The first Market Day after the voting, Dante helped carry Finn’s wares to the marketplace.

“I shouldn’t stay,” Dante said, pushing carts filled with bowls and children’s drums. “Bad for business if I do.”

It was early in the day; they’d taken pains to arrive at dawn. Even so, a few of the pack wolves were already there, setting up shop. Finn felt the weight of their stares as he limped across the parking lot, Dante herding the carts next to him.

Dante nodded; the wolves looked away. He sighed.

Finn squeezed his hand. “The pack wasn’t formed in a day,” Finn murmured. “It’ll take time.”

“I know,” Dante said. “But it feels like I shouldn’t be here at all.”

“Market Day’s for everyone, Dante,” Finn said. “Non-magic folks visit. The water folk buy my things.”

“The pack are the ones who buy your drums, though,” Dante muttered.

Finn lined the children’s drums along the edge of the booth. Over the past week, Dante had stayed in the workshop, helping Finn with the drums for Market Day. Half of Finn’s students had dropped out of his classes—the other half were non-magic folk, or people who hadn’t been following the news. It had resulted in empty classrooms, and a drop in income.

Dante had gone out to hunt in the canyon, bringing back rabbits and birds so they wouldn’t go hungry. He’d planted the artichoke seeds from Old Bill, too. Dante hated that vegetable, and yet... he was trying his best. He would face the wolves’ wrath, so Finn could stay with the rest of his pack.

Sometimes, Finn wondered if they’d made the right decision.

Dante reached across the table, slipping his fingers into Finn’s hair. “How’s your ankle?”

Finn wriggled his foot. It didn’t hurt as much. “Better.”

Dante’s eyes brightened. He pulled Finn toward himself, leaned in, and pressed their mouths together. Finn’s heart fluttered.

Crumpet yapped at them.

“Shut up,” Dante murmured against Finn’s lips. “He’s mine.”

Finn blushed. At three weeks pregnant, the baby bump was starting to show. He’d given up trying to disguise the pregnancy markings, instead wearing long sleeves so they weren’t as obvious. The pack already knew, anyway.

Dante reached down, cupping Finn’s belly with his hand.

Finn closed his eyes and savored his alpha’s touch. After five years without, it was so nice to belong, to have Dante with him again.

His skin prickled under the pack’s stares. Finn pulled away with a grimace. “Sorry. I wish we could stay like that forever.”

Dante shrugged. “Gotta get the goods on the table.”

He slid his warm fingertips down Finn’s throat, though, touching the bite scar at Finn’s neck. Then he turned, unloading the rest of the carts. Crumpet barked as the empty wagons raced away.

“You gonna be safer if I stay?” Dante asked, his forehead creasing.

Finn grimaced. “It’s hard to say, but you should try. Stay here until lunchtime, at least.”

“I could be tilling the garden, planting more crops,” Dante said. “Gods know I need to put food on the table. Got pups to feed.”

Finn stared at him, his heart swelling. Dante was so young, and here he was, committing to a life with his teacher.

“My omega,” Dante said, rolling his eyes. “You keep forgetting that.”

Finn ducked his head to hide his smile. He arranged the pens and carved spatulas on the booth, then moved aside so Dante could set the oak dresser behind him. Couldn’t stop watching the flex of Dante’s biceps, the roll of his broad shoulders. Finn remembered the press of Dante’s body behind him, the heat of his touch.

Dante glanced over. “Can’t focus, huh?”

“You haven’t joined me for Market Day in years,” Finn said.

And everything was different this time. The pack knew Finn had slept with his student. They knew Finn carried Dante’s pups. Dante had killed, and he’d spent time behind bars. Some teacher Finn had been.

“You’re great,” Dante murmured, stepping over. “The kindest teacher I’ve ever known.”

Finn had given up trying to stop Dante from eavesdropping on his thoughts. It was intimate. And maybe he secretly enjoyed it, Dante’s presence in his mind.

Dante snorted. “That’s not a secret, is it?”

Finn smacked him on the arm. “Shush.”

“It’s like frottage,” Dante said. “Except instead of cocks, it’s our brains rubbing together.”

“I’m not sure if that’s disgusting, Dante,” Finn said, biting down his smile.

Dante grinned. “That’s the new word for it—brain frottage.”

Finn shook his head. “Gods, I don’t know what to do with you.”

“I can think of plenty.” Dante wriggled his eyebrows.

Exasperated, Finn turned away. Dante hugged him from behind.

The pack trickled into the marketplace as the sun rose. Most of them glanced around, sniffing. Finn could always tell when they picked up Dante’s scent; they would look over at Finn’s booth, their eyes narrowed, and take a wide, curved route away from the table.

Finn expected it, but it still hurt, watching his pack avoid them.

“I should leave,” Dante said, following his gaze.

“No, stay.”

“But—”

“I’m saying that to you as your teacher, Dante.” Finn looked hard at him. “You can choose to leave at lunch, but not earlier.”

Dante sighed, pulling up a chair. “We’re still teacher and student?”

Finn wasn’t sure about that. It almost seemed unfair, having that power over his alpha. “There are still things you have to learn,” Finn said. “And I’d have to teach them to you.”

Dante chewed thoughtfully on his lip. “Sex things?”

Finn cracked a smile then. “Maybe.”

They sat together behind the booth, Dante fidgeting, watching as the booths around them began to fill up. Then Old Bill arrived with his cart of preserves, and Dante jumped up to help.

It heartened Finn to know that Dante had a friend in Bill, that they weren’t completely ostracized from the pack. When Bill’s jars were lined up on his table, he handed Dante a straw of honey as thanks.

Dante gave the honey to Finn. “Here.”

Finn raised his eyebrows. “That’s for you.”

Dante shot him a lopsided grin. “I know. But you like honey more’n I do.”

Bill clicked his tongue. “Lovebirds, the two of ya.”

Finn blushed. Dante settled back on the stool beside him, biting the straw open. Then he gave it back, smiling when Finn sucked the honey from the straw. It was sweet, tasting faintly like oranges.

“Got that from a colony by the orchard,” Bill said, nodding at Finn. “Tastes good, don’t it?”

“It does.”

“Come over sometime,” Bill said. “I’ll teach ya how to farm honey, too.”

Dante looked oddly at him. “Why would you want us to learn all your trade secrets?”

Bill grinned toothily. “Gotta pass my secrets down to someone, and ya two are as close to my pups as I’d ever get.”

Finn stared at Bill, his chest growing tight. His own mother hadn’t so much as said a word to him since the voting.

Bill reached over, patting him on the knee. “We’re all family, here.”

At least someone thought that way.

Market Day dragged, half of Finn’s patrons avoiding the booth. Some of them stopped by Old Bill’s table, buying honey and preserves. They shot wary looks at Finn and Dante, and moved on.

Finn hadn’t realized just how replaceable he was in the pack, until now.

Dante squeezed his hand. “You want to go home? I’ll man the booth.”

Finn chuckled. “I’m not sure that’d be any better.”

Dante huffed and kissed him, then went back to whittling an oak branch he’d picked off the ground. I’m here.

Finn sighed.

He watched as the familiar faces passed him by. His aunts, the students from his classes, the rest of the pack. Little Thom caught Finn’s eye, waving his stubby fingers. Finn waved back, and Daisy ushered her son away.

Finn watched the boy toddle off. Couldn’t help touching his belly, worrying about his own pups. But Thom glanced back, all dark-haired and curious eyes, looking at the colorful drums on the edge of the booth.

“Pity,” Bill said. “Don’t gain nothin’ by avoidin’ you.”

Finn shrugged. He couldn’t regret mating with Dante—he wanted Dante’s pups. “I hope Daisy didn’t throw that drum away. It took a few hours to make.”

“She’d better not,” Bill muttered.

Aunt May stopped in front of Finn’s booth then, blocking Thom from Finn’s view. His heart sank as he looked up. May was thin, her expression sullen, her mouth perpetually turned downward.

“Still here?” Aunt May asked, peering down her hooked nose at Finn. Dante tensed. Finn held his hand, restraining him.

“For a while, it seems,” Finn said.

“I hope you’re ashamed of yourself. Bearing that scum’s pups...” She clicked her tongue. “I’m surprised you’re not dead yet.”

Dante growled low in his throat. For a moment, his wolf rose to the surface; the thoughts in his mind quieted. His nails pushed out, turning into claws.

Finn narrowed his eyes. He could accept anything the pack threw at him. But Dante—Dante was everything Finn had ever wanted. “You’ll find that he isn’t scum, Aunt May,” Finn said, straightening his shoulders. “If you bothered to look past his mistakes, you’ll find he has a gentle soul.”

“I hope those aren’t your last words,” she said darkly.

“Head over here for some honest wares,” Humphrey called on the other side of the marketplace. “Certainly nothing that could kill you!”

Dante bared his teeth. Finn tightened his grip on Dante’s hand, watching as Dante’s human self blinked. Don’t rise to the bait.

Hard not to, Dante answered. He’s a bastard.

“Away with ya, May,” Old Bill said, waving her off. He scowled over his glasses. “Don’t forget that old fang saying: Judge a wolf once, and you’ll find enemies. Judge a wolf twice, and you’ll find pack. Ya only known him a short while. Don’t burn what’s left of ya bridges.”

May snapped her mouth shut, turning away. “I’ll have nothing to do with scum.”

Finn sagged. It wasn’t the best start to Dante’s two months in the canyon.

“Here, Finn,” Dante said, snapping off a piece of wood from his branch. “Made this for you.”

It was a terrier, roughly whittled at the edges, all wet, new wood. But it looked so much like Crumpet that Finn’s spirits rose. “You made a carving of Crumpet?”

Dante shrugged. “Thought it’d cheer you up.”

Finn turned the wooden dog around in his hands, admiring the perk of its head, the little stumps of its legs. The wood would warp a little as it dried, but Finn didn’t mind—he wanted to add this new carving to his collection at home—the little dogs Dante had whittled for him over the years.

“See, if May had seen that, she wouldn’t be so quick to judge,” Bill said loudly.

May turned, glowering. Then she stalked away, disappearing into the crowd. Finn tried not to think about his aunt. Who knew what she’d tell his mom?

“Crumpet,” he called, watching as the terrier came running up. “See, Dante made a carving of you.”

He showed the carving to Crumpet, who sniffed at it. Crumpet eyed Dante warily. It had been three weeks, and Finn thought his terrier would’ve taken to Dante by now.

“I guess we can share Finn,” Dante told the dog. “But he’s mine first.”

Crumpet lifted his chin in a big show of ignoring Dante, scampering off to yap at the carts. The wagons scattered, wheels squeaking.

Finn watched in dismay as the carts rattled through the marketplace, Crumpet barking furiously at them. Shoppers swerved to avoid the carts; Finn leaped up from his seat. “Be right back.”

Dante caught his arm. “I’ll get them,” he said. “Don’t want you to hurt your leg.”

Finn frowned. “I’m not an invalid.”

“I know. I just want you to be safe.”

Finn chewed on his lip, watching as Dante strode through the marketplace, grabbing the carts.

Somehow, the carts calmed when Dante set his hand on their handles. Finn thought it was because they recognized him by this point, after the weeks he’d spent at the workshop. Quietly, the carts followed as Dante guided them back to Finn’s table. Without Dante touching them, Carts Three and Four trundled back, too.

The crowd muttered around them.

“You might have become the cart whisperer,” Finn said, cracking a smile.

“Yeah?” Dante tucked the carts behind Finn’s chair. “Don’t move,” he said. “Don’t need to give Finn more trouble.”

The carts flipped their front wheels side to side, as though they agreed. Finn relaxed.

Crumpet shot Dante a disgruntled look, stalking away. Looked like they still had to work on Dante’s relationship with the terrier.

“I’m sure you’ll be friends with Crumpet at some point,” Finn said.

“Maybe,” Dante said. “At least he hasn’t bitten me.”

“Good enough,” Bill said. “Some of these folks oughta learn what family should be like.”

He offered them a pack of crackers. Finn pulled out their stash of fruits and sandwiches, and smiled when Dante returned to sit with him, nuzzling into his neck.

For a first Market Day with Dante, this could have gone a lot worse.