Izzy tried to relax as Abby and Rissa bustled around the kitchen making breakfast. Between the hostile looks Hank and Freddie were shooting Luke, the hot ones Luke was sending her, and the scents of sizzling bacon and eggs, she was about to run screaming from the room. If Freddie and Hank hadn’t boxed her in at the island, she might have.
“Here, honey,” Abby said, setting a steaming bowl of oatmeal in front of her. “Eat up. I want to see you finish that whole thing.”
“Thanks, Abby. Looks great.”
Luke frowned at the cereal. “Isabelle—”
The quick look she tossed him narrowed his eyes. She may be a coward, but give her some credit. The damn beast in her head was already buzzing. Izzy knew the only way to shut it up would be to feed it.
“Can I have some of those scrambled eggs, too?” she asked Abby.
The bowl of eggs fell from Abby’s hands onto the island. The serving spoon flipped out, flicking eggs all over, before clattering to the floor. Dead silence reigned.
Finally, Freddie said, “Get the fuck outta here.”
It was a testament to how shocked Abby was that she let that bit of profanity pass by without comment. Ignoring the eggs splattered all over the counter, she leaned toward Izzy. “Are you serious, sweetie?”
The hope in Abby’s voice made her feel like shit. Abby had worked hard over the years to put out some amazing vegetarian meals, but no amount of lentils and couscous was going to keep two adolescent werewolves healthy. Why had these wonderful people put up with her all these years?
She took a breath before answering. “Yes, ma’am. Please?”
Abby burst into motion. A plate materialized in front of Izzy within seconds, and Hank muttered, “Hot damn.”
As Izzy picked up her fork, she sensed every set of eyes on her. Nothing like being the main exhibit at the zoo.
The eggs looked a hell of a lot better than the tofu ones she normally ate. Not that she’d tell Luke that. He was smug enough already. But the smell... Saliva flooded her mouth and her stomach growled with such force she shook.
Come on. You’re a big girl, you can feed yourself. Spearing a small bite, she brought it to her mouth. Oh God. Soooo good.
“Mmm,” she said, saluting Abby with the fork before scooping up another bite.
“Whoa,” Freddie breathed.
Hank dry-washed his face. “Can’t believe it.”
Luke set a glass of chocolate milk in front of her and she tried really hard not to gulp at the hot look on his face. He really liked watching her eat.
“Me either,” Abby said. “Though I’m not complaining, mind you. I have to ask, Izzy. Why the change?”
Deliberately, Izzy laid the fork down and clasped her hands in her lap. Her scar throbbed, but hell if she was going to let it stop her anymore. Finally, she said, “It’s been pointed out to me that my body obviously isn’t getting what it needs from a vegetarian diet. That it’s making me weak.” Her stomach clenched as she looked at Freddie. “Maybe if I wasn’t so weak from poor nutrition, I could have saved—”
Abby slapped her hand on the counter. “No. Don’t you dare.” She pounded the granite again. “I won’t have you blaming yourself. Your brother told us what you did. How you fought for that poor man.” Her voice broke. “You could have been killed.”
“Abby—”
“No one could have landed that bird any better than you did, Iz,” Hank said, his voice gruff. “You should be damned proud of yourself. I know I’m proud.”
Tears sprang into her eyes and she ducked her head. She didn’t deserve these people.
“Knock that shit off right now,” Freddie said, bumping her shoulder with his own. “I was there. Not every bad thing that happens is your fault, you control freak. Let it go.” His brown eyes burned. “What you eat, though, that you can control. And not that bitch that had you before us. Got it?”
More tears welled. She couldn’t speak, so she just nodded.
Hank reached around her and biffed Freddie in the forehead. “Ow! What the hell, Dad? Crash survivor here,” Freddie whined, rubbing the red spot on his head.
“Not for long, boy, you keep using that kind of language around your mother,” Hank said. “No matter how accurate it is.”
Luke barked a laugh and Rissa giggled, clapped a hand over her mouth, and giggled some more. Freddie glared at both of them.
Keeping her head down, Izzy picked up her fork again. But she couldn’t resist. Leaning toward Freddie, she bumped him with her shoulder. When he looked at her, she said in a singsong, “You got in trouble.”
Sometimes, laughter really was the best medicine.
* * *
Luke wanted to kiss Isabelle’s family. Well, not Freddie. Freddie was a dick. Maybe he’d give Freddie a friendly punch in the arm instead.
Isabelle sat on a stool at the island, being fussed over by her mother, who reminded Luke of the Oracle from the Matrix movies, with her chin-length salt-and-pepper hair and caring, intense focus. Despite being a Chicago native, Isabelle’s father looked like he’d fit right in with the ranchers and loggers of rural Montana. Throw a Stetson on the man, and he’d be camera-ready to play the grizzled sheriff in a John Wayne Western, complete with the steely-eyed gaze he kept directing at Luke.
Luke met Hank’s I’m-watching-you-boy death glare with a determined look of his own. He’d allowed Hank and Freddie the illusion that they’d successfully blocked him from Isabelle’s side. But nothing and no one could keep him from his mate.
Hank’s eyes narrowed further. When Luke didn’t look away, he said, “Hmmph.”
“How ’bout some bacon, Iz?” Freddie asked, wafting a piece under her nose. “It’s like meat candy.”
Isabelle slid her brother some serious side-eye. Then she snatched the strip out of his hand and ate it. “Ohmigod.”
“Will wonders never cease?” Abby said.
His mate’s moan of delight tested Luke’s control. He’d been trying so hard not to think about the erotic thrill of feeding and kissing her. Or waking up twined together with her in bed this morning.
Thankfully, Rissa stopped him from embarrassing everyone. “Oh! I almost forgot,” she said. Opening a drawer at the end of a counter, she pulled out a matte-black pistol and something dark brown. With care, she set the gun and a leather sheath with a knife on the island in front of Isabelle.
Isabelle’s face lit up like the full moon on a cloudless night, then crumpled, tears filling her eyes. “Thank you,” she said, her voice a strangled whisper. She fingered the intricate engraving on the sheath. “My sister gave me this. I thought it was gone.”
Luke tamped down the instinct to grab the dangerous silver blade out of his mate’s hands. “It’s unusual,” he said instead. “The handle and sheath...they look handmade.”
“They are,” Hank said. He gave Isabelle a warm smile. “Bess was awful proud of those.”
Isabelle nodded, holding the deadly thing to her chest like a beloved child.
“She made them?” Luke asked. He couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice. Carrying silver was one thing; heating it, working with it, a whole other ball game. Just breathing the fumes could kill a werewolf.
“Parts,” Abby said. “She was an artist, our Bess. She made the loveliest things. But leather and metalworking weren’t her areas of expertise. She designed the knife and holder, and had friends help her with what she couldn’t do herself.” She shook her head, giving the knife a disgruntled look, like she couldn’t understand giving such a gift to a sister.
“Thank you so much,” Isabelle said again, the salty smell of grief giving way. “These mean a lot to me.”
A blush pinked Rissa’s cheeks. “You’re welcome. Freddie cleaned and oiled the gun for you.”
Luke’s phone vibrated in his pocket. “Excuse me.” He stepped into the hall where he could still see and hear his mate. “Hey.”
Dean’s deep voice rumbled in his ear. “Got a problem. A big one.”