Free Scion (Norseton Wolves Book 4) by Holley Trent Page A

a pair of sandals.
    “Look, I didn’t come over here to insult you.”
    “But you can’t hold your tongue, right?” Since she was bent at the waist, fastening the strap of her shoe, her voice came out in the muffle.
    He pushed away from the doorframe and slowly closed the distance between them.
    She peered at him out of the corners of her eyes as he approached.
    He leaned his butt against the dresser’s edge and crossed his arms over his chest. Then he changed his mind and pressed his hands to the dresser. Confrontational body language wouldn’t help his cause, whatever that was. He still wasn’t sure what his cause was. It was an amorphous thing swirling in his head, bits and pieces that didn’t quite congeal, but that were all important individually.
    He needed to connect with his mate—that was for certain. The wolf part of him was becoming increasingly anxious about the separation. All of the members of the pack were charged with doing all they could to ensure the health and wellbeing of the group, and a big part of that was keeping their exchanges positive and respectful. He didn’t know who had started the lie that a bunch of could-be-alphas couldn’t get along in the same group, but it was pervasive. Most big packs sought to eliminate their strong young men as soon as they could because the leadership felt threatened by them. The higher-ups were concerned with job security and lining their pockets, and not doing what was right.
    Every man in the Norseton pack had been sent away from his birthpack in one way or another because of that fear, but they’d proven they could get along—and that a pack was only as strong as the weakest wolf in it. Strong was good , and there was room for them all.
    That included Ashley.
    He didn’t know how to express that. She wasn’t Anton or Colt, so he couldn’t just say, Are we cool, man? and expect that she’d shrug off the hurt. And he knew he’d hurt her.
    She straightened up and fixed her gaze on him. She said nothing, but her expression was easy enough to read: Well?
    He turned his hands over. “Look, do you want to get dinner or something?”
    She stood, brushed the wrinkles out of her dress, and gave him another sideways glance. “Dinner?”
    “Yeah, something in Norseton. Pretty sure you don’t want me to cook.”
    She entwined her fingers in front of her belly, drawing his gaze down to it. Distracting him with his own questions and worries. “I don’t think I’m going to have time today.”
    He cringed and righted his stare. Her cheeks glowed a soft pink he was pretty sure he had put there. With her scent being muddled due to her changing hormones, guessing her mood would take some practice. Not that he’d had much practice at it before she was pregnant. It might have been easier if he had. “Tomorrow, then?”
    She gave her head a slow shake and twirled her thumbs. “Uh—tomorrow isn’t looking so great, either. Still playing catch-up for the two evenings last week I lost to battling the full moon.”
    Battling. Right . Pregnancy and moon shifting were incompatible. He didn’t want to let on yet that he knew why she hadn’t shifted, though. “Just tell me when.”
    She shrugged and strode to the door. “Maybe sometime next week.”
    “Seriously?”
    She gave no response.
    The soft pads of her sandals slapped against the wood floor as she walked farther and farther away. Past the bathroom, even, and he stood there like a dumbass.
    By the time he got his feet in motion, she was at the front door and pulling her purse onto her shoulder.
    No words came out as he leaned against the counter. He watched her leave, not certain what else he could do.
    He was a wolf dancing on eggshells, and hated the feeling—like no matter what he did, he’d break something.
    Maybe it’s supposed to be that way.
    He pounded his fist gently against the countertop and squinted at the new dish rack.
    Maybe they —the collective thing that was Ashley and Vic—were