Page 53 of Forced Knocked-Up Mate

“Sure,” I answer, keeping my voice casual, but fear bubbles up in my guts. “Let me just wash my hands and grab my bag.”

“Well, he just interacted with you in a fairly nonconfrontational way,” Fiona remarks. “That’s progress.”

I shrug. “Yeah, but do you know what happened last time I went to a wolf meeting?”

“I heard,” Fiona says, shaking her head.

“I didn’t know you regularly hunted and killed live prey,” I say, cringing.

“You what?” Sarah shrieks.

Fiona rolls her eyes. “Would you prefer I chew on a week-old carcass?”

“Oh, God!” I yell. “I’m getting out of here.”

“Take me with you,” Sarah gasps, turning white.

“Guys, it was a joke,” Fiona chuckles.

“No,” Sarah replies, shaking her head. “Not to me.”

“Forget about the eating habits of werewolves for five seconds—or, like, forever, if that helps,” Fiona says to me. “Just go into that meeting with the intent to listen and learn. This is extremely daunting for Peter, okay? He’s been a lone wolf for a really long time, and lone wolves are notoriously difficult to integrate.”

“Okay,” I agree. “I didn’t know that. Are you sure he really wants to? I mean, he keeps indicating to me that he wants to leave.”

“He told Rider that he wants to stick around,” Fiona says. “That means he has to become a pack member and live by the rule of the alpha.”

“This is news to me,” I say, surprised.

Fiona shrugs. “He wants to hang around for Caleb, and to make up for lost time with Rider.”

My heart sinks. “Oh.”

He wants to stay with his family, not with me.

“Anyway, get going,” Fiona says, shoving me towards the door. “Let me know how it goes.”

I say goodbye to the girls and go through the kitchen, amazed by how clean and organized it is. Peter has even set up racks and utensils for tomorrow and packaged up leftovers in the chill room.

When I get outside, Peter is waiting by the car. He still seems distant, but at least he doesn’t look hostile.

“You did a great job in the kitchen,” I say. “Thank you.”

“Really?” he asks, smiling. “I was just trying to keep it tidy. I’ve come up with a few ideas that might save time, too, like preparing and bagging up ingredients in advance so they’re easier to mix.”

“That’s a great idea,” I say, getting into the car. “I noticed that you packed up all the leftovers and put them in the cooler. We usually just throw them away.”

“What a waste,” he says regretfully. “You can give them out at schools as treats, or as lunches for the less fortunate kids. Or maybe there’s a shelter around somewhere that would appreciate it.”

“I never thought of that.”

He shrugs. “Even if you can’t find any other use for it, the leftovers can be processed and added to animal food. There is always an alternative to waste.”

“You’ll fit right in at New Hope,” I say quietly.

“Yeah. I can’t wait to get there and check out the routine,” he says eagerly. “Rider was telling me how they work on a zero-waste principle, and the aim is to be completely self-sufficient and off-the-grid.”

Even though the conversation is flowing, and we aren’t bickering, I feel worse than I have all week.

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