Page 60 of Wrestling With Werewolves

It was a struggle not to stare at Lola as she left. Her scent is imprinted into my brain, and even after she was gone, it lingered in the air.

Dirk claps me on the shoulder, surprising me. I whip around to see the slightly smaller male grinning at me with his trademark smirk. “Talk to yer Second, Alpha. I need yer help.”

That said, he slaps the round disk that connects two leather straps crisscrossing his chest. When he does, his physical body evaporates into thin air. He disappears into the trees on a whoosh of wind.

Connall sighs. “You ready for a day of meetings?”

“Never,” I mutter, giving my Second a look. “You ready to talk about why you and Dirk seem to keep disagreeing every time I see you together? Is it just the Lou issue?”

Connall’s green eyes flash in seeming irritation. “Leighton was a close friend, as you know. Counseling someone so immediately involved in his death is a conflict of interest.”

I jerk my head toward the street, and we begin walking past the shops toward downtown Ever. “She had absolutely no control over killing Leighton, Connall. She’s a victim in this.”

“I know that”—his voice lowers—“and I can’t imagine how she feels. I don’t think I’m equipped to help her.”

I glance at him as we walk. “Are you willing to even attempt it?”

He grits his jaw, a muscle in the square line working overtime. It’s clear he’s incredibly set against offering his services to Lou, and I won’t force him. That’s never been my leadership style unless absolutely necessary.

“I’ve been so busy with the pack since Leighton’s death. Everyone wants to talk about him, to share their grief and their joy, and it’s horrible, but it’s healing. At the end of the day, I’m emotionally exhausted from it.”

“There’s got to be more to it than that.” I hope my words seem like gentle encouragement. “I’ve never seen you turn down a client.”

“Okay, I’m going to admit something, and I don’t want you to laugh.”

I clap him on the back. “You know I won’t.”

He stops in the middle of the street and turns to me with a big sigh. “I’m attracted to her. As in soul-deep, eating-me-alive need. I want her.” He says it so simply that I ache to share my own news. For some reason, I don’t. Maybe it just feels right to talk to Marco first.

Connall looks up the street and winces. “Not only would that complicate any counseling I could do for her, but she and Dirk are a thing. Or they will be,” he grumbles, “as soon as Dirk can convince her.” My Second looks up at me with heartache clear in his eyes. “He’s been asking me to help her for two weeks. I can’t say yes and then act on my feelings. Everything about the situation is wrong.”

“You’re right that it’s complicated, but sometimes the best things are.”

At my expression, he sighs and rubs both hands over his face. “Maybe I should?—”

A cackling purple figure flies between us, wind rustling my hair as Connall sputters and turns. “Ignatius, you almost hit us,” he barks on a warning growl.

Iggy flips in air, a move he’s been working to perfect, and zips back toward us, landing on my shoulder. Like every time he picks me for a perch, one hand goes around my head to hang on to my ear. His tail wraps around my neck, the spade-shaped tip slapping flat against my chest. Santa Alaya has very few gargoyles—it’s too hot for their liking—and I still feel like I’m getting accustomed to Iggy’s open and frequent affection.

“Are you going downtown? I was playing Skyball with some kids, but I’ve got to go home for lunch. Can you carry me?”

I reach up and tickle his side. “Yes, good job, and yes.”

He snickers and pats the top of my head with his free hand. “Okay, let’s go because I need to check in with Lou.”

Connall freezes, green eyes flicking up to the young gargoyle. “What do you mean, Iggy?”

Iggy lets out a beleaguered sigh. “I adopted her because Dad says we should always help those in need.”

My eyes find Connall’s. “I promise this is not a plant.”

He frowns at me, and Iggy pinches my ear.

“I’m not a plant, silly wolf. I’m a male!”

Connall’s cheeks turn pink as he stares up at Iggy. “What do you mean about her needing help?”

“Well,” Iggy sighs, “she’s living next door at the Annabelle with Catherine since no house has appeared for her. And she cries a lot in her room. I can hear her when I’m outside playing with Kevin. Dad and I make her lots of snacks to cheer her up, and Minnie and I check on her a lot.”

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