Page 8 of Wynter Abandoned

Yes.“No. Of course not.”

“Clean this up. Next time, think before you plan these meals. We have standards to live up to and goals to achieve. I know it’s hard for you to imagine those things in your situation but try.”

“I could make something else.” I reached for something to redeem myself and hated myself in the process. There was a lot more than a few potatoes that would ruin Calla and Violet’s chances of finding a mate.

Even the most beautiful of people became ugly when their devious souls were revealed.

“No need. I will take my daughters to town to eat. Powerful wolves need meat to survive, Wynter. Remember that while you clean this mess up.”

Chapter Seven

Xerxes

I closed my eyes, trying to shut off a small part of the flurry of movement, talking, and irritating noise all around me. If I’d known that having a ball, as the council strongly suggested, would’ve entailed so much of my time and effort, not to mention, the complete upheaval of the pack house, I would’ve begged them to let me find another way. And I wasn’t a begging male.

“Smoke,” I growled with my jaw clenched. I was on the verge of calling this whole thing off and telling the council where exactly they could shove this ball. A ball. “Can you handle some of these things? I can’t hear myself think. Don’t we have someone who can… Where is Rue?”

We lived in a castle-like house, but I was not a prince. Far from it. Titan had to order all three of us tailored suits from a shop in town. We didn’t own suits. We wore jeans and shorts and usually had dirt under our fingernails from working alongside the pack members.

Not exactly the behavior the council wanted from me but again, they could kiss my wolf ass.

“Let me call her.” He got on his phone and called my sister. She knew things about fashion and tablecloths and whatever else everyone asked me my opinions about. “Rue, can you come to X’s office, please? His head is about to explode over choosing champagnes.” I could hear her high-pitched voice on the phone but couldn’t make out the words over the flurry of activity in the room. “I’ll let him know.”

“Everyone.” Smoke’s powerful voice stopped all activity. He had some alpha power in him but didn’t use it often. Some of that was out of respect for me and my position. Some was because he lived like a shadow. He worked hard. Workedefficiently. But my best friend was the embodiment of his name. “From now on, Rue is your point person in regard to all food, entertainment, and decorations for the ball. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” they answered, almost in unison.

He gave them a curt nod as they scurried around and left the area. “Thank you all.”

I waited until the door closed and let out a breath. My shoulders relaxed. My jaw went slack. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” He took a seat.

The door opened, and my hackles went up again, until I saw it was only Titan. “Alpha.”

“Hey. Let’s go over the list.”

Titan scanned the room and took a seat near Smoke. “It’s quiet in here. Did you cancel the ball?”

“No. Smoke put Rue in charge of everything so I can get some fucking work done that has nothing to do with choosing salmon over steak. Which is stupid because…”

“Steak and salmon,” we all said at the same time. We wolves loved to eat. Especially protein.

“Talk to me about the farmer’s market,” I said. “How did that go? Are we in the black?”

We grew a vast garden on pack lands, selling large quantities to the markets in town. Even after that, we had a surplus. So, some of our talented pack members turned those goods into jams, jellies, and baked goods to be sold at the weekend market.

“We are,” Titan said. “Corinne has the spreadsheet. She emailed it to you this morning. Everything is doing well and, if I may say, she’s found her niche with this. I think we should make her the head person on this endeavor. She’s already talking about an online shop and preorders.”

I flipped open my laptop and scanned the spreadsheet in my inbox. “Impressive. Let’s do it. Put her in charge of everything. Give her a budget and keep me updated. What’s next?”

“I handled some petty quarrels among members,” Smoke said. “Henry Davers was playing his music too loud at night. Waking up the neighbors’ cubs. I think it’s handled, but we might want to make official noise ordinances.”

“Again?” I gruffed. “I thought we did that years ago. In fact, I know we did.”

Smoke crossed his legs. “September 18, four years ago. Hours are ten p.m. to eight a.m.”

Even though I knew Smoke had an eidetic memory, it never failed to surprise me when he popped out those facts.

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