chapter 2

Once dinner is safely secured on the sled and hooked up to two of the biggest wolves, we head back toward the village.

Ridge usually takes the lead on the way home, but this time, he falls behind to walk beside me, shooting a glance at me as he falls into step on my left. All right. What’s up?

Shit. I should’ve known he’d call me out. Ridge has been my best friend for years, since we were little pups playing in the yard together while our moms drank sangria and bitched about the other neighbors. He knows me too well not to notice when something is weird with me.

If I were in human form, I’d shrug. That’s harder to do in wolf form, so I settle for glancing at him with as much nonchalance as possible. Nothing’s up.

My ass, he shoots back.

I have no interest in your ass, up or otherwise.

Ridge bares his teeth, and the flutter of his eyelids makes it obvious he’s rolling his wolf eyes at me. Yeah, that part I already knew. I was talking more about the hunt tonight, and your… uh, unique landing style.

A sharp breath huffs from my nostrils. I’m never gonna live that down, am I?

Not anytime soon. His jaw drops open as his tongue lolls out in a wolfish grin.

I shake my head in annoyance, but I guess that’s fair. I give him shit about plenty of things.

You form a lot of bonds in a pack as close-knit as ours. Friends, family. Enemies, even. Some of them are stronger bonds than others, and my relationship with Ridge has always been one of the strong ones. A friendship that transcended a run-of-the-mill acquaintanceship and has become a partnership formed of respect and affection.

But not love. Not the sexy kind, at any rate.

The who

le pack expected me and Ridge to form a mate bond from the word go. We knew pretty early on that it wasn't in the cards for us, which was kinda nice actually. It took the tension of being a girl and a boy out of our friendship. We were just Ridge and Amora, and Ridge’s little brother Lawson was always with us too. I was barely out of diapers when my parents died, and Ridge became my only family.

Twenty years later, here we are.

I’m fine, I insist. Just unfocused.

He doesn’t seem satisfied with that answer either, but I get a reprieve as we reach the outskirts of our village. This place is home—always has been, probably always will be. We’re born pack, we die pack, and that’s just the circle of shifter life. I guess it’s a nice place given the circumstances. Situated in the middle of nowhere, but it’s beautiful. Roofs over our heads, a self-sustaining lifestyle, cut off from the dangers of the human world. Rustic, sure. But it’s all I’ve ever needed.

Ridge sends the deer off to be prepped for dinner, then he gives us a rousing great job, team speech that makes me want to coach him on public speaking. He does this thing where he gets inside his own head sometimes, although I think only those closest to him can probably see it. The elders in the pack say it’s because he hasn’t found his mate yet.

I think he’s just awkward. God help the woman who lands this catch.

We all shift to human form, and while the rest of our hunting party breaks off to head back to their homes, Ridge pads back to me in his bare feet.

I mean, fine, I take it back—he’s pretty good-looking, even if I’m not the right girl for him. Nudity is a given around here, since the magic that allows us to shift to wolf form and back doesn’t exactly work on clothes. So I’m no stranger to a naked Ridge. He’s broad and muscular, with ash brown hair and a constant, unmanageable scruff on his face. Some great girl will come along and snatch him up in the bond he deserves.

“You, me, beer, and poker,” he says, the two of us falling into step together as we head toward our houses.

I grin. “Still salty about that fifty bucks I took from you last week?”

“I deserve a chance to reclaim my dignity. And my money.” He smirks. “Odds are good I’ll win. You’re not staring down a good track record tonight, Stumbles.”

“Just because I fell on the hunt doesn’t mean I wouldn’t wipe the floor with you, Scooby,” I shoot back, using the old childhood nickname he hates. “But not tonight. I’m going to head into town. Blow off a little steam.”

“Oh, yeah. ‘Blow off some steam,’” he says pointedly, then makes a crude gesture with his hand and mouth that leave no room for interpretation.