Page 31 of The Awakened Wolf

It had to be Evan’s wolf. But I’d never heard Sebastian’s wolf howl when we were together. How had I heard Evan’s? Did that mean he really was hot for me now? That would more than serve Sebastian right. But as good as Evan’s lips felt roaming my wildly pulsating throat, the thought of Evan’s fingers fumbling with my jeans came to mind, and I half-snorted into his searching mouth.

Evan stopped and met my eyes, his hands still pinning me to the wall. And then he stepped back. In a contortion that made him appear as if he were choking, he bent over, hand flying to cover his mouth before a laugh burst free. Seeing him fight the urge to laugh so hard was like pouring oxygen on my giggle-fire, and before I knew it, I was bent over too, snorting and hacking, my ponytail whipping like an unamused horse as I fought to breathe.

“If you want pups…” Evan said, tears forming at the corners of his eyes, “you’d better hope Sebastian comes back because I think this…” He stopped and waved his hand between us, words failing him as he gasped for breath. “This is as far as that was ever gonna go.”

“Oh, Gods, Evan,” I said, fanning myself, “I’m… so… sorry. I really… don’t know… what that… was.” My words were peppered now by hiccups. I pressed my hands to the sides of my ribcage where the muscles ached. “

He side-hugged me and thumbed a laughter-tear from my cheek. “Let’s call it a Freudian slip.”

I melted into the hug, the rightness of our friendship, now mixed with a little something more from the bite. But whatever it was, it wasn’t that. I mean, I will still take him as my mate if I had to, but my wolf didn’t need to worry that he’d supplant Sebastian’s place in my heart—or my bed—anytime soon. I was basically cooing this to her when I felt Evan’s whole body stiffen.

“What?” I said, turning to follow his gaze to the painting of the battle at Belvedere Castle. “Oh. That. Yeah, we told you that this was, um, here. Weird, right?”

“Weird.” He raised an eyebrow. “That’s all you’d call it… is weird?”

“Okay, insanely creepy.”

“I know you and Kiana decided to tag-team up to body-slam my input earlier,” he said, “but I’m telling you that dude is Odin.”

“That’s not possible—”

“How do you know? I mean, you’re bringing people back from the brink of death with your bite, Elyse. I’m not afraid to admit there’s magical shit happening here.”

“But that’s just it, Evan. There’s nothing about Odin in our Old Stories.”

“So how did Damien paint this four years before it happened?” He gasped and his eyes went O-shaped. “Do you think that him painting this made it happen?”

I shook my head. “I don’t get it. Damien hates humans with a fiery passion. Why would he be working for a human god with wolves that kill shifters?”

“Well, they have Old Stories where I come from too,” Evan said. “For instance, did you know the Devil went down to Georgia and bet a boy named Johnny that if he could out-play him on the fiddle, he could keep the boy’s soul, but if Johnny won, he could have a golden fiddle?”

I stared at him. “What? Why would someone want a golden fiddle? Can you even play that? How is that on the same level as a human soul?”

“Focus, Elyse, please.” Evan made frustrated fists by his whiskered cheeks. “I mean maybe Odin had something Damien wanted, and he traded for it. Or maybe he was straight up tricked.”

“Well, we know what Damien wanted,” I said. “Power. Control over the Bronx and Manhattan packs.”

“And maybe more. Didn’t you say his Beta powers were a lot stronger than normal?”

“Yes, and we couldn’t figure out how.” Now my mind was racing, going over every time Damien’s mind control went far beyond anything pack leaders had seen. “And that shifter hunter, Moone. What about the way he got the crowd fired up in seconds?”

“See? Now that is sus.” Evan agreed. “I know I’m not a born New Yorker, but I’ve been here long enough to know that an outsider can’t show up, spout a bunch of weird bullshit, and have people actually listen.”

“Exactly. I’d have been less surprised if they’d all flipped him the bird.”

Evan stared at the painting as if mesmerized. “I told you that dude was more than some shifter hunter. He’s a Norse freaking God, and Damien traded him something for his mind control powers.”

“But that still doesn’t tell us why he hates shifters so much,” I said, my mood returning to the half-exhausted, half-desperate aura that had been eau de Elyse for the past forty-eight hours.

“Maybe we should ask Ayla,” Evan said.

My heart hit the floor.

“Evan,” I moaned, following my heart, and puddling toward the floor as the realization hit me. “I left the Children of Leto alone in Manhattan with Max.”

Chapter Twelve

Two nights later, I sat on the rooftop patio of our pack’s building, wishing I could do what I’d come here to do—reminisce. This had often been a sanctuary for me. A place where I could have fun or be myself. Like when Kiana and I were still pups and we’d made S’mores with Father over the iron fire pit. Or when I’d snuck up late at night to read forbidden books, curled beneath a warm blanket with a flashlight.

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