Page 23 of Howling for Cupcakes

Arden chuckled, moving to set the tea on the side table before perching on the edge of the couch by her hip. “Can’t blame a man for admiring art when he sees it,” he teased gently, gratified when her cheeks pinked.

“Flatterer,” she grumbled, pushing herself upright to cradle the mug between her palms. She inhaled the fragrant steam with a soft sigh before taking a careful sip. “Thank you. For the tea and for... for being you. For being here.”

Arden reached out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, fingertips lingering on the delicate skin of her temple. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he said honestly.

THIRTEEN

The next morning, Arden strode into the sheriff’s office, determination etched into every line of his face. Reed, Kade, and Roarke were already gathered around the large conference table, their expressions grim.

“Thanks for coming, guys,” Arden said, taking a seat. “We need to figure out how to keep Mari safe from Victor.”

Reed nodded, his amber eyes sharp. “Agreed. That bastard’s not getting near her again.”

Kade cracked his knuckles, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “Just say the word, and my pack will tear him apart.”

“As much as I’d love to let you loose on him,” Arden sighed, “we need to be smart about this. Victor’s a slippery snake with a lot of resources.”

They spent the next hour hammering out schedules and roles, ensuring Mari’s safety was the top priority. Arden’s wolf settled slightly, knowing he had the full might of Whispering Pines at his back.

“It’s a long shot,” he admitted, “Victor being the canny bastard he is. But if we can make it even a little harder for him to get to Mari, it’s worth it.”

Reed clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ve got this, Arden. He’s not laying a finger on our girl.”

Arden’s heart swelled at the easy claim, the casual acceptance of Mari as one of their own. “Thanks, guys. Truly.”

As the meeting wrapped up, an idea sparked. He fished out his phone and fired off a quick text to Mari.

“Lunch at the Lone Wolf? Figure you could use a breather after yesterday’s craziness.”

Her response pinged back moments later. “I’d love that. See you at one.”

Arden pocketed the phone, a slow grin pulling at his mouth. Maybe he couldn’t singlehandedly dismantle the threat to his mate, but he could damn well give her a few hours of laughter and normalcy.

The Lone Wolf was packed when they arrived, the mouth watering scent of burgers and ribs perfuming the air. Sera waved them over to a large corner booth already occupied by Lark, Reed, and Ellie.

“Well, don’t you two look adorable,” Sera drawled.

Mari blushed, and Arden couldn’t resist brushing a kiss to her temple as they slid in. “She sure does.”

Lark leaned back in his seat as he surveyed his captive audience. “So, there I was, minding my own business, when I hear this god-awful racket coming from the Smithson’s yard.”

He paused for effect, letting the suspense build. Mari found herself leaning forward, already caught up in his storytelling.

“Now, you all know how Mrs. Smithson gets about her award-winning petunias,” Lark continued, pitching his voice into a passable imitation of the elderly woman’s quavering soprano. “‘Not a single petal out of place, or there’ll be hell to pay!’”

Sera snorted into her drink, shooting him a knowing look. “Let me guess. You couldn’t resist investigating.”

“Damn straight,” Lark affirmed with a roguish wink. “What kind of concerned neighbor would I be otherwise?”

He launched to his feet, long limbs flailing as he mimed sneaking through imaginary hedges. “I crept closer, keeping low to the ground, when suddenly...”

Lark let out an unholy screech, arms pinwheeling wildly. Mari nearly choked on her iced tea, startled laughter bubbling up her throat.

“A massive, feathered beast erupts from the begonias, squawking like a banshee with a bullhorn!” Lark ducked and weaved around the table, dodging invisible attacks. “Feathers flying, beak clacking, the whole nine yards. And me without my dragon form to even the odds.”

Ellie giggled uncontrollably, tears streaming down her face. “Only you could piss off a chicken and make it sound like an epic battle, Lark.”

“Excuse you, that was no mere chicken,” Lark sniffed, affronted. “That was the Poultrygeist of Petal Lane, scourge of the snapdragons.”

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