Blood & Wine

10 | Eden

"Let Jagger go," I told Calla over the snarling and fighting in the kitchen. The dining room table was already broken in half, along with two chairs, but, miraculously, the pan of wings had survived by sliding across the floor toward the door. "He'll behave, won't you, boo?"

In the two minute since Fynley hit the floor, Calla had managed to crowd the blonde 'wolf against the wall and pull a knife out on him. Where she got it from and when she managed to grab it was beyond me, but I knew when I glanced at her, she had Jagger held up with a murderous expression on her face.

Calla gave me an incredulous look.

Jagger didn't remove his eyes from her. "I'll behave."

"Good boy," I responded, sitting up. I hadn't moved. I hadn't expected Dasher to hit Fynley, and I hadn't expected Fynley to fight back. Thank goodness the apartment was soundproof, though. "Now, come sit by me, Jagger. Your Alpha can take care of himself."

Jagger snarled quietly, still not moving because Calla hadn't moved. "Of course he can."

"Calla," I warned.

It wasn't that I particularly trusted Jagger, but I needed to get control of the situation. I also needed Fynley and Jagger to trust me so they wouldn't take out their frustrations with me out on Dasher.

She huffed but back away, still gripping that knife. "Fine." She iffed at Jagger, and he looked surprised as he crossed the room until he sat on the couch opposite of me. Calla followed behind him, glaring daggers into his back. "I'm watching you."

Jagger bared his teeth in response.

I sighed at both of them, looking toward the kitchen where Fynley currently had Dasher pinned to the ground, his forearm against his neck. "Get off of him," I told Fynley without any malice in my voice.

Fynley ignored me.

I debated on getting up and kicking him. If I did, would it invoke his werewolf side and cause him to shift in my living room? A wild, angry werewolf was not something I wanted to deal with it. Jagger wouldn't so much as touch his Alpha, and, honestly, he'd be glad Fynley was kicking my ass.

I tried again. "If you hurt him, I'll stab you, Fynley."

Fynley didn't look at me. "You don't have a knife," he forced through clenched teeth.

"I never said it'd be right now."

Jagger snorted. "This bitch talks like the Fae," he said, almost to himself. His voice was quiet, and it should've been too quiet for either Fynley or Dasher to hear over the snarls erupting from both of them.

But Dasher heard it.

He twisted underneath Fynley, trying to get to Jagger. Fynley dug he knee farther into Dasher's back. "Relaja." The command was sharp. Calla, who proudly only spoke one language, looked at me for translation.

I guessed. My languages were Latin and Greek. "I think that means 'relax.'" I had taken two semesters of Spanish in high school but a budding, powerful witch had another things to focus on. I was mostly interested in things that involved witchcraft at that age.

Jagger nodded.

I tilted my head to the side. "You aren't so bad when you don't open your mouth."

He wasn't. Jagger could've hurt Calla, but he hadn't. He had stayed there and stayed still—either by his own accord or a command from his Alpha before we got here. Jagger, in general, wasn't a terrible werewolf. He was cocky, rude, and temperamental like the rest of them, but he wasn't terrible. Annoying. Teased me, taunted me, but he usually followed his Alpha's command.