Perigee [bxb] | Bad Moon Book II

16; {Quentin}: his

Jaylin was returned to the crowd and after moments of quiet evaluation and hushed chatter among wolves, the festivities resumed and the crowning ceremony was completed; twelve of the thirty wolves were given rose crowns, the rest daisies. Before Quentin could even reach Jaylin, he was pulled aside by Imani and Acadia—the alpha of the Mid Atlantic USA.

Acadia was like Imani in a lot of ways—fierce, muscled. The kind of woman who could either kiss your wounds or make knew ones, depending on her mood. But unlike Imani, Acadia held influence over the East. She was undeniably the most frightening of all the Eastern alphas—not for her strength or the crude look of her high German cheekbones, but because Acadia was a weaponry genius. She was an artisan, a credible blacksmith and a renaissance enthusiast. She played five-finger-fullet over the last cut of steak, and nearly sliced Felix's nose from his face once when he'd cat-called her from across a bar. Of course he'd been smitten with her since.

But Acadia wasn't a romantic; she was a pirate on land. She drank and she laughed and she treated her pack in a way Quentin respected—like a crew, not a kingdom. He supposed that was why she'd stared him down during Jaylin's crowning, why she'd prowled toward him through the crowd with a few hidden knives surely tucked away in her knee-high stilettos.

"What was that, Bronx?" she asked, boots stamped to the ground. Her coal-black dress cut off above the knee and billowed behind her like a cape. "Are you stepping down? Withdrawing from alpha? We have an alliance here, if you're giving your position away, I—"

"Acadia," Imani said. A gentle hand stopped her at the stomach. "He hasn't given anything away, have you, Quentin? This is something else at work, isn't it?"

"Ay, giv'm a break." He recognized Leo not by his voice, but by the broad arm that swung down around his shoulders. "The old woman's just losing her touch."

His eyes snapped to the bulbs of baby's breath, sticking out from Jaylin's crown. He stood beside a table of refreshments, laughing at one of Matthew's stories. It was when he recognized the bowing nose and angular profile of the figure beside them that Quentin untangled himself from Leo and pushed past Imani.

"Ahh, Quentin," Nicon greeted him cheerily as he approached. "I was just telling him about my first time crowned alpha."

Quentin knew Nicon's game. He didn't hold back—not for the sake of acting professional before his wolves and his queen, not for the sake of how it might look to Jaylin. He shoved Nicon hard at the chest—hard enough to barter a crushed sound from him. He felt an upsurge of eyes on his back—felt them crawl up his nerves like there were ants tramping his skin, and before he could advance further, Jaylin was pressing him back—putting out his flames with that gaze.

God, those ocean eyes.

"Quentin," he said once he'd put a stretch of space between them. "What's wrong? What's going on?"

Quentin stepped away from his hands, watching Nicon dust off the chest of the shirt. He leered back from two canopies down, with that stupid illustrious glare of his; chin tilted to the sky, watching from beneath his pretentious lashes. That was the way Nicon looked at everyone, like he was a man dipped in gold and they were all put on his earth to watch him glitter.

"There are people here I don't trust. Not with you," Quentin said, in a breath that burned his chest. Nicon was walking off, but his eyes still linked to Quentin—black as tombs. "I don't trust him with you."

Quentin felt fingers on his chin as Jaylin physically turned his attention away from Nicon. "Are you going to let me in on why?" And suddenly it was a different fire burning him.

"I told you. There are people here I don't trust."

"And why don't you trust him?" Jaylin asked. When Quentin didn't answer, he moved a step closer. "Why don't you trust him?"