It was another five minutes before she could stand.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
She ran into Jack’s arms the moment he stepped into the bedroom. “Was it very awful?” she asked his chest as he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed. He reeked of soap; he’d washed thoroughly before touching her.
“Not as awful as talking to him,” he replied so dryly she chuckled. “Did you know, there’s a protocol in place for the disposal of inconvenient bodies on Pack property?” He pulled back and looked at her eyes. “Ah. Of course you knew.”
“Doesn’t make it any less horrible. And the day of our—you know.”
He was still watching her face, his head cocked to the right. “You were wonderful, you know. Ah . . . not just earlier.” He winced and rubbed his nipple where she’d pinched him. “Our true leader.”
She shook her head so hard she couldn’t see for the hair in her eyes. Jack smoothed the strands away. “I wasn’t. I wanted my dad the whole time. My mom, too. I kept wishing they were there in case I fucked up. When I fucked up,” she admitted. “I was pretty sure I would. Bet my mom never worried about stuff like that.” She smiled a little. “It’s not easy, having a mom for a legend.”
She’d been afraid he would think less of her after the confession, but he only looked astonished. “Do you hear yourself?”
“That’s such a dumb question. I said it; of course I heard it.”
“It’s not easy having a mom for a legend?” he asked, incredulous, proving that he, too, heard her. “Lara, you’re a legend.”
“What? No I’m not. The most interesting thing about me is my parents. Them, it’s them. I’m just . . . me.”
“You were barely whelped when you took on two alphas in their prime. You broke up a fight for dominance and could easily have been fatally stomped.”
“That only proves what a dumb kid I was. Not knowing better isn’t legendary.”
“You know better now,” he pointed out. “Would you do the same thing again?” Her silence gave him the answer. “Lara, you drove our enemy to kill himself rather than face your vengeance. Packers don’t kill themselves!” (They did, but not nearly as often as humans. It was almost unheard of.) “It’s unprecedented! Dare I say, legendary?”
“You make it sound so straightforward,” she said, uneasy with his admiration. “It’s not. My dad thinks I’m not afraid of anything. But I’m always afraid.” Even of Jack, although now she knew why. Even as a child, even during her first Change, she was afraid of him because she sensed Jack would change her, and he did. Their mating marked the true end of childhood and entrance to adult responsibilities with far more intensity than turning voting age had.
He kissed her on the mouth. “You’re mistaking fear of not fulfilling your responsibilities for cowardice. If you weren’t afraid of letting us down, someone else would be Pack leader. Someone else isn’t; you are. You’re supposed to be here. I am, too.”
He kissed her again, but she was thinking so hard she barely felt it. Instead she leaned against his comforting bulk and relaxed as he rubbed her back.
Incomer. That word, thrown around like a swear word. And they were wrong, everyone was wrong; Jack wasn’t the incomer, or at least not the only one. She was, too. Her hybrid status, a human mother and a Pack father, a Pack leader father, an even rarer animal. She’d been raised by parents who didn’t fear change, who embraced it. Parents who befriended vampires and mermaids, who helped them through their crises and expected help for their own. Who raised their daughter to seek out change, and never hide from it. A daughter who would take to mate the son of a self-exiled alpha and a sorceress, and think nothing of something so strange.
Incomer. The cubs will be, too, she thought, and was glad.
“I’m glad you came back again,” she told him, the biggest understatement she had uttered in her life.
“Well, me, too,” he replied, pleased. “I can hardly wait to see what happens next. Look what happened your first couple of days! I—” He cut himself off and laughed. “My dad is going to be so upset he missed all this. I can hear the ranting now.”
Lara, who’d returned the kiss and was suddenly interested in doing many more things to Jack’s outstanding body besides kissing, stiffened. Dads? Ranting? Oboy. Yeah, there’ll be plenty of that.
“We should kiss a lot,” she said, stretching up on her toes to reach him better. “And more. Starting now.”
His hands were sliding down to her hips, cupping her ass, coming around to gently tug on the buttons on her shorts. “Ever the dutiful beta, I obey.”
“Oh, shut up. And do that faster. Why aren’t we both naked?”
He laughed in her mouth. “Excellent question.” And got to work.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“He what? He just took my daughter on the sideboard—the antique sideboard—like some—some—and now they think they’re mated? ‘Hi, Dad, we had sex and now we’re a family and I’m likely pregnant, because what birth control?’ They—He—They’re not—”
Jeannie Wyndham started to laugh and laugh, which startled her husband almost as much as the first piece of news. “Karma’s a bitch,” she said at last, wiping a tear from one eye. “She truly is. Michael, you look like an asshat trying to claim the moral high ground on this one. It’s done. You’ve gotta suck it up, just like you expected everyone else to suck it up when you nailed me.”
“Can we all please stop staying asshat?” Michael snapped. “It’s—it’s not that. That’s our way . . . sometimes . . . though going out on a date or two wouldn’t have been out of the question . . . The sideboard. That’s the problem. It’s an antique! My great-grandmother found it in the basement of the Old Yarmouth Inn and spent years restoring it! Respect for antiques, was that too much to ask?”
“Careful, Mikey,” Jeannie teased. “You’re the one sounding like an antique.”
“But on the sideboard? Is that why Sean won’t go back in there? The poor kid’s been traumatized, the whole staff’s probably traumatized, and I’ll bet they’ve ruined the finish. And where’s the body of the idiot who thought he could scare my kid into being as stupid as he was? It’s gonna be a while before we go out of town again, goddammit.”
“The sideboard survived hurricanes. It’ll bear up under your daughter’s ass imprint.”
“Oh, goddammit . . .”