Page 5 of Wrestling With Werewolves

But not everyone is lucky enough to have a big family in Santa Alaya. For those who don’t, the community home offers what they cannot get otherwise. It’s always my first stop.

I ascend and push through a set of carved wooden doors, smiling at the beautiful shifter omega seated at the front desk.

“Princesa, good morning!” she chirps, dipping her head politely.

I smile, even as footsteps behind me announce my guards’ arrival. I force my smile even bigger. “How is Lupe today?”

The girl’s smile falls a little. “Morose. She’s been sitting at the window, looking out at the bay since the sun began to rise.”

I lift my chin and nod. It’s what I expected. Of all the shifters at the community home, Lupe is my favorite, but her story is sad. Her sons mated and moved away from Santa Alaya, leaving her behind. It’s hard to fathom one’s children behaving so poorly. I’d slap them if I had ever met them. But that happened a long, long time ago.

I pace through the halls until I reach the open common room. It’s empty save for a single, hunched figure seated in front of the window.

“Lupe,” I call softly, knowing her excellent hearing will pick up my tones even from this far.

“Don’t shout, girl!” she grouses back. “I’m old and falling apart, not deaf!”

“What about caffeinated?” I cross the room and hand her her favorite drink.

She takes it with an appreciative look. “I’m never caffeinated enough, corazón. Thank you.” Her dark eyes flick over my shoulder. “I see the nitwits are following as usual.”

I tuck a stray lock of white hair behind her tapered ear. “Tsk, Lupe. They’re just doing their jobs.”

Her smile goes wicked, eyes wrinkling in the corners. “And how was the concert?”

I sigh and flop down into the seat across from her, staring out the window at the turquoise waters of the bay. “I managed to get a full song in, but that’s it before Nuñez showed up.”

“Well…fuck,” Lupe says.

“Mhm.”

She sighs loudly, lifting a middle finger toward the open room behind us. I can only assume my guards stand in the doorway like always. She loves to taunt them. To their credit, they ignore her obvious insults.

“Lupe,” I chide again. “Calma, por favor, and tell me what you’ve been doing since I last visited.”

She snorts and takes another sip of her latte. “Oh, you mean since yesterday? You do too much, Lola.” Leaning down, she swats playfully at my thigh. It’s so grandmotherly, I almost laugh. She’s not my grandmother, but she might as well be with that move.

Instead, I feign growly irritation as she lifts her coffee. “Serving my people feels right and good.”

“You are your father’s daughter,” Lupe says softly. “But don’t forget that you need to serve yourself as well, Lola.”

“I tried,” I muse. “I managed five whole minutes of song before Nuñez dragged me home. That’s something, I suppose. Time to start planning my next escape.”

Lupe falls silent, and for once, I’m happy to sit quietly with her, sipping our drinks and staring out at the horizon as the sun emerges from the sea. Eventually, I play her some songs while she falls asleep in her chair, her cup dipping to one side as her grip loosens.

I take it from her wrinkled fingers and set it on the windowsill before dropping a kiss on her forehead. “Rest well, my friend,” I murmur before turning to leave the room.

In the doorway, my guards stand with even expressions. I can’t imagine they enjoy trailing me around any more than I enjoy being followed, but they’re good-natured about it.

For the next three hours I make the rounds of the community home. My guards are always patient until lunchtime. Then they start grumbling until I take them to a little spot on the corner that sells shaved meat street tacos.

That’s our routine, so it doesn’t surprise me when one of the guards bumps me with his hip as we cross from the community home and head toward our next stop. “I’m starving, Princesa. Can we take a break?”

I open my mouth to respond when a voice surprises me, ringing clearly from the other side of Calle Mercado. “Why don’t you all head back to the castle? I can keep an eye on the princess.”

As a group, we turn to see Papá’s Second, Eliel, standing on the sidewalk, leaning against a lamppost.

Like always, a chill skirts down my spine at the way he looks at me. Eliel is classically handsome—russet skin, dark hair, dark eyes, dimples on either side of a broad, plush mouth. His angular nose tilts slightly up at the end—nearly all the omegas have the hots for him.

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