Read Page 7

He handed Dastien and Mom root beers and leaned against the railing on the porch. “So, what’s the drama now?”

I rolled my eyes. “No drama.”Advertisement

“You guys look pretty serious for a drama-free zone.”

I plucked the tab off my can and threw it at him. “Jerk.”

“Nerd,” he countered. “So, what’s up?”

“Nothing. We’re just talking about growing up.”

Axel made a face. “Yeah. That’s a mood-killer for sure.”

“Look. I know you’re worried, but nothing much is changing tonight,” Dastien said.

I scoffed. It seemed like a lot was changing tonight.

“We’re formalizing what’s already happened, so it’s like getting upset over the past. Not worth it. She doesn’t even have to move in with me.”

Uh, I was kind of looking forward to that, I said through our bond. And I wasn’t really going to tell them that part.

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We have to be honest with them. You’re lucky to have two great parents who care about you, and they’re freaking out right now, so we have to be considerate.

What they don’t know won’t hurt them…

No. We’re not going to lie to them. I just think—

“They’re talking to each other in their heads.” Axel scrunched his nose. “They’re making all the faces they would if they were talking aloud, except without the words. It’s so fucking creepy.”

“Axel! Language!” Mom swatted his leg.

My cheeks burned. It felt like being caught doing something really intimate.

“Sorry. That was rude.” Dastien took the blame, but I was the one who’d started the conversation.

“My bad.” I took a long sip from my drink.

“Just don’t knock up my sister.”

I nearly spewed Diet Coke all over him.

Dastien patted my back as I nearly choked again. I was on a roll today. “Jesus, Axel. Shut up.”

“Who’s talking about knocking my daughter up?” Dad said as he stepped outside.

I groaned. If he owned a shotgun, I was pretty sure he’d be cocking it right about now. “No one is getting knocked up.” I’d need to have a sex life to get preggo and we hadn’t gone there yet.

And God. Could this be more embarrassing?

“Just be safe,” Mom said as she patted my hand.

I was wrong. It could totally get more embarrassing. “Please. For the love of all that’s holy, everyone just ixnay on the exsay alktay.”

“If you can’t say it, honey, you shouldn’t be having it.”

Jesus Christ almighty.

I set my drink on the ground and covered my face with my hands. “Did no one hear what I just said? Shit. And it’s my birthday…”

I heard Dastien’s laugh through the bond. I peeked at him and his face was a perfect mask of serious.

This isn’t funny.

It’s extremely funny.

“No. It’s humiliating.”

Just think, this time next week, we’ll be getting ready for some Paul van Dyk.

I grinned. Can’t wait. “Hey.” I kicked Axel’s foot. “We’re going to PvD next Saturday. If you wanna go, you’re gonna need tickets.”

“Dastien warned me a while back. I guess I’m going to suffer through yet another night of Nintendo music for you.”

Axel had always been my dancing partner, even if he didn’t like the music. Hitting the clubs had been my one release when we lived in LA. “Awesome. Thanks.” The tickets were Dastien’s birthday present to me and I couldn’t wait. We had the same taste in music—a heavy rotation of trance and house with some breaks and ambient mixed in. I never thought I’d meet someone who shared my passions, but Dastien did. He got me.

“Can we have a moment with our daughter before you go?” Dad asked.

I started to protest—whatever Dad said to me he could say to Dastien—but Dastien stood before I could say anything. “Of course. I’ll wait by the car?”

We were quiet as Dastien stepped off the porch. I knew he could probably hear whatever we said—werewolves had fantastic hearing—but he gave my family the illusion of privacy as he leaned against his black Porsche Cayenne at the end of the driveway.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” Dad asked. “If you want to wait, I’m sure we can talk to Michael.”

Mr. Dawson, a.k.a. Michael, was Dad’s boss, the head of St. Ailbe’s and the local pack. Even if I wanted Dad to step in—which I didn’t—it wouldn’t do any good. It wasn’t Mr. Dawson’s decision. pqdm.com