Wolf Rain (Psy-Changeling Trinity #3)(11)

Submissive wolves never met a dominant’s gaze in so challenging a fashion.

His wolf didn’t snarl at her. It was too astonished by this small creature who thought she could defy him. It was like being told off by a gnat. His currently habitually grumpy wolf nudged at Alexei to walk over there and investigate further, maybe use his teeth to grip the side of her neck to see what she’d do.

It wouldn’t be about hurting her, more about learning her dominance.

Alexei shrugged off the aggressive impulse. The E, he sternly reminded both parts of his nature, wasn’t changeling. Different rules applied. She had no idea that such direct and sustained eye contact with a dominant of Alexei’s power and rank in the pack was a challenge. In all likelihood, she was probably just watching him because she thought she was in danger of being eaten.

Chest rumbling at the idea of being seen as a threat by a defenseless E—next he’d hear he kicked kittens for a hobby—he stalked into the bedroom and opened the cupboard. Thick towels in different colors sat stacked in neat rolls on the top shelf.

One of the maternals must come up here every so often and tidy things up. It wasn’t that the rest of them were slobs, but no substation engineer or maintenance person would’ve rolled up the towels like colorful sushi, or left something inside the cupboard that made everything smell crisp and clean. That was a maternal wolf thing, those small touches that turned any place into a home.

His mother had been like that. Calissa Harte would cut his lunch sandwiches in the shape of a star because he’d liked astronomy. Once, he’d come home from school to find she’d used stencils to paint small dragons all over Brodie’s bedroom. Alexei and his big brother had been speechless with joy, especially when their mom gave them both paintbrushes so they could add individual touches to the dragons.

He drew in a deep breath, and it fucking hurt, broken shards stabbing into him.

His sweet, soft, gentle mother was gone.

His adrenaline-junkie and blood-loyal big brother was gone.

His sardonic prankster of a father had been lost long before he died.

Of their small, tight pack-within-a-pack, only Alexei remained. Even Aunt Min couldn’t change that, no matter how hard she tried. What drew a subtle line between Alexei’s lost family and that of his devoted, loving aunt’s was the curse that ran in his paternal line. Aunt Min’s blood was thankfully untouched by the darkness responsible for the loss of her sister, brother-in-law, and nephew.

Maybe he should’ve mentioned to the E that he had a sweetheart of a twelve-year-old cousin who he babysat twice a month so Aunt Min and her mate could have the night out. His wolf snorted. Alexei had to agree with its skepticism: he’d blown his shot at a cuddly and nonintimidating image the second he ripped her bunker door off its hinges.

Then he’d threatened to turn her into dinner.

Great. Just great.

Guess the charm’s working overtime today, huh, little bro?

Gut tightening at the phantom echo of Brodie’s laughing voice, the teasing words exactly the ones Brodie would’ve spoken had his big brother been standing here, Alexei took a couple of towels out into the hallway. He threw a thick green one toward the empath. Her movements might be jerky, but there was nothing wrong with her reflexes. She caught the towel, but didn’t start to dry herself.

Instead, he felt a brush of emotion that was . . . delicate.

Like someone patting gently at his fur.

He blinked. “Are you trying to pet me?”

The sensation disappeared, frown lines forming on her brow before she turned her back to him and began to dry herself.

Not quite sure what had happened but certain it hadn’t been a threat—nothing that gentle and hesitant could be a threat—he opened out the dark blue towel in his hand. Maybe the E hadn’t been petting him at all; maybe she’d been poking at him to see if he’d react with bared teeth and rage.

His wolf’s fur brushed against the inside of his skin, the crabby creature reminding the human half once again that it was his fault the E thought she might get chomped on at any moment. Probably with hot sauce for extra flavor.

Alexei scowled under the towel.

After wiping off his face and his hair enough that it was no longer dripping, he went back into the bedroom and rummaged around in the large trunk he’d spotted in one corner. As he’d expected, it was full of Tshirts, sweatpants, and sweatshirts of various sizes. About half were well washed and soft with wear, others newer, but everything was clean.

“Maternal,” he muttered when a dried rose petal fell out of a T-shirt he’d picked up.

He curled his lip at the idea of smelling like roses. Hell, he was already “pretty”—his wolf shuddered at the reminder of the horrible description people kept using for his human face. All he needed now was to smell like a freaking rose petal.

A whisper of a different scent reached him. When he looked up, it was to find that the E had crept into the doorway, was watching him. Her scent was unlike any other in his mental database. There was an edge there, along with an unexpected touch of an intense darkness that he couldn’t name.

What he did know was that after their recent close proximity, he could now track her.

“Dry clothes.” He indicated the trunk. “The pack keeps this kind of stuff around for when we come in as wolves.” Alexei wouldn’t be the first SnowDancer to take shelter here, and loose-fitting stuff like sweats could be utilized by nearly everyone. The items might swamp a percentage of his packmates, and be a little short or tight for others, but in general, you could make do.