Page 19 of Wrestling With Werewolves

She smiles tentatively at me, both arms wrapped around her torso. I smile back, but her eyes have already moved to Connall. She stares at him with the same guarded look I’ve seen many times from my packmates. There’s caution and reticence there.

I’m missing something. Connall still hasn’t answered, and there’s obvious tension between the three of them. I can smell it on the air, sour and irritated.

“Princess, good to finally meet yeh,” the male says, dark blue lips cracking into a big smile. “I’m Dirk, and this lovely lady is my woman, Louanna.”

The “woman” shakes her head with a frustrated-sounding laugh. “Not your woman, Dirk.” She glances up at me. “Please call me Lou. Dirk insists on Louanna but he is the. Only. One!”

I chuckle. “I know all about that. I hear my official title a lot, but it is so cumbersome.”

Lou beams at me, chocolatey amber eyes flashing with mirth. But it falls as she looks around the bar. Her expression turns worried as she nudges Dirk with her elbow. The blue-skinned sylph turns a thoughtful gaze down on her, blue hands slung through the wide leather belt at his waist.

“I shouldn’t be here, Dirk,” she says mournfully. “It’s not right.”

Next to me, Connall visibly stiffens but finally responds, “Of course you’re welcome, Lou.”

She levels him with an intense look. “Am I, Connall?”

The extreme need to clear the tension hits me the way it always does. As my father’s daughter, I’m a peacemaker, arbitrator, friendly shoulder, anything I can do to ease the natural tension that occurs when a pack of predators bands together. Harmony is the job of all omegas. Where alphas are focused on protection, we’re focused on keeping a peaceful balance. I desperately want to fix the tension between this trio.

I touch Lou’s elbow carefully. “I just got here and haven’t eaten. Would you like to come with me?”

She looks tentatively at her companion, who levels her with an affectionate smile.

“Go on, my beauty. Find us a table, and I’ll join yeh in a moment. I need a few words with Connall.”

The tension behind us amps up as I guide Lou away from the two men, glancing over my shoulder to see them exchanging hissed words. It occurs to me that I should have stolen the baby back to give them space, but it’s too late now. I could listen in, but out of respect for Connall, I don’t.

We pick our way through tables full of laughing shifters, centaurs, and even a table full of tiny gnome males. The drinks are flowing, and food is stacked high at every place. I get quite a few waves and deferential nods, so I smile back until we get to a long table on the far side of the bar.

When Lou and I stop at one end of the table, the bar shoves a stack of white ceramic plates toward us. Lou takes one and glances up at me, plastering a smile on her face. I recognize that smile though—it’s the same one I put on during haven-wide events.

“You okay?” I ask softly, grabbing a plate and gesturing toward the long rows of delicious-looking burgers, tamales, and dips.

Lou seems to consider things for a moment, but then a shroud falls over her face, and she shakes her head. “It’ll be alright.”

I open my mouth to pry a little further. For some reason, I get the sense she’d let me. Lou gives off a distressed aura. Her expression is neutral, but I read sentiment well after growing up at court.

A rush of wind announces the sylph’s arrival. He places a hand on Lou’s lower back and dips his head toward her ear. Her scent and posture both calm noticeably. For a woman who says she’s not his, that’s not the read I get on them. I suppress a grin. Electric blue lightning crackles across his sky-blue skin, which forces my smile bigger. It’s something air elementals do to get attention from potential mates.

Lou’s eyes flick to the lightning, but she says nothing.

Oh boy.

Purposely, I give them space and grab a plate, piling carne asada and fried corn tortillas on it. I add heaping scoops of crema and chopped onions and let out a squeal when there’s even a plate of fried fish. That one is a nod to Santa Alaya. I’m sure of it. The unique preparation I smell is a famous Santa Alaya recipe.

My heart warms a little when Lou reappears by my side with Dirk next to her. She glances at my plate and beams. “You shifters and your insane metabolisms.”

I return the smile and add two fish filets to my stack, sucking in a deep breath to ward off a slight sensation of homesickness. I was able to call Leo earlier and Lupe as well. There’s nobody else I really need to notify, and the fewer people I keep in contact with, the better.

Leo assured me that he’s fine, that he knew my father’s reaction was a possibility when we planned the concert. He’s already recovered, thanks to shifters’ amazing ability to heal. And he suggested I do something I haven’t done in a really long time.

“Have fun, cariño,” he had murmured into the comm disk. “You deserve it. We’ll be fine here.”

I can barely spell “fun,” much less have it, but as Lou, Dirk, and I work the length of the table, I wonder if I might be able to let my hair down a little, so to speak.

Half an hour later, that mission has been accomplished. Dirk, who’s funny as hells, sits next to me, making lewd jokes as half a dozen gnomes climb all over Lou, attempting to teach her how to throw an axe. We’re seated in one of the axe throwing lanes, which take up the entire back wall of the bar.

Lou turns to us with a huffy laugh, although it’s clear she’s not really angry. A miniature gnome male stands on her shoulder, hanging on to her ear with one hand. I have to clap a hand over my mouth not to laugh at her situation—she looks absolutely ridiculous.

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