Comfort the Wolves

12. Curls and Knots

Ivan shifted back to human form and sucked in a deep breath of the cold air from the balcony. He needed a moment to gather himself, to slide some thin armour between that gold thread and his bones, his sinew, his heart. One moment and he'd be fine.

Lianne was asking Curt if Thomas was alright.

"I am spectacular," Thomas answered from the bathroom, voice a little too loud. He must have chugged that wine. "No damned thanks to you."

At the growl in the brawler's voice, Ivan heard himself snarl through human teeth with genuine ferocity.

Ivan startled at the sound as much as Thomas did. As the pup whimpered an apology, Ivan pulled on the pair of shifters and rolled out his shoulders.

He centred himself on the way the cold felt on his skin; how it brought attention to the hot pain in his ear. On the way his bare feet cracked the old yellow paint of her floor. On the shadows her flowers cast, reaching across the room with crooked spines.

The lights buzzed on and the shadows blinked out, making the room feel suddenly too big.

Lianne swept out of her room, and Ivan hastened to tie off his drawstring. She too was tightening the cord on a green robe. Her brow bent in that frown again, her eyes sharp on his bare chest.

"Excuse the undress," he thought to say this time, tipping in an awkward bow. "Miss Finn."

She shrugged, finishing the knot in her robe with a drooping bow. "Those shifters of yours are starting to make more sense." Her eyes caught on the large bare legs sticking halfway out her bathroom. "I don't suppose you could get him a pair?"

With a groan of either embarrassment or pain, Thomas self-consciously pulled his legs back inside.

"Curt." Ivan sent the wolf back to Mrs Whimble's. There was no need for him to run, but the pup did so anyway, glad for something to do. William had left testosterone levels running high all around—and too much of any feeling always made Curt nervous.

Ivan's eyes brushed back over Miss Finn to assure himself she was alright.

Her arms were crossed over her chest and her contours were again hewn with an edge of wariness he'd grown accustomed to. Whatever relief had tucked her against him had been replaced with a steady set in her jaw and eyes that remembered horrible things done years ago.

Though the bemusement tucked in her frown was new. Surprise, maybe; curiosity guarded by caution.

Ivan forced his stance to relax, spreading his hands to promise no harm.

She closed her eyes, as if pained he could sense her fear. Turning, she went back to her bedroom and reemerged with the smaller pistol and her taser. The taser she returned to the bowl of keys in the entry, the handgun she hid in her robe's pocket.

She felt awkward about it, rubbing the sweat on her hands down her hip. But Ivan, for one, felt a barrel of steel between them was wise.

He gave her what he hoped was a soothing smile. "The pea-shooter is a step up from the Fur Splitter."

She scoffed, but it was without humour and a little watery. She wiped her nose with her sleeve and watched him closely. "Your ear is bleeding."

Ivan's hand went to the place hot blood burned his skin and grimaced. "It is."

"While Beta bedazzles us with his eloquence," Thomas said from the bathroom, taking another gurgling swig of Mrs Whimble's wine. "Allow me to inform you that I am bleeding out in here."

Brawlers were one of the few breeds that alcohol could muddle; though the buzz faded as fast as it came. Thomas would have a splitting headache in the next half hour, but by then they'd have gotten the bullets out of him.