain is a little dreamy. I can see why you would swoon over his tight little ass.”

I chuckled softly. “He said you would feel a temporary connection with him after drinking his blood.”

“Have you ever sipped from the Vampire fountain?”

“Absolutely not.” I shuddered at the thought, but his question left me curious. “What did it taste like?”

His tongue swiped the corner of his mouth. “Like blood, but with an undercurrent of something sweet and forbidden. And Virgil Nightingale loves the forbidden. They should bottle that stuff and make money selling it as a healing potion. I’ve never felt better than after I drank his blood.” He grimaced. “Maybe a therapy couch is in my future.”

I giggled and ran my hand through my hair. “It’s terrible to laugh at, but I just can’t imagine drinking blood for any reason. I would be sick.”

He shrugged. “When you’re dying, you don’t care.”

I glanced around, noticing how quiet it was. “Where’s Archer?”

“Training a new guy in the gym.”

“Another amputee?”

Virgil stretched his arms above his head. “Nope. Archer only wants to work with disabled people, but this guy was throwing cash in his face, and it’s not like he’s busy all day. What are you up to?”

I took the phone out of my back pocket to show him. “Cecilia has me watching the emergency line while she’s at work.”

“I offered, but she wouldn’t let me help.” He headed toward the kitchen.

Cecilia monitored the abuse hotline when she was home, and Hope was her backup. But since two wasn’t enough, I’d volunteered to handle it so they could go to work.

Lucian barreled down the stairs and opened the walk-in coat closet.

“What’s wrong?” My heart pounded in my chest. “Is it an intruder?”

He removed a shotgun mounted inside the closet wall. “Hamish. The cameras show him sprinkling seeds by the gate again.”

“Now that man needs therapy,” Virgil called out from the kitchen.

I frowned. “What kind of seeds?”

Lucian marched into the living room, and I followed behind. “Probably poison ivy again. He’s been doing it off and on all summer—throwing bullshit onto our land while smoking his cigarette and waving at the camera.”

We’d worked hard to get rid of as many vines as we could over the summer, and the thought of any sprouting up around the gate was making me itch already. Shifters couldn’t heal from venom, poisons, or plant resin. Sometimes the others came out of a shift in the woods and had to walk back to the house.

“You’re not going to shoot him, are you?”

Lucian cocked the gun. “That remains to be seen.” He flew out the door.

“Don’t you dare!”

“I’ll aim for the tires!”

Hamish was the neighboring Packmaster whose ludicrous acts knew no bounds. Tak said he was engaging in psychological warfare to make us reactive and more prone to mistakes that might get us in trouble with the Council. Judging by Lucian’s reaction, his tactics were clearly working.

I hurried to the back porch and spotted Tak hauling lumber. He glanced up at me and smiled.

“Hamish is at the gate,” I called out. “Lucian ran out with a gun.”

The wood planks hit the ground. When Tak clucked his tongue, Luna trotted to the gate. He let her out, jumped onto her back, and took off like a jockey in a horse race.

I hugged my middle when a gust of chilly wind rattled the leaves in the tree branches. A few stray flowers danced in the pasture behind the house, the native grass still green. I would miss the colors of summer but not the heat.

Catcher ran into sight and surveyed the yard. His tongue hung out the side of his mouth as he panted. When he spotted me, he bounded up the steps and nudged my hand.

“What have you been up to?” Noticing tiny burrs on his paws, I got down on my knees and started picking them off. “Hamish is stirring up trouble again. As if he doesn’t have enough land,” I muttered. While Catcher caught his breath, I flicked the burrs off the porch. “Atticus is staying in the heat house for a few days. Don’t go chasing him at night, okay? He’s our friend.”

“ Ruff ,” he replied.

Once I cleared off the prickly burrs, I realized I couldn’t stand back up. As if sensing my dilemma, Catcher stepped in front of me and barked. I used his back as support to push myself to my feet.

“I won’t be doing that again,” I muttered.

When another frigid gust of wind blew a small screwdriver off the railing, Catcher took my wrist in his mouth and pulled me to the back door.

I let him lead me inside before he turned and ran off. Greeted by a quiet house, I sat at the dining room table, lost in my thoughts.

Maybe I should take Salem’s offer. He’s always been stable and someone I can depend on. What if he’s right about Atticus? Vampires are so strong.

I laced my fingers over my belly. This wasn’t about me anymore. My heart said one thing, but how was I supposed to know if it was the right choice? Would Atticus struggle with living in a pack? Would they even accept him? Salem was dependable and a healer—he had a lot to offer even though we were incompatible.

Why did he want to use me as a buffer to keep women away? What a silly reason. Didn’t he want to get mated? And what if we got together and he fell in love with someone? He would have to choose between abandoning his makeshift family for love or never being with his true mate.

There were pros and cons to both scenarios, and I was running out of time. A third option existed, but that would mean denying both offers.