Werewolf Wedding(44)

“Wait, you know how to do that?” Greta’s eyes absolutely flared to life. Their normal stony gray started sparkling, dancing in the pleasant light from the overhead lamp. “With the dolphins? I just can’t get enough of watching those contests on late night sports channels. The rest of my family embarrasses me with all their reality programs, but I could watch people carve ice sculptures all day long.”

To say I was taken aback was a comical understatement. “Well,” I said, “yeah.” I couldn’t help but laugh. “I pretend I’m a very artistic sort of person, and I guess I am, but the ice sculptures are how I make most of my money.”

“Could you do a wolf?”

I choked slightly on my tea. “Well, sure, if I had a picture to go by. Dolphins are easier though because they’re flat. No fur to texture.”

Greta nodded slowly. “Very good. So you’ll do one for the marking? Or, wedding, whatever it is you want to call it?”

She must have noticed my eyes widening, because she caught herself. “Oh no, no, I mean the real one. When Dane is no longer an obstacle, you’ll have to follow the traditions of the pack with Jacob.”

“Do those traditions include gaudy statues?”

“Oh honey,” Greta said with a chortle, “you’ve seen those shirts with the wolves howling at the moon? We invented those.”

As we both laughed, I vaguely realized that the living room crowd had gone silent. The only sounds I could hear from out there was Steve Harvey’s pleasant droning, though I could only make out a few words, I knew it was him. Greta noticed the same thing. She stiffened, and held my hand tight.

“Something’s not ri—”

A tremendous crash of glass, an explosion of noise, cut her off. Immediately I remembered my dear mate’s grand entrance to Jake and I’s date, and with my heart about four sizes too big, and lodged in my throat, I stood, trembling.

“You stay,” Greta said, insistently. “He’s dangerous, I won’t have you being hurt.”

I shook my head, and gently – but firmly – pulled my hand away from hers. “He might be dangerous, but I know how to keep him from erupting.”

“Where’s my damn mate?” Dane roared from the other room. “Which one of you sons a’ bitches took her? Bring her to me now!”

I can safely say that was the first and last time that all I wanted in the world was to hear another one of Steve Harvey’s family-friendly-with-a-twist-of-naughty jokes. That’s probably unfair to Steve. I’m sure he’s a very nice man and he seems warm and friendly. At that second I would have choked a grandma to have him yelling in the living room instead of the horror made flesh who was actually there.

“All right!” he barked. “Keep her from me and we’ll see what happens.”

The first casualty was a vase that I recognized as having come from a flower delivery service, but the next was an entire bookcase. Then a curio cabinet fell, and instead of getting righteously pissed like I would have, Greta just pursed her lips and shook her head. “Why does it always have to be the cabinet?”

She didn’t even flinch at the next thrown vase that claimed a mirror’s life. She tried once again to catch my wrist and stop me as I made my way across the wonderfully quaint, country-style kitchen and presented myself in the doorway to the living room. When Greta realized she wasn’t going to stop me, she hissed, “Be careful!” and I nodded that I would. “His influence will make you think you’re out of control – you aren’t!”

Sure enough, as soon as I saw those blazing eyes, and those towering shoulders, my stomach got that familiar squiggle and my will waivered. Every shred of my being wanted to run to him and let Dane – my hero – take me away from all these crazy people conspiring against him. But then the part of me that still had sense, heard Greta’s words reverberate through my mind. He had no control over me. All he could do was make me think he did.

As I walked toward him, unsure what else to do if I wanted to avoid a big scene, it occurred to me that someone like Dane was probably just enough of an arrogant prick to think he really could control other people through sheer force of will.

I faked like my steps were shambling and unsure. I played like I couldn’t look away from Dane and his admittedly beautiful eyes, and like my mind wasn’t my own. “Dane,” I whispered, putting on my best helpless victim voice. “I’m... I’m yours. No one was hiding me.”

He gave me a once over, then held me at arms’ length for another examination. “She didn’t do anything to you?” He was speaking softly, as though he was afraid of Greta overhearing him. “No, uh... funny ideas?”

I forced myself to look as vacant as possible – just how he likes his women, apparently. “No, sir,” I said, averting my eyes to look bashfully at the ground. “Nothing like that. She just showed me pictures.”

It was the most innocuous thing I could think to say when he put me on the spot, but apparently, it wasn’t as innocuous as I thought. Dane grabbed my wrist, painfully tight, and twisted a little. Everyone in the living room who had previously been hooting for someone to say ‘pecker’ on national television all stared at him. More than a few mouths were agape, and almost all the eyes were wide open.

Dane’s eyes flashed and he curled one corner of his mouth into a grimace. “What pictures?” He twisted again for emphasis.