Mercy reappeared with arms full of food and didn’t comment on my wet hair. I hadn’t bothered to dry it and instead twisted it up in a bun. I wore yoga pants and a loose, long-sleeve shirt from the pile of borrowed clothes, and she wore something similar. Henry was nowhere to be seen, which was too bad—I wanted to apologize to him for my little outburst in the hall. It hadn’t been right to yell at them. They weren’t the problem. If I wanted to take someone’s head off, it should have been Miles.

I cleared my throat as I slid onto one of the high stools near the kitchen island. “I’m sorry about earlier. I was a little off balance, and I shouldn’t have said—”

“Don’t even worry about it,” she said cheerfully. “It was a weird morning for anyone. I don’t know how I would have taken it if I were in your shoes. Besides, Henry and I get yelled at a lot, and you were really polite about it.”

I couldn’t quite hide a smile. “I was polite?”

“Oh yeah.” Mercy handed me a bottle of local brew witbier, then set out steaks and asparagus and potatoes. “Normally there’s a lot more cursing and personalized insults.”

“You can’t possibly be serious,” I said. “Who yells at you?”

“We all yell at each other.” She cracked the top off her own bottle and started hunting through the cabinets for pots and pans. “That’s how we communicate around here. If there isn’t an f-bomb in the middle of a sentence, you know they don’t mean it.”

I laughed and slid down from the stool to help her. “What are we making?”

“I’m making steak and mashed potatoes and steamed asparagus,” she said. She shooed me out of the kitchen, or at least tried to. “You’re going to hang out and watch me.”

“Bullshit,” I said. I wiggled my fingers like there was some kind of magic in them. “I’ll hex you if you don’t let me help.”

Her eyes widened but I couldn’t keep a straight face, and she started to breathe again as I laughed. “Wow. That’s a threat I haven’t heard before. Can we use that later on Henry? I’d like to see his face.”

I started filling a large pot with cold water before lugging it to the cooktop. “I’ll peel the potatoes. And sure, I can hex whoever we want to. There are some joke hexes and little pranks witch kids learn.”

Mercy handed me a peeler and a small knife, then seasoned the steaks and set them aside to rest before she started sorting the potatoes. “I’m glad you’re this chill, Deirdre.”

“Oh?” I glanced over at her. “I don’t think anyone has ever called me ‘chill.’”

“You are. For the first few days....” She shook her head, giving me a sideways look. “I don’t think anyone expected much except curses and hexes. Which we deserved, for taking you like that. But I’m glad you’re like this, and not like that.”

“I’m glad, too.” I took a deep breath and focused on the long, smooth curls of potato skin that ended up in the sink. “I feel like—I don’t know, like I can take a breath here. Like I don’t have to be on the defensive all the time, which is weird considering I was a captive and I’m still held against my will to save Miles’s life. But it doesn’t feel like I need to be that other witch just to survive.”

Mercy nodded, tossing another small spud into the cold water. “I know what you mean. I was always the odd duck, regardless of what pack I was in or who I was around. It was only when I found Evershaw and his pack that things kind of made sense. We’re a bunch of outcasts and weirdos—Todd calls us the Pack of Misfit Toys—but we’re all in it together and no one pretends to be something they’re not. There’s no reason for it. There’s no need.”

“That’s rare,” I said quietly. “Really rare. Treasure it.”

“We do.” Mercy focused on peeling more potatoes. “Which is why we need you to keep Evershaw alive.”

“I’ll do my best,” I said. “But he doesn’t make it easy.”

She laughed. “Boy, you don’t know the half of it.”

She started filling me in on all the shenanigans and happenings going on in the shifter community, and even went over a bunch of shit that happened over the previous year with some kind of awful cult outside the city and experiments and jackals and Russian mobsters. I didn’t know how much to believe, but since one of those guys ended up trapped in the Betwixt with Smith, I figured at least some of it was true.

We cooked together, mashing the potatoes and putting the steaks in a cast-iron pan and eventually steaming the asparagus, and drank more beer and laughed and generally had a good time. I hadn’t had a night like that in as long as I could remember. Henry eventually joined us, just in time to set out plates on the counter, and the three of us ate and joked and drank until even the tension from worrying about how I smelled faded into the background.

Until Miles walked in. He still looked grumpy but carried a bottle of whiskey. Both Mercy and Henry hopped to their feet when he strode by, though I was in the middle of chewing a large chunk of steak with a forkful of mashed potatoes midair, and the alpha paused as he eyed me. My cheeks must have pooched out like a chipmunk, but his eyebrow quirked and something almost like amusement filtered through his expression, then he glanced at the two wolves. “Go sit down.”

“Steak medium rare, boss?” Mercy asked, going to the stove to heat the cast-iron pan again.

“Yeah.” Miles studied me a second longer, inhaled a deep breath, then nodded and headed for his room without another word.

I finished chewing, a little irritated; he hadn’t even said hello, just stomped in and expected everyone to kowtow. Just when I thought he might not be a total jackass, he did something like that. Maybe he’d been raised in a barn. Maybe he just didn’t have the manners. I didn’t know which was worse—that he’d gotten to his age without basic social graces, or that he knew them and chose to be a dick to everyone just because he wanted to be.

Henry finished his steak and loaded his dishes into the dishwasher, and took his beer as he retreated into the hall after muttering a goodnight. I frowned as I looked at where he’d gone, then glanced back at Mercy. “What’s up with that?”

“He’s probably just got other stuff to do.” She put a few steaks in the pan and the warm hiss of the meat filled the kitchen.

I didn’t buy it for a second. Those undercurrents of secret meanings kept tripping me up at the oddest times. But I let it pass because Miles returned, wearing loose sweatpants and a faded concert T-shirt and bare feet with his hair all messed up, and he retrieved a beer from the fridge before leaning against the wall to watch Mercy cooking. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem.” She gestured toward the side dishes. “There’s potatoes and asparagus if you want to get started. It’ll be five more minutes on the steak.”

Miles grunted and pulled one of chairs back from the counter after getting me another beer. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I said. I studied him in my peripheral vision, uncertain of what he actually meant. “My midday shower was kind of inconvenient, but I’ve gotten over it.”

He smiled with half his mouth as he drank most of his beer. “Good. It’s not attractive when a woman pouts.”

“Well, since my very first concern was whether I looked attractive, thank you for bringing that to my attention.” I rolled my eyes and wondered how the hell he’d survived as long as he had without a woman stabbing him right in the eye. “And I don’t think I was the one who spent all afternoon pouting, since you stomped off and took your toys home with you when things didn’t go your way.”

“That’s not exactly what happened,” he said, the smile spreading. “Over-dramatizing everything is also not attractive.”

“I’ll make a note.” But I wanted to smile, too, which was definitely not like me. It felt like a really weird kind of flirting, and even Mercy heard it, because she was grinning and shaking her head as she watched his steaks cook. “What do you want to do tonight, Mercy?”

She glanced over, carefully not looking at Miles. “I thought it would be nice to watch movies and drink beer and relax.”

“That sounds perfect.” I leaned my elbow on the counter and rested my chin on my fist, closing my eyes. “I haven’t had a movie night in ages.”

“Then that’s the plan,” Miles said. “See if you can rustle up some popcorn too, Mercy.”

“Roger,” she said, though I turned to give him an arch look.

“Maybe get your own popcorn, Mr. Bossy-pants. Jesus. You’re a grown man.”

His eyebrows arched as he looked at me, then he straightened and pointed at his own chest. “I don’t know if you know this, but I’m the alpha. I’m kind of a big deal. People do things for me. That’s why I have a pack—so I don’t have to do shit like find popcorn.”

I couldn’t quite tell if he was joking or serious, since it could have been either based on his previous attitude and all of our initial interactions. “Maybe that’s why people keep trying to kill you. Not that they’d have to try too hard, since apparently you would starve to death if there weren’t minions around to prepare your food.”

His mouth puckered. It could have been fury or laughter. Mercy watched, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, as Miles frowned at me and I waited for him to come up with something intelligent. “They’re not minions. They’re pack.”

That did not meet the threshold for “intelligent.” I folded my arms over my chest. “Kind of a big deal. For cryin’ out loud. I don’t know how you fit inside this building at the same time as your ego.”

“Says the witch who kept shouting ‘you dare’ at me every time I told you to do something. Big scary witch who can’t even hex me.”

“Because you cheated and called your big friend Smith to give you an advantage,” I shot back. “Since you couldn’t stand toe-to-toe with me on my own. Just you wait, buddy, until this geas is gone. Then you’ll know what it’s like to tussle with a witch.”

He chuckled and leaned back in the chair as Mercy slid the plate of steaks in front of him. “I look forward to the experience.”

And then I didn’t know at all what kind of tussling he imagined, though I was pretty sure it wasn’t the kind of fight I’d been thinking of. Mercy, at least, stared at him like she’d never seen him before in her life.

Miles nodded as he chewed. “Good job, Mercy.”

“I’ll just look for that popcorn,” she said, ducking to search through the pantry.

Before I could object and call Miles out for being a helpless man, he jumped and said, “What the actual fuck,” and looked around like he’d just been stabbed.

I wanted to mock him more but snapped my mouth closed when I saw what had, in fact, stabbed him—Cricket. The cat stretched up to his formidable height and latched his claws into Miles’s thigh to examine the possibility of getting some steak.

Miles looked at me, then down at the cat, then back at me. “What the hell is it doing?”

“He,” I said, picking through some of the gristle on my plate. “Is hungry. And since your little... episode at the florist prevented us from getting his cat food at the market, he wants some steak for dinner.”

“Cats don’t have ‘dinner,’” he said. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world and I was the crazy cat lady who’d gone off the deep end.

“Do you have a cat?” I asked. Miles stared at me, expression blank. Clearly he’d never had a cat. He’d know better if he had. Poor man, to go through life without sharing a house with an imperious roommate. It was humbling. Maybe if he had shared a house with a cat, he wouldn’t have that bullshit “I’m a big deal” attitude he walked around with. “Then how do you know they don’t have dinner? Maybe they do and you’ve just been making assumptions.”

“You’re out of your mind,” he said. “And I’m not giving the beast a scrap of my food. I’m sure we’ve got some dog food down in the basement from the last time someone brought home a stray. That’ll have to do.”

I sighed and retrieved Cricket, holding him in my lap as I hopped back up on the chair, and I fed him little morsels from my plate and Mercy’s. “The beast does not eat stale kibble.”

Cricket chirped his appreciation and savaged the hell out of the leftover steak. Mercy popped up with some loose kernel popcorn, pulling out another pot so she could make it over the stove, and I focused on feeding the cat instead of the weight of Miles’s attention. He definitely studied me as I pretended not to notice. Another wiggle of uncertainty worked its way through my chest. What did he really want? Despite his apparent irritation with Cricket’s presence, he hadn’t suggested keeping the cat anywhere else, and that was a big deal. One of the sort-of boyfriends I’d dated had had the temerity to ask me to get rid of Cricket after the guy proved allergic. The sort-of relationship ended that moment. No one got between me and my baby.

And even though Miles would have been completely in his right to send me and Cricket to stay somewhere else so he didn’t have to worry about getting clawed to pieces every time he ate dinner, he hadn’t. Yet I couldn’t quite figure out why. I really needed to get Mercy alone to pick her brain. She checked her phone a couple of times as she made the popcorn; before it was done, Miles finished his steaks and got to his feet. I opened my mouth to make another joke about him choking on his ego before the steak, but froze as he put a little sliver of steak—not gristle, not fat, but steak—on the counter in front of Cricket.

When he noticed that I’d noticed, he scowled and muttered, “I don’t want him to eat my toes in the night, okay?” and walked over to the couch to turn on a massive television and complicated set of boxes and wires.

A knot formed in my throat as I watched him, though I still held Cricket. I hadn’t expected someone like Miles, not just a wolf but kind of a jerk, to give a shit whether my cat was hungry. It was my turn to watch him surreptitiously, and I jumped when he called out movie choices to Mercy and me. Mercy hollered back when it was clear I didn’t want to weigh in, and the decisions were made without me having to commit to anything. Mercy handed me two bowls of popcorn and shooed me toward the couch as she went around and dimmed the lights in the main room.

Suddenly shy, I hesitated before picking a spot. Should I sit next to Miles? At the opposite end of the couch? He’d flopped down on one corner of the couch, leaving the chaise and a few more cushions open, and Mercy took one bowl of popcorn and hopped onto the longer chaise. I split the difference and sat between them, resting the bowl of popcorn between Miles and me, and held my breath as I put my feet up on the coffee table. Cricket grumbled and complained as he sauntered by and eventually curled up on the chenille throw that Mercy dragged across her legs.

The movie, some kind of mindless action superhero something, started and no one spoke, just munched on popcorn and occasionally got up for another beer. I started to relax. It really had been a long time since I’d had a movie night, and I wanted to take advantage of it, even if Miles took up a lot of space next to me.