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The feverish joy that spread through her was immediate, intense. Before she could even attempt to draw it out, she was falling, sucked into a riptide of feeling as her shoulders lurched toward her mate and her head fell back against the ground. She felt the rumble of a growl against her breast as his mouth opened wider and he bit into her breast, forcing her up and over the peak just as quickly as before.

“
Querida
, I need…” He shook against her breast as her tremors slowed, his hand still working rhythmically inside her. Tugging him down to her body, she opened herself to him. With a groan of gratitude, he pulled his fingers out, grabbing her hips as he buried himself inside her. She felt it then—the way the strength of their bond had multiplied, unfolding like an infinite loop around them, magnifying and enhancing everything they felt, reflecting back over and over. The shuddery kiss he pressed to her lips was full of wet heat and loss of control, and she savored it as she reached once more for that sweetness, that intense oblivion. She felt his need growing within him, felt the heat and tightness of her own body wrapped around him, felt the driving energy pulsing around them, electric impulses firing in her—no, his—spine, and then she exploded—or was it him?

It didn’t matter: as they clutched each other tightly and rocked together, she realized the boundaries between their souls had disintegrated. Everything she was, was his; everything he was, was hers. The intensity of it brought tears to her eyes as she tumbled into an exhausted, fucked-out sleep, naked on the forest floor.

Chapter Seven

S
a
rita was in the glass studio, running the bowl she was creating over the marver, when her uncle Fionn walked into the room. The glass furnaces were hot, and she wore just a tank top and sweat pants, her hair pulled back and safety goggles perched on her nose. As she looked up, she smiled. Her uncle had dressed in shorts and a tank to visit her, which meant he was willing to talk while she worked. Often, when she was interrupted in the studio, her friends and family would be dressed for whatever was going on outdoors. When that happened, she’d be forced to grab a coat and abandon her work before they dripped sweat all over the place.

“Hey.” She grinned, turning her face up for a kiss on the cheek. Fionn sat on a nearby table, watching as she turned and shaped the glass.

“Hey, Littlebit. Need a hand with anything?” he asked, looking around the room. She shook her head, humming to herself as she ran the piece smoothly against the steel table, the glass glowing orange from the heat.

“You should put goggles on if you’re going to be in here though,” she reminded him. He shrugged, as it was unlikely anything in the studio could blind a wolf, but he humored her anyway: why suffer unnecessary pain? She could always count on her uncle to do the right thing.

“I can’t believe you had a reputation for being such a troublemaker.” She laughed at him as he perched back on the table, goofy-looking red goggles covering his eyes.

“Why red?” he asked, blinking as he looked around. “And my reputation was as a hound, not a troublemaker.”

“Rose-colored glasses make everything brighter,” she tossed back. “Actually, I hate those goggles; I don’t know why they are even here.” With a shrug, she turned back to her work. “Uncle Fionn, if it’s going to take you a while to work up to whatever you came to say, can you hand me the duckbills behind you?” At his confused look, she added “The things that look kinda like scissors.”

As he handed them to her, he asked, “What the hell are you making anyway?”

“It’s a bowl. Commissioned, actually. It’s supposed to have this weird split thing here…” She studied the piece for the place she needed to cut. “I don’t get it, but the job is going to bring in some good bank, so…”

“So, Littlebit, I thought you might want to talk about the whole Usher thing.”

“Oh Goddess, not you too.” She sighed. Her mother had been on her case most of her life about listening to her Guide and trusting her instincts. For once, she’d like to have a conversation with someone in her family that didn’t involve duty.

“Hey. Ita. I’m not your mom. And you should give her a break, she loves you. And she had it really fucking rough back when she was ‘The Chosen One.’”

“And you didn’t?” She scowled at her bowl as she sliced into the hot glass with her shears, then curled the edges back, shaping almost by instinct, leaving a sharp point on either side of the split. The piece was sort of odd and gruesome-looking, actually, but it did look like the example photos sent over by the client. To each their own. It helped support the pack; that’s all that mattered for commission work.

“I did, of course, I did. But, Ita, I was up against wolves. I wasn’t contending with First Blood.”

“We don’t know that I will be either, Fionn,” she reminded him. “I just need to get to the right spot during the eclipse. Unlike you and Mom, it seems my role is more metaphysical.”

“Littlebit, you can’t think like that. What you’re going to do is dangerous. There are a lot of people—humans, Blood-Drinkers, maybe even a few wolves—who don’t want the Mother freed.”

“Well, they can take it up with Mac and Bear.” She scowled. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m all of five foot two; I’m an artist, not a warrior; and until I took my wolf, I was treated as the Omega of this pack by everyone except my family. I’m
still
treated as the Omega by most of them, but at least some pretend to have some manners.”

“Sarita Murphy. I say this because you’re family, and I love you. I know all about self-doubt. I know all about depression. It’s a lying fuck that doesn’t deserve the space in your brain you’re giving it. You are not the Omega. You’re the fucking Third Usher. You’re unbelievably powerful, or you wouldn’t be the Usher, let alone mated to someone like Angelo. The man is lethal, and your connection with him is far more than genetic compatibility. Your wolf accepts his as a mate worthy of you—and he’s a very dangerous wolf. That’s powerful moon magic right there.”

“He’s so much older than me,” she whispered. “You all know him better than I do.”

“Honey, your mate is older than me. And my mate is 200 years older than me. And lest we both forget, your mate was my mate’s best friend for years. Trust me when I tell you, he is one of the very best men, one of the very best wolves, you will ever meet. And you need to see the reflection of that in yourself.”

“How?” She finally looked up. “Because I look at him, and I’m breathless. It’s ridiculous how perfect he is. Handsome, sexy, so fucking smart I could die. How can little Ita Murphy be enough for an angel like him?”

“You know I used to feel that way about your aunt? How could a fuck-up like Fionn Murphy deserve the brilliant and beautiful wolf who built Amazon from nothing?
Nothing.
And I doubted myself for so long, Littlebit.”

“You seem to be so sure of yourself now.”

“Yeah, you know why? My bond with Mo, it changed me. It made me a man worthy of her in every way. She made me a better person. The difference here—you’re already a great person. He’s just going to help you see that in yourself.”

“Why me?” she asked. Fionn knew she wasn’t talking about Angelo anymore.

“Ha! If Sara were alive… oh, she would kick your butt for voicing those words,” he smiled. “You know why. You’re a Murphy. And you’re the Albina’s daughter. Genetically speaking, you’re the closest thing to a Messiah in wolf mythology. And you know better than anyone that our prophecies aren’t just wishful ramblings. They’re cultural lampposts, showing us our path.”

“Do you know why Kathy is here?” She turned and looked at Fionn sharply.

“Yeah. I know. Annie told me.”

“Annie’s back?” Delight flickered across her face.

“How do you feel about it?”

“About Kathy? She has free will, and Fionn, I know this sounds crazy to you, but I trust her. She knows what she needs to do.”

“Actually, she doesn’t. Not yet. But Annie and Gerard will tell her what she needs to know.”

“Oh. I thought she knew.” Sarita’s face fell before she steeled it. “If they don’t tell her, I will. She needs to make a choice. It has to be a choice freely given, or it changes everything.”

“Free will for the win,” Fionn smiled, slipping his goggles off. He blew her a kiss as he slipped from the studio.

“From your mouth to the Goddess’s ears,” she murmured as she studied the bizarre bowl in front of her. It reminded her of the old Pac-Man video games she and Mac had found in the rec center basement, but something about it fed an undercurrent of anxiety. Frowning, she moved it to the first of two cooling furnaces—the glass had to be cooled slowly to prevent cracking, a sort of thermal stress fracture from cooling too quickly. She’d cool it over two days’ time, then arrange the shipping for it. With a shudder, she realized the sooner it was out of her sight, the better she’d feel. Art didn’t have to be comfortable, but that didn’t mean she wanted to keep it around if it wasn’t.

Chapter Eight

A
week to go until the full moon, and Angelo needed to make a decision.

He could re-affiliate with the Amazon Pack, but to what end? He didn’t want his old position as Third, and he didn’t want to have to challenge Graham. And it would mean either living full-time in the Amazon Compound or living as an outlier and traveling back when the moon called. Neither option was particularly appealing to him. In the last twenty-five years, he’d grown accustomed to his freedom, his beautiful Manhattan apartment, and the occasional late night runs in Central Park. But would Sarita be willing to leave her family, to move to New York with him? She could continue with her art; he’d rent her studio space if she needed it.

Frustrated, he paced the floor of the suite he was sharing with his little mate for the time being. He knew she wanted him to re-affiliate, but he was also pretty sure she was ignorant as to what that would mean for him. He felt like a fish out of water here, with no meetings to go to, nowhere to wear his immaculate business wardrobe, no fancy dinners designed to dazzle a new client. He looked around the compound that had once been his home, and it sort of felt like…summer camp. A whine slipped from his lips as his wolf made the observation.

He had to talk to Sarita about it, but he really wasn’t looking forward to this conversation. He didn’t have the first clue how to approach the subject.

Monica, help me.
He sent the thought as it occurred to him. Not only was Monica his dear friend, she was also Sarita’s aunt. She might be able to share some insights.

What do you need, Lo?
Her voice crackled in his mind—he’d forgotten how it felt.

A heart-to-heart with my best friend?
he asked.

C’mon over.

She didn’t need to tell him twice. He threw his jacket on, but left his tie behind. His colleagues would laugh if they saw him, Angelo Gonzalez, going anywhere in a suit without a tie. Half-dressed. But fuck it, he was at summer camp.

Stepping off the elevator and into Monica and Fionn’s lush apartments, he was nearly bowled over by the wave of nostalgia. He’d spent hours conducting business out of these rooms. Of course, he’d also spent a good bit of time here with Monica, talking, making love. She’d been a great comfort to him in the years after he had lost his first mate and before Fionn had come to the compound.

“I’m in the office. I’ll be right out,” Monica called out. Angelo looked around for a bodyguard, but didn’t see anyone. Then Fionn walked out of the office, cell phone to his ear. He grinned a wide, wolfish grin at Angelo as he told whoever was on the other line to come ahead up. Monica hurried out of the office a minute later, blushing.

“Oh man, did I interrupt?” Angelo started to apologize, but Monica just waved it off as she gestured for him to sit.

“No worries. What’s going on?” She settled unto the couch, tucking her bare feet up under her as she looked at him.

“I think Sarita wants me to re-affiliate.” One didn’t beat around the bush with Monica. She had no time for bullshit.

“Ah. And you don’t want to come home?” An eyebrow arched.

“I don’t feel like this is home anymore, Monica.” He sighed. “I have a life in New York. It’s been a lonely life at times, but I have friends there, colleagues, my work. I don’t know that I can go back to working out of your apartment like old times. I think we’ve all grown too much for that. Plus, Graham is well settled in as the Third, and I have no desire to challenge him. If I re-affiliate…”

“You’ll need to establish your place in the hierarchy.”

“
Sí.
”

“Angelo…this life you’ve made for yourself in New York, can you imagine Sarita sharing it with you?”

“Yes. No. Fuck, I don’t know?”

“You have a life in New York, but this life, this compound, it’s all Littlebit has ever known, with the exception of college at UMass. And even then, she had Mac with her. You feel this desire to return to your life, but is it really fair to take her away from hers? Truly?”

“I could give her a wonderful life there, Monica. I have a very posh address. I can afford to rent or even buy a studio space for her. We could run together in the park.”

“And even though she’s used to living and breathing her work, it being so important to her, she was given a suite to work out of so that she could work the very moment inspiration strikes—”

He started to interrupt, and she held up a hand.

”No, listen, do you think she’d be happy hopping into a car or, Goddess forbid, taking the subway whenever she felt the need to create?”

Monica leaned forward as she continued, “Of course, since her art would be in a whole separate space, she’d never have to worry about getting paint or turpentine on one of your thousand-dollar suits.”

He recognized the mocking in her voice. Only Monica would ever tease him about his astronomically priced wardrobe. It wasn’t about the luxury—it was about the message it sent. “Please. I wear five-thousand-dollar suits now.” He winked, sending her into a fit of giggles. “I know you’re only half teasing, but I’ve gotten used to my city lifestyle. I don’t know if it’s fair to ask her to share it, but I don’t want to give it up.”

“Have you talked to her about it at all?” Monica’s concern was clear in her face. She cared a great deal for her niece, that was plain to see.

“I don’t know how to begin.” He hung his head. “I was hoping you could help me.”

“Angelo…” Monica sat up, taking his hand in hers. “I can’t do this for you. You have to talk to Sarita. The two of you can reach an agreement. Have a little faith.”

“I don’t want to hurt her feelings. I don’t want to imply that she’s not enough for me.” He felt a momentary panic wash over him.

Monica made a shushing sound and enfolded him in a hug. Dimly, Angelo was aware that the elevator had chimed and whoever had been sent up as the sentry/bodyguard for the day walked into the room as they were pulling apart. When Angelo heard the gasp and the glass shattering, felt the wrench of pain through his bond to Sarita, he realized he’d just made a huge mistake.

Sarita and Mac got off the elevator together. He held open the door to the apartment so she wouldn’t drop the bowl. She’d arranged to have it picked up by courier with Monica’s outgoing mail. She was surprised to hear Angelo’s voice, and at first, the words didn’t register.

“… she’s not enough for me.”

Her eyes tried to match the words she heard to the sight in front of her and the knife-sharp pain in her gut.
No
.

She looked from her mate to her aunt, embracing: her, barefoot, him, without a tie, and she felt a wave of nausea roll through her. Clapping her hands over her mouth, she forgot the bowl, heard it shatter, but couldn’t make that matter to her.

She wasn’t enough. He’d said it…to Monica.

Of course, after having a national Alpha in his bed, how could little Ita Murphy be enough for him?

She fled. As soon as she was outside, her clothing disappeared into tatters, and she ran, letting grief and pain fuel her muscles, the staccato rhythm of that Xicano accent that had already become so dear to her ringing in her ears.
Not enough
.
Not enough
.

She heard another wolf behind her, closing in quickly. She couldn’t even have her grief to herself because she was too slow. She spun and dropped to a crouch, teeth bared.

Mac.

Ita—

Mac took a defensive posture.
What you saw is not what you think you saw.

She shifted, taking human form again, and Mac followed.

“So I didn’t just hear him tell his lover, who just happens to be the baddest ass Were on the planet, that I’m not enough for him?”

“I don’t know what they were talking about. I do know that my mom is definitely not fucking Angelo. C’mon, Ita, they were lovers before you were born. You can’t hold that against them.”

“I don’t hold the past against him. It’s the here-and-now that I have a problem with—him in a state of undress in her arms!” Sarita growled.

“State of undress? The man was wearing a fucking suit.”

“He wasn’t wearing a tie. He always wears a tie.” Sarita was starting to feel irrational, which only added fuel to her anger. “And she was barefoot, only had one earring in, her blouse had Monday buttoned with Tuesday, and she reeked of sex.”

“Oh, give it up, Sarita. This is lame. My mom and dad sent me out for coffee when I showed up this morning and locked the door behind me. If my mom smells like sex, and um, ew, can we just not go there please?”

“She was hugging up on my mate, who apparently doesn’t think I’m ‘enough’ for him!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, princess.” Mac glared at her. “Let’s start over.”

Sarita glared back. She hated when Mac called her princess. He only did it when he was really annoyed with her.

“Start over.”

“We walked in on my mom hugging an old friend. They were talking about something—we don’t know what—and you think you heard him say something hurtful about you. Meanwhile, you busted a $2000 bowl that was supposed to go out today, and your mate pulled his very first shift-and-shred ever, bringing the fiscal damage of this misunderstanding to somewhere closer to ten thousand dollars than one thousand dollars.”

Sarita clapped a hand over her mouth.

“Angelo shifted-and-shredded?”

“Yeah. In a five-thousand-dollar suit. Which is fucking absurd, by the way—does he have that shit custom-made? He shifted back so fast, like he was trying to grab the pieces and will them back together. My mom was laughing so hard over it she could barely convince him to go back to your suite to change before he came looking for you. I came out here to make sure you’re okay, but he’s gonna follow your scent, which means he’ll be here any second.”

“Fuck you Mac.”

“If, by fuck you, you mean thank you, you’re welcome.” He pulled her into his arms. “You seem to have a bad habit of walking in on things that upset you, Ita. Maybe you should start knocking on doors.”

She stifled a half laugh, half sob into his shoulder as she let him comfort her.

“
Querida.
” Angelo’s voice behind her sounded tormented. Mac let go of Sarita and winked before he shifted and ran back toward the library. Slowly, Sarita turned to face him. She could feel the pain raging in him, grief and fear playing tug-of-war for prominence, but no guilt. He’d put on jeans and a t-shirt—she’d seen them in his suitcase, but had never seen him wear them. He clutched one of her sundresses in his hands, which fisted and unclenched in the soft fabric.

“Am I not enough for you, mate?”

“Enough? Sarita, you’re everything to me.”

“Why would you go to her?”

“I needed her advice.”

“About what? You couldn’t ask me for advice before running off to the ex?”

“For Goddess’s sake, I wanted her advice about
you
,” he bellowed, his composure crumbling. Angelo without his mask of perfect restraint, without his arrogance and his measured calm, was a sight to behold. His eyes flashed, and his perfect lips took on a hardness she’d never seen. Nostrils flaring, he looked like some exquisite animal as he snarled, “I wanted to speak to someone who knew you better, longer than I have. I wanted to speak to someone I trust to be unbiased. I couldn’t ask your mom or dad, so I went to my friend. And that’s all she is,
querida
. She is my friend.”

“Why did you tell her I’m not enough for you?”

“I didn’t!
Dios mio
, little one, if you had heard the rest of the sentence...”

“Well, I didn’t. I heard that. So why don’t you just tell me what’s going on?”

“I was talking to Monica about re-affiliation. I know that’s what you want, for me, for us.” He looked at her, and she nodded. That was exactly what she had assumed would happen. She hadn’t even thought about the idea that he might not make that choice.

“But I have a life in New York City, and…I want to share that life with you, if you’ll let me. I don’t want to ask you to leave your pack. I don’t want you to think you’re not enough for me. I just didn’t know how to bring up the subject. I’ve been alone for a long time. I’m not accustomed to having another person tied into every decision I make.
Querida,
I’m not good at this.”

“I’ve noticed.” The corner of her mouth turned up. “I’ll go to New York with you.”

“What?”

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it? After my task is complete, I will move to New York with you. I’d prefer to live as an outlier than to live as a rogue, but we’ll work it out. I want to be with you. New York and your business is a part of you. I can make art anywhere.”

“I love you, Sarita. Please. Please don’t doubt my feelings for you.”

“Did you really shift-and-shred?”

“Yes. I shredded a custom-made fine wool suit. And I’d do it again in a heartbeat if I thought I was losing you.”

“So, Angelo Gonzalez lost his legendary self-control.”

“
Sí
.” He looked down at his feet, then met her eyes again.

“Because of me?”

“
S
í
.”

“I love you too.” She grinned at him, reaching for the dress he held in his hand.

“You are a pain in the ass, Sarita Murphy.” He pulled her tight to his chest, bracketing her face with his palms and kissing her with every ounce of desperation he’d felt in that moment when she’d run away. She smiled against his lips, dropping the dress.