Page 30 of Mated Exile

In the clear light of day, I can see how the things about me that my father was afraid of might work to my advantage. Having power like that could mean everything if it lets me survive the curse and strengthen the pack territory.

But I also know that my father was likely right when he assumed the pack may not accept me if I turn out to have frightening abilities to control them. That's why it's important that I embrace the wolf side of myself more fully than the witch side.

My hybrid nature may very well save me from the curse, but that won't be worth anything if the pack tears me apart right afterwards.

So I'll just have to figure out how to keep myself from using my magic on them. It should be easy enough. When I was in the arena with Bastian, forcing him to shift back into his human form felt like a deliberate choice. If I refuse to make that same choice on the other pack members, I'm certain they'll come to accept me, with time.

I'll have to start socializing with them more to gain their trust. Which will entail leaving the house more often to go into town and to pack meetings. Not to mention doing the one thing I've been putting off for so long: finally holding a wake for my father and inviting the entire pack here to the house.

We're almost done with enough of the repairs to do it. I'll just have to find the courage to let them all in, even though nothing makes me more nervous than the thought of all their eyes on me. There's no hiding from my past here in Juniper.

It's time to finally face it instead of running away.

"Good morning." Cat greets me with a plate of warm waffles straight from the waffle iron, her tone far too chipper considering the hour. "How did you sleep? Well, I hope."

Though she tries to sound light and airy, there's no mistaking the concern in her voice. She's obviously been worried about me all morning. Which explains the stacks of waffles twelve inches high spreading across four different plates on the counter.

"You made way too much breakfast," I point out, taking the plate and grabbing a cup to pour orange juice into. "Unless we're having guests you don't know about?"

"I asked your mother for seconds. And thirds. This is my fourth plate."

The sheepish voice comes from behind me. Whirling, I find Bastian sitting in the dining room, his back straight and his elbows hovering above the kitchen table like he's eating in a formal dining restaurant.

"I may have overestimated my hunger. I'll try to finish as much as possible. I don't want all her effort to go to waste."

In a low voice, Cat tells me, "I invited him to sit at the kitchen table and relax. I don't think he remembers how to do that."

Bastian looks the complete opposite of relaxed, it's true. From his stiff body language to his position at the very edge of the dining room chair, he couldn't look more out-of-place. A pang of sympathy goes through me at the sight of him; no doubt he feels awkward leaning on the hospitality of strangers, especially after everything he's been through.

I get the feeling that he'll listen to me, even though he didn't listen to Cat. "Come. Sit with us in the kitchen." I pull a chair out of the smaller kitchen table and motion towards him. "You're a guest here, not an imposition. There's no reason to lean on tradition. Eat as much or as little as you'd like."

Bastian's eyes fall hungrily on the kitchen table, and he swallows. "You're sure?"

"Absolutely."

This seems to convince him, because he gathers up his plate and his mug of coffee and brings both to the kitchen table. As he sits down, I can't help noticing that the mug is full to the brim with black coffee, even though he claims he's eaten multiple servings so far.

Curious, I ask him, "Do you normally drink your coffee without cream or sugar?"

Glancing nervously at Cat, he admits in a low voice, "I didn't know how to order it. I've barely had any coffee at all in my life." He winces, tapping his finger against the side of the ceramic mug. "Did I do something wrong? I don't want to offend you. Or your mother."

He's the cutest, biggest puppy dog I've ever seen. Like a newborn fawn who just entered the world, yet somehow tall, muscular, and strong as hell. No man has ever been more intimidating or more vulnerable at the same time.

"It's not a problem. I'll make you up another cup. Do you prefer cold drinks or hot?"

His eyes widen, and he admits, "I think I like them cold. At least that's what I remember."

A thousand questions swirl in my mind. I bite them back. As much as I want to know more about Bastian's past, I don't want to push him, especially if he's not ready.

"I'll make you an iced latte, then. Good thing for you that the espresso machine Cat ordered for the house just came in, and I used to be a barista."

Focusing on Bastian gives me something to do, and helps me understand even better why Cat has made enough waffles for an army. It's hard to dwell on my father's actions or the mystery of my past and future when I'm doing something for someone else.

Watching me as she heats up a pan to fry bacon, Cat comments in a low voice, "That one is an absolute drip on a stick. Please tell me you're not going to let him up and leave today."

"Today? I wasn't planning on it."

"You should clarify that with him, then. He keeps talking like he needs to pack and get on the road before sundown. I don't think he's used to settling in and being welcome."

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