Page 31 of Haze

But first, I walk over to the beautiful floor-to-ceiling windows and check the soil moisture on my fiddle leaf fig. It’s the only plant from my collection I’ve brought to the apartment. I tried to make the place a little homey.

* * *

My brain wanders as I push paint across the canvas.

Am I supposed to feel guilty for working more on reproductive health rather than on my role as the Pack Alpha Female? Because I do. Maybe I should give it up now that Cade has returned to the throne.

Ansel, who deals with wolves with issues, says not to feel guilty. Anything we can do to help one another should be done. Could I be making a bigger difference by doing something else? No way to know, I guess.

The piece roughed in is of Cade and Thalia in their wolf forms. The Leviathan’s red head rests over the top of the gray and black of Thalia’s. It’s shaping up nicely. I’m not sure what I’m painting on the other canvas. I have a few reference photos of Deacon and me that Cade took of us on a run, but a self-portrait in a gallery like the Smithsonian is pretentious. Then again, despite my wolf’s flaws, she is gorgeous. Objectively-ish speaking.

The setting sun is ruining my light, and I’ve almost exhausted myself painting when the timer dings to take the next set of pills. Once I’m done packing things away, I take the next dose and look at the contents of my refrigerator. I’m already starting to hate my past self. Stupid fucking cooking. After making myself a breakfast sandwich, I plop down on the couch and look at the messages on my phone.

Cade:

Sounds good. Text me if you need anything. Love you.

Deacon:

Paint a bunch of dicks hidden in your paintings. Maybe become one of those creative types with symbolism about fucking the patriarchy or some shit. Miss you.

Now, there’s an idea. I smile. Only Deacon could come up with a plan like that.

Thalia:

Have fun!!! And, if inspiration hits, they’d be glad to make you a three spot rather than a two spot. They’re super excited to exhibit someone so well-known to the shifters and humans. Even if it’s not perfect! Don’t be hard on yourself! I love you!!!

How can she be so nice to me? I shake my head.

Texting none of them back, I set aside my phone and finish my sandwich to the sound of reality television.

When I take the third and final dose of the drug to start my heat, I’m already beginning to feel warm. The volatile start of my cycle will come soon.

Thirty minutes later, I feel hot all over. It’s uncomfortable, and I know I’m in heat. With shaky hands, I twist the lid off the most important bottle. I don’t know how many hours of work it’s taken to get here. Fear and excitement battle in my brain while I stand here dumbly looking at both pink pills. Stalling won’t do me any good. With a swig of water, I take the drug that theoretically will prevent pregnancy.

Tossing myself on the bed, I know sleep is the best option. My body will need the rest before the desire for as many orgasms as possible takes over.

Bred. We want pups. Call our mate. We can do heat with him and make a family, my wolf presses one last time. He called us good. My wolf pushes the memory of the orgasm, the way his fingers felt on my body, and the sound and tone of his voice when I did what he asked.

I shudder, wanting more already.

Apparently, I have a praise kink. But that doesn’t make Finn the right source for the praise. Even if he sounds so fucking sexy doing it. Pressing my legs together, I try to relieve the ache. I don’t want to go into the frenzy of heat before I sleep. I should have at least twelve hours before it’s impossible.

Pushing memories of Finn from my brain, I start thinking about sleeping.

Chapter 11

Finn

“Finally remembered how to make a transatlantic call, did ya?” Ma’s voice comes in crisp on the line before the second ring hits.

“Yeah. I know I should have called you when I settled. Truth is, I’m getting the necessities set up today,” I answer.

Sitting in my rental car, I’m at my first stop of the day, the beautiful cathedral in St. Paul. With the few trips I’ve had to take to Minnesota over the year, it’s easily the most beautiful Catholic church. And, despite its strong ties to home, I’ve been notified my sanctuary is still here.

The clanging of cast iron comes over the line. I wince, knowing she’s cooking, and with the time difference, she’s either making a feast for the evening meal or she’s pissed off. My guess is the latter seeing as how it’s only three in the afternoon back home.

“Oh, settled, he says,” she snarls.

---