Cold Hearted (Tooth & Claw, #1)

by Heather Guerre

“I know, Margaret. I told you I was wrong about her.” “You were wrong about yourself, too, pup.” “No, I admitted the wolf wanted her. But—” “You’re full of shit. The man wanted her as much as the wolf.” A low growl rumbled. “Fine, lie to yourself.”

“Hang on—” she pushed at his shoulders. He drew back, watching her with that unusual golden gaze. Grace frowned. “You don’t like me.” Caleb grinned. “Aw, Gracie, come on. You can figure out werewolves, but you can’t figure this out?” “You were a jerk tonight.” His smile faded. “I—” He hesitated. His jaw clenched with resolve. “I was jealous,” he said flatly. “You were dancing with every man in the room, but you ran from me like—” “You make me nervous,” she blurted.

Natasha emerged from the kitchen’s swinging door and Arthur hurtled over the counter with astonishing grace, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her deeply. After a second of stiffened surprise, Natasha melted into his arms. When at last they broke apart, Arthur bent his head and bit at her shoulder playfully. Hoots and wolf-whistles went up and down the length of the dining room. Natasha blushed like a schoolgirl, swatting at Arthur’s chest. “Go on, you,” she told him with an unconvincing attempt at sternness. “The water heater is still leaking.” He flashed her a grin that nearly made Grace blush, and disappeared down the hall.

As Grace ate, people drifted over, one by one. They greeted her with little touches to the shoulder, squeezes on the arm. She’d gotten accustomed to those friendly touches from certain people, but it was strange to receive them from so many others. There was a vaguely ceremonial feel to the flow of people, touching her, greeting her, then leaving The Spruce. By the time she finished her breakfast, the dining room was mostly empty.

Being accepted by the pack <3

“Morning. You tell your family what happened?” he asked, picking up his cup of coffee. “No.” They wouldn’t care. If Grace had been seriously hurt, they would’ve worried. But since she was fine, her mom would only be interested in hearing about the wolves, and her dad would just subside into one of his skeptical silences, the way he did whenever Grace had tried to tell him something bad had happened to her. It wasn’t that he thought she was a liar. It was just that he was so low-key and unexcitable that he found it hard to believe that disasters and traumas actually did happen to people. Or so her mom said.

Natasha appeared with a coffee carafe, and Grace tried to shift the conversation to her. “How are you doing?” she asked. Natasha’s expression turned thunderous. “Nobody is allowed to ask me that question anymore! I am perfectly fine!” Grace froze with her hand halfway to her coffee mug. “Oh. Uh. Glad to hear it.” Arthur hid a grin with a sip of coffee. Natasha softened as she searched Grace’s face. “And how are you, then?” “No fair. You can ask me, but I can’t ask you?” “A mother’s privilege.” “I think that only applies to your own children.” Natasha gave her an impatient look. “I am your Alaskan mother.” “Sounds like she could use one,” Arthur muttered.

Grace stared at the mess with a slow smile spreading across her face. Cursing on a breath that came perilously close to a giggle, she crossed the room and began peeling the yarn off her desk.

“Goddamn it, Grace! Quit using your feminine wiles to pull information out of me.” “I’m just laying here!” “And you’re very good at it.”

There was a big pink elephant in the room—it was covered in fur and looked a lot like a wolf—and without a word, they agreed to ignore it.

That was a conversational avenue that Grace wasn’t even remotely ready to discuss. So she changed the topic in the easiest way possible—she turned to face Caleb, wrapping her arms around his neck, and kissed him.

“It’s my fault,” she said hoarsely. “I brought him here.” Caleb’s arms tightened around her. “He brought himself here. He made his own choices. You’re not responsible for him.”

“Gracie. Caleb.” Natasha appeared with mugs and a coffee pot. She smiled at the two of them like an angel observing a good deed. “Good morning.”

Caleb tried, and failed, to look innocent.

There was only one bed. And you’d think that, after sleeping in Caleb’s bed last night and kissing him this morning, it’d be easy to assume they’d be sharing the bed. But it wasn’t in Grace’s nature to assume that she was wanted, and Caleb hadn’t exactly made any declarations to her. In fact, all he’d said was that they weren’t ignoring each other anymore. Which made things about as clear as mud.

Home. The way he said the word with such natural possessiveness made it sound like another world to Grace—like Narnia or Middle Earth. For her, “home” just meant whatever house or apartment she was living in at the time. It had never borne the emotional resonance she heard in Caleb’s voice when he talked about the Valley.

“Then choose it, Grace. If you love it here, then choose to be part of it.” Is that was this feeling was? Love? Why did it feel so much like envy and wistfulness? “I’m afraid I want to belong somewhere so badly, I’ll shoehorn myself in where I don’t belong. And the whole time I’m trying to convince myself that I’ve done right, I still won’t have that home feeling.” “So you’re planning to leave.” “I really don’t have any plans.” “Which means you aren’t planning to stay.”

She was really just taking it one day at a time. But a lifetime is made of individual days. If she didn’t figure something out, she was going to reach her deathbed and still be wondering where she belonged.

Vaguely, she had the sense that she’d lost their battle. But how much of a loss was it when the victor’s face was pressed between her thighs?