Page 83 of Ready or Knot

Dominic scowls, wrapping his arm around Violet’s waist. I press a kiss to Faedra’s temple, and she beams up at me, her eyes dancing with mischief.

“That look spells trouble,” I mutter, and she winks.

“Well then, show me yours,” Violet says, grabbing Faedra’s other hand and twisting it so that her own ring is visible. “Holy shit, Fae. That thing is the size of my eye.”

The exaggeration has me laughing, and Jasper shakes his head, a half smile on his lips.

“You’re shocked?” he asks, bumping against Violet’s shoulder. “Carter has a damn Centurion, Violet. I’m honestly shocked it’s a sapphire and not a red diamond.”

“Red doesn’t look as good against her skin,” I comment, voice dry, as Dominic cocks an eyebrow. “And blue is her favorite color. But it’s still a diamond.”

Faedra turns to me fast enough that she almost hits my chin, her eyes wide.

“What?” Her voice is incredulous. “I thought it was a sapphire.”

My laugh is low. “Carter was adamant, Red,” I murmur as I kiss her cheek.

Jasper laughs, wiping tears from his eyes even as Rylan shoves him. Violet recovers after a moment, smirking.

“Let’s get bags,” she says, “and then I want to see your place before the guys force me to sleep.”

“Sleep. Right. That’s what we were going to suggest.” Jasper rolls his eyes at Rylan’s sarcastic comment.

Faedra laughs, shaking her head. “Alright, Vi. Let’s go.”

* * *

FAEDRA

“Of course, Mom. I’m more than capable of having safe sex,” I say, rolling my eyes. Beside me, Violet laughs, though she does her best to cover it. A couple people give me odd looks as they pass us on the busy street crowded with artists and festival attendees.

Mom clicks her tongue, and I can practically see her hand on her hip despite her being over twelve hours away. No doubt she has that look in her eyes that used to make me choke on my own breath for fear of saying the wrong thing.

“You still planning on coming out next month to help with planning?”

When in doubt, distract.

“Dad’s buying our tickets as we speak,” Mom says, taking the bait. “We’ll be out there the week before school starts. Have you looked at any of the ideas I’ve sent you?”

For all of my mom’s worries over the guys, she’s thrown herself head first into planning this Pack Celebration.

“Not yet,” I admit, glancing at Violet. She sticks out her tongue, and I roll my eyes. “Violet’s been out here the last few days. I promise to look at them all this week once she goes back to California.”

Mom is quick to end the call after that, her focus switching to figuring out where her and Dad will be staying when they visit in another several weeks. Violet shakes her head, laughing without trying to hide it this time, and I sigh, tilting my head back and letting my eyes close, focusing on the warmth of the sun on my skin.

“She does understand that you’ve already submitted the paperwork, right?” Violet giggles, and I scowl at her. She has the gall to smirk, completely unrepentant. “Pretty sure two months into sleeping with someone is a bit late to be double checking if you’re making smart birth control decisions.”

I roll my eyes again, groaning. I’m pretty sure I’m the only twenty-two year old in a permanent relationship having to field sex questions from my mother.

“What were you wanting to show me before that lovely conversation happened?” I ask after a moment, stretching my neck and tracing my orbital piercing. Her eyes brighten, and she grabs my hand, dragging me about twenty feet farther down the road, pointing out one of the pieces of chalk art to our left. It’s a life size whale and takes up at least three of the drawing spots that the artists have been given. Violet grins when I look at her with wide eyes.

“Told you it was impressive!” she says.

“That one’s my favorite so far for sure,” I say, and she offers an enthusiastic agreement.

She glances over her shoulder a moment later, grabbing my elbow as she waves to someone behind us. When I follow her gaze, I see the guys heading toward us, lunch in their hands. Violet steers us through the crowd, continuing down the row of chalk art instead of toward our men. Just as I’m about to ask her about it, I notice a group of tables just past this row of artwork, tucked under a couple trees that provide decent shade.

The light catches on one of her bond scars, and the question falls from me without meaning to.

---