Free Werewolf Rebel Tamed (Werewolf Romance) by Michelle Fox Page B

was free of my alpha’s influence and control.
    Tony didn’t come in with me, just dropped me off with a curt nod of dismissal and backed out as if he couldn’t wait to get away. I watched his white Ford truck disappear down the lane, a sense of isolation washing over me. I used to think living on the streets was hard, but having a place to live was hard too. The hard of joining a pack I didn’t know, of being something I didn’t understand.
    The smell of bacon greeted me when I opened the battered door to the trailer. My stomach rumbled even though I’d eaten at the diner. Welcome to the life of a werewolf; the hunger never ends.
    I paused inside the doorway, surprised at what I saw. Someone had cleaned while I’d been gone. The faded couch pillows had been fluffed, the floors vacuumed. The evidence of my fast food habit was gone and a peace lily plant--that I would probably kill in the space of a week-- sat in the middle of the packing crate we used as a coffee table. Tony was always after me to be neater, and I had balked in rebellion, refusing to lift a finger unless I had to. The trailer looked so nice though, it made me think maybe I should make more of an effort.
    The clink of dishes and the sizzle of bacon fat drew my attention to the narrow alley kitchen. Hunter stood at the stove, his back to me, busily flipping pancakes and tending to the bacon, biceps bulging impressively as he did so. He wore his customary khakis and a tight black shirt that highlighted his sculptured muscles. My heat burned with awareness of his proximity. I took a deep breath and clenched my hands into fists, trying to keep myself in check. Meanwhile, Hunter gave no indication of being aware of my presence, although I knew his wolf ears hadn’t missed my arrival. He was just being nice. Giving me time to adjust.
    Wolves don’t miss much with their keen senses. I’d counted at least a dozen different ways of giving people space within the pack. Pretending not to hear was the most common one and something that still did not come naturally to me. Street etiquette is all about punching the other guy before he can hit you.
    Since Hunter was being all gentlemanly, I took the time to brush my teeth and hair in the tiny bathroom. In the one bedroom at the back of the trailer, I shed my clothes from the night before, exchanging them for my favorite frayed T-shirt and sweatpants.
    Making my way back to the main living area, I found the small patio dinette set we used as a dining room table laden with food. Hunter waited for me with his arms crossed, an expression of placid patience on his broad face. His tall frame looked out of place in the tiny dinette chair.
    He looked me up and down with his dark eyes, raising an eyebrow at my ramshackle appearance. I stiffened, ready for an argument, but he just gestured to the empty seat. “I made breakfast.”
    I sat down, gingerly, not trusting his calm kindness. Tony would’ve delivered at least three separate lectures by now. “Thanks.”
    “I figured you’d be hungry after last night.”
    I gave a soft snort. “Hungry enough for two breakfasts today alone.” At his questioning look, I added, “Tony took me to the diner on Main Street.”
    He served me some pancakes and passed over the butter and syrup. “How’d that go?”
    I shrugged and smeared butter on my pancakes.“I ate, Tony chewed my ass.”
    “He only does that because he cares.”
    “Yeah, I know. Doesn’t make it any more fun.” I piled bacon on top of the pancakes, the scent of hot fat making me salivate. Nothing could compete with bacon, not even a fresh kill. “So, it looks like you’re stuck with me.”
    “Looks like.” He glanced up at me, as if trying to gauge my mood.
    “Why are you being so nice to me?” I asked, my eyes narrowed. He should be reaming me a new one just like Tony had, not making me breakfast and cleaning my house.
    Before he could answer, the door to the trailer creaked open and then slammed