Free Gray Bishop by Kelly Meade

irreplaceable things. I understand that. Your father understands that. Grief takes time.”
    “I don’t have time. This town doesn’t have time. I can’t let my grief get in the way of helping to find the monsters stalking us.”
    “Then share your grief with me. Let me help you.”
    Mason pressed his forehead to hers until their noses touched. She tensed, surprised by the intimate gesture, grateful for the simple touch. She breathed him in, the familiar scent of apple blossom that marked her people, and beneath it, a headier male scent. Her beast remained quiet, unimpressed with the man holding her—not like the way she jumped to attention around Bishop. Or the way she had with Derek.
    “I can’t,” she said.
    “We’ve always been a good match, Jill.”
    “Mason—”
    He shocked her with a kiss that was as gentle as it was urgent. The lonely woman who missed touch, who missed her husband, allowed the kiss. Did not protest the press of lips or the hand sifting through her hair. The loup garou beast whose instincts drove Jillian’s most important decisions rose up against the intrusion, urging her to stop this. Insisting this man wasn’t the one to make her happy or to lead her people, despite what the man himself might think.
    Her phone saved her the need to end the kiss. Mason pulled back slowly, no apology in his expression. No satisfaction, either, or she probably would have slugged him. Only a question that she had no desire to answer. Her father’s name was on the front screen of her phone.
    “Yes, sir,” she said. The formal greeting made her cringe, as though she’d been caught doing something naughty.
    “Good evening, sweetheart,” Father said, his voice calm and conversational. No emergency, then.
    “Good evening, Dad.”
    Mason took the hint. He eased off the couch and left the library, giving her privacy.
    “I take it you’ve spoken to Alpha McQueen about our discovery today?” she asked.
    “Yes, we discussed it. I’ve looked at the photos. Such a gruesome thing.”
    “They’re taunting us.”
    “That’s the consensus of the other Alphas as well. There has been a discussion about some of the west coast runs sending reinforcements to Cornerstone, as the triplets seem intent on making you their next target.”
    “I’m sure Alpha McQueen will be grateful for the assistance. His enforcers are strong, but this is a large town. More noses on the ground might be a good idea.”
    “Thomas is a proud man, Jillian. He’s accepted my help because we’re old friends and because he was facing a crisis.”
    “We’re still facing a crisis. The only thing that’s changed is the time line.”
    “I agree, and so does Thomas. However, accepting more enforcers from other runs is a difficult decision. Tempers are already running high in Cornerstone, and adding more Blacks to the mix could be as detrimental as it is helpful.”
    Especially with Cornerstone’s White Wolf off his game.
    “How is your assessment coming?” Dad asked.
    She cringed at the word. Assessment. He knew of her inability to choose another mate from her own run. One of the reasons he had agreed to allow her to stay and assist with the triplet hunt was her exposure to the unmarried Black Wolves in Cornerstone. He hoped she would find a match here. He had even offhandedly suggested she get to know Knight better. Agnes Mayhew, her own run’s White, was aging, and no Whites had been born in Springwell since her.
    But even if Knight had shown any interest in her, or her beast in him, Jillian would not have pursued him. Knight was the lynchpin in a family dynamic that she could never hope to understand—nor would she ever be the one to rip Knight away from them.
    The problem with her “assessment” was that she had found someone her beast responded to—the one person she could never have. “There are only a handful of unmarried Black males here,” she said. “None of them are Alpha material.”
    “Shame.”
    “Quite.”