Page 72 of Brutal Alpha Beast
All I feel now is regret. I want to make things right—to start again.
***
“But we can eat dinner at home?” Danielle questions, genuinely confused.
At least she’s looking a little better. Some color has returned to her cheeks since I last saw her; she doesn’t look so distraught.
“Yes,” I say. “I know, but I thought we could get out of the pack, go to one of the human restaurants nearby, and catch up. Away from all this.”
She looks suspicious.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’m not going to ambush you. If you want, you can text the coven and tell them where we’re going.”
“No,” she says. “It’s fine. Let me get changed, and then we’ll go.”
Knowing Danielle now is so different from knowing her a couple of days ago. I don’t doubt that she’s changed over the past ten years, as I or anyone else has, but there are so many things I remember about her now.
Like she loves to eat burgers, but only without the bun. She likes soul music and jazz, but hates it when people play the volume too loud. She loves nature, but is particularly nervous about the sun.
She also always has to get changed before she eats out, even if she’s already wearing something suitable. It’s a mindset thing, she once told me when she had to excuse herself from one of our meet-ups early in order to get changed to go out with Monroe.
And the list of her quirks goes on. I wonder if they’ve changed. At least her outfit thing hasn’t, and that’s why I made sure to give us enough time.
I take Danielle to a burger restaurant called Smokey Eye, a small spot by a river in one of the nearby human towns.
I’m waiting to test my theory the whole way, and when we finally order, I smile a subtle victory grin when she orders her burger without the bun.
“Why are you smiling?” She asks.
Maybe not so subtle.
“Nothing,” I say. “Just something I remember.”
“Oh.”
There’s an awkward pause. A silence that has many different ways of being filled—are we going to talk about the obvious trauma that’s lurking beneath everything we discuss, or keep it casual?
I opt for casual for now.
“So, what have you been doing all these years?” I ask her. “Was it not difficult to adjust to the coven?”
She sighs, takes a sip of ice water, and settles it back down. She crosses her arms protectively over her chest.
“Not difficult,” she says. “They felt more like home than the pack ever did.”
I nod. “That’s understandable.”
“I focused on my magic,” she says. “Focused on being a better witch, which felt good after having been suppressed for so long.”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
I mean it. I’m deeply sorry.
She winces a little and looks away. I know that it’s going to take a long time to heal. “Anyway,” she says, taking in a deep breath. Her curls frame her small face and the width of her chest perfectly. “How about you?”
“Leading a pack is pretty hard,” I tell her. “Harder than I expected, but also, in some ways, not.”
She smiles a little, and I can’t help but wonder how she can be so beautiful. “Do you remember when we spied on one of your dad’s council meetings, to get a feel for what was to come, and after five minutes, we left because we got bored.”
