Chapter 13: Chapter 13: Whiskey Talks

ONE MONTH LATER

Rose

“Your newfound obsession with whiskey is truly horrifying,” Victor teases, lifting the quarter-empty bottle of Glenlivet XXV. “How much did this thing set us back?”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t worry about it! Especially since you benefit from my new hobby,” I point out, gesturing to his half-empty glass.

“Oh, no, I’m not complaining,” he replies, chuckling. “I’m just wondering which man turned you on to this.”

“Are you saying it’s impossible for a woman to be interested in whiskey on her own?” I gasp sarcastically. “How sexist of you!”

“Oh, hush! It’s not a sexist thing; it’s a you thing!” He answers in a fake haughty voice as he swirls his glass. “Your palette isn’t nearly sophisticated enough to discover the aged complexities of this Scotch on your own.”

“Hardy-har-har,” I groan with a smile. “Enough of the whiskey talk. People will think we’re alcoholics if this is all we speak about during our meetings.”

“Who says we aren’t?” He quips.

“Seriously, Vic!” I protest. “I love shooting the shit with you, but we have business to discuss. Probably.”

He whines, tilting his head back. “Ugh, will you let me avoid it for a minute longer? I’m enjoying the long-lasting finish and elegance of this depth full-”

“Are you reading that off your phone?” I interrupt, giggling as I notice the screen's brightness reflecting off his chin from under the table.

He blushes, slamming his phone on the table. “Fuck! How else am I supposed to tickle your fancy since, clearly, my tastes aren’t mature enough for you.” He places the back of his hand on his forehead, simulating a damsel in distress. “I am helplessly in love with you. As your male best friend, this is obviously true, so I must find a way to be better than my mysterious competitor!”

“You are so dramatic!” I giggle. “And there is no competitor. How could I be with anyone else when I’m secretly in love with you, too?”

“Now that is the truth,” he replies, slowly running his fingers through his hair. “How could you resist all of this?”

I snatch his glass of whiskey away.

“Hey!”

“Nope, the liquor has gotten to your head!”

“Ugh, fine. Alright, business time,” he relents, sitting up straight as he opens his laptop. “As much as I would love to continue to dive into your unrequited feelings for me-”

“Shut up!”

“-There is a lot for us to discuss.”

“By the sound of your voice, I’m guessing it’s not good news?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s hard to tell what it will mean for us long term.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it seems like Luna Genevive is focusing most of her wrath on someone else for the time being.”

“How so?”

“She is telling everyone and their mother that the River Run Pack is attempting to sabotage her. She claimed he’s been bad-mouthing her to multiple packs to disrupt her trade relationships.”

“What?” I gasp. “Alpha Evander doesn’t seem like that type of person. Does she have tangible proof?”

“Nope,” he replies. “About as much proof as she had that we were somehow behind her electricity issues last year.”

“Fucking hell,” I mutter. “That’s ridiculous. Did Alpha Evander respond?”

“Nothing yet. It’s new, so he may be trying to leave well enough alone and hope it all goes away. But she’s burning bridges everywhere, it appears.”

“At least that means the heat is off us,” I point out. “That’s good news.”

“Well,” he says, dragging the ‘e’ in a high-pitched voice. “It’s not exactly off us.”

“What does that mean?”

“Did you not hear?”

“Hear what?” I ask, my chest tightening as my fists clench, the wheels in my mind turning through the day’s gossip. I’ve spent most of my day inside going through finances, which is a horrible, tedious, laborious task, so I haven’t had time to socialize. “What’s going on?”

“You remember Thatcher Grey? The guy running for Senate as a werewolf representative this upcoming election.”

“How could I forget,” I grunt indifferently. “Dude is a psychopath who has zero chance of winning! His entire platform is based on returning to the tradition where vampires were second-class citizens to wolves. The Chicago Accords prohibit that, though, and most people think he’s just a washed-up, crazed bigot!”

“I agree, but Genevieve doesn’t. She publicly endorsed him.”

“You’re joking!”

“Wish I was.”

“Wow,” I gasp, exasperated. And hurt... But not by her. “When did she do this?”

“Hour or so ago. It’s all anyone can talk about around here,” he replies, puffing out his cheeks. “Pretty soon, they’ll be campaigning for us to attack.”

“That’s not good,” I whisper, nerves tickling my upset stomach. “I don’t want a war with them.”

“May be inevitable at this point if she continues to disrespect our people. They’ll want to see that you will protect them as a strong leader.”

“Don’t question my strength,” I warn, narrowing my eyes. “I’m only trying to be smart and protect our clan from the casualties of a needless war. Pride is not worth fighting over.”

“Unless it means negotiating with a terrorist,” he challenges. “Which is what she’s doing. She’s banking on the fact that you won’t call her bluff because you don’t want a war. She doesn’t give a fuck, so she’ll push you around, knowing you won’t do anything because you prefer peace.”

“My patience won’t last forever,” I answer, hoping to ease his worry. “And I’m already working on diplomatic solutions.” I glance at the clock, fighting back the smile that wants to pull the corners of my lips. But a lady shouldn’t smile over clandestine things. “We’ll have to save that conversation for later, though. I have an appointment to get to.”

Asher

My body relaxes into the couch cushions, the familiar smell of fresh rain on the mossy ground reminding me of when my siblings and I would play in the rain. Those were always the best afternoons, spending all day splashing in the mud to eventually come inside, where my mother would shake her head, smiling, feigning upset when she was actually delighted to see us having so much fun. Then she’d make us warm soup, always homemade, making the bone chill worth it.

The place is much cleaner than the first day. I’ve spent considerable time cleaning it up and making some repairs. Turns out I picked up a lot more from my parents, who are both very handy, than I thought I did.

And, man, there were a lot of repairs needed. A leaky roof, damaged window frames, and shoddy electrical work. Crazy how quickly something will fall apart if you don’t give it love and attention. But the bones were intact still; the foundation was built well enough. I’ve fixed it all and then some. It makes me happy to know a place that was so special in my childhood is special again but for a different reason. It's nice to put some TLC into something that feels like it belongs to me.

This cabin, and all the time I've put into it to bring it back to life, has got to be a metaphor for something bigger. Maybe a message from the Moon Goddess after I asked Her for guidance at the oak. Albeit, I don’t know what.

“Hey, hey, hey!”

I smile, her vanilla scent carried by the draft flowing through the open door from outside. “Hey! Come on in before the rain melts you.”

“I’m a vampire, not a witch!” She replies with a giggle, plopping on the couch next to me, her hair slightly damp, making it appear more brown than blonde. “It sucked running here, though. Rain hurts when you’re getting pelted by it at super speed!”

“Sorry, it doesn't bother me since my wolf's coat is pretty water-resistant," I brag with a wink. “Hopefully, the weather clears up soon.”

“Means summer is upon us, though!” She celebrates, shimmying her shoulders as she slings her legs over mine, lying on the couch with her head on the armrest. “Usually vampires hate the summer, but I do not.”

“You are not a normal vampire, Rose,” I tease, poking her stomach. “You are fraternizing with the enemy!" I joke, gesturing to myself.

She rolls her eyes. “You’re not buying into all that shit Thatcher Grey is selling, are you?”

“Of course not!” I protest. “You know me better than that.”

“Then why did your mate endorse him publicly?” She challenges, sitting up straight, her voice less playful. “What she does reflects your opinion, too, even if you didn’t make the statement yourself.”

“You know I don’t have control over what she says and does. She’s her own person," I reply, frowning. Her voice has a tremble of hurt in it that she's attempting to hide, almost unnoticeable.

But I notice.

“So, are you going to denounce him publicly?”

I sigh, biting my lip. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Aren’t you your own person?”

“It’s not that simple,” I argue. “You know that.”

She grunts, relaxing on the couch again as she rolls her eyes. “I’m just frustrated. I wish things weren’t like this anymore. We’ve come so far in the last century, and this is a huge step backward. I hate that your name might be associated with that when I know you don’t feel that way.”

I pat her knee, holding my breath as she eyes me, her expression sad and disappointed. My heart clenches, sinking into my stomach.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Ash,” she relents, flashing a small smile as she squeezes my shoulder, massaging it gently. “You’re a good man. I know you are.”

“I don’t feel like one,” I admit, hanging my head. I don’t feel much like a man or a good person, let alone both.

“Things will get better.”

“They have been. I’ve been feeling…” I trail off, searching for the right word.

“Happier?” She asks.

“Yeah, I think so,” I answer, smiling. I want to tell her it’s because of her, but I can’t. I can’t let my thoughts go there after what happened a month ago.

I agreed to keep seeing her, finding it too excruciating to stay away, and I set boundaries for myself.

Boundaries I’m breaking by touching her knee with her legs slung over my lap like this. It’s hard to remind myself to stop her when it feels so natural.

“So, do you want to continue where we left off on the puzzle?” She asks, wiggling her brows as she eyes the puzzle mat in the corner. We’ve been tackling a 1,000-piece puzzle of one of Monet’s Water Lilies. It’s been slow since neither of us is very good at patience or paying attention for long periods, but it’s been fun. Especially since we inevitably give up after ten minutes and start playing other games, since we’re both too competitive for our own good.

“Sure thing,” I answer, the twinkle in her eye too hard to ignore. “I’m game for whatever you want.”