Page 8 of Shadows of the Soul

“It makes me a target.”

My heart sank. “Someone tried to poison you?”

“No.”

I leaned forward and placed my chin in my hand. “You’re a control freak.”

“And I’m alive because of it,” he said as he flipped a pancake. If my eyes drifted to his ass for a bit of shameless ogling, I couldn’t be held responsible. There was something about a man comfortable enough in his own masculinity to cook.

“I’ll add that to your list of skills.”

He spun with a grin as he slid the pancake onto a plate and sprinkled blueberries onto it. “You keep a list on me?”

I blinked. How did he do that? Turn innocent words into an innuendo? He held up a glass bottle and quirked a brow at me. “Syrup?” Case in point.

“Always.”

His smile hit epic proportions. Save me now. The Principal was flirting outrageously, and I was not immune. The encounter with the boy had left me starving—for food, not Hudson—perhaps both. Ugh, I needed to get out of here. Breakfast, then I’m out.

“How many would you like?” he asked.

I jerked back. “What?” Did he have a twin? I think I could only handle one. He was a lot of male. Maybe his twin wasn’t as arrogant. And now I had twin Hudsons in my head.

He chuckled as he poured more batter into the frying pan. “Pancakes, Cora. Where was your mind at?”

Dangerous, dangerous places. “Um, five please.”

He didn’t blink. There were no smart comments about fitting it all in, no rebuke about my weight or size. He simply slapped three more pans on the cooker and multitasked pancake flipping like a pro. I was in deep shit. The more comfortable he made me feel, the more dangerous he became.

Dragging my eyes from Hudson, I inspected the personal touches dotted around the room. A stack of worn paperbacks sat on the shelf, alongside a few framed pictures of Hudson with various people. An apron hung on the hook next to the door and a vase of wildflowers sat central in the window. It was homey and unexpected, but also quiet. A minimum of two shifters occupied the stables in the months he’d been here.

He squirted some more syrup on the delicious stack and placed the plate in front of me. The copious blueberries toppled off the top. Hudson slid onto the stool opposite me with his own plate, his knees knocking against mine, making me tuck my feet under my chair. Don’t want any accidental games of footsie.

I pulled free a forkful of fluffy pancakes and popped them into my mouth. Oh. My. God. The Terror of Tennessee slayed at pancakes. This was it. If I had to pick one food that I had to eat for the rest of my life, this was it. It was almost a shame to devour them. I tried slowing down, to savor the experience.

“Where did you learn to make pancakes?” I wondered between bites.

He chewed thoughtfully before swallowing. “Every Sunday, my mother would cook up an enormous stack of pancakes. It was like religion. No matter how many meals we’d missed together during the week, Sunday breakfast was non-negotiable. It was a time to share our week, our worries and our triumphs.”

I knew next to nothing about Hudson’s past. Not for lack of looking, it wasn’t public knowledge and it didn’t exist in any database. He was an enigma.

“My aunts saw the heart of a house as the kitchen, and the dining table the base of communications. Friday evening was our night. Aunt Liz would whip up a culinary experience and we would share our week. Even as a child, I was included.” I glanced down to pull another scrumptious forkful into my mouth.

“Family is important to you.”

I nodded. “Extremely. It isn’t to you?”

He tilted his head. “The packs are my family. But also not.”

“You don’t have any blood relatives in the pack?”

“My parents are dead.”

Way to go Cora. How to win friends and all that bullshit. “I’m sorry, I lost my mother too.”

“And your father?” Oops. Damn cat was perceptive.

“Is lost, but I didn’t lose him.”

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