Wild Hunger (The Phoenix Pack, #7)(24)

“Living off pack territory?”

Frankie felt her nose wrinkle. “I was about to say I don’t know any different. I don’t remember things being any different. My wolf’s kind of edgy, and I often wonder if it’s because she’s without a pack and a territory. I guess she gets lonely.”

Trick pinned her gaze with his. “You’re not without a pack.”

Being considered part of a pack and actually feeling as though she belonged to it—yeah, they were two different things. “Do you remember much about my parents?”

“Yeah. Your father used to chase me and the other boys away, tell us to stay away from his princess. It was just play, and you used to laugh your little head off. Your mother always had cookies, and she’d hand them out to everyone if they promised not to get into mischief. You were a lively, happy kid. Full of energy. Sweet too.” His mouth twitched. “Not so sweet now.”

“No, I can be kind of mean. Why does that make you smile?”

“I like mean.”

“Then you’ll fucking adore me.”

He chuckled, thinking that, yeah, he would. “We should head back. It’s time for dinner. You’re welcome to stay the night. As you’ve already seen, we have lots of guest rooms.”

She walked toward the slope, almost wincing as a bumpy rock prodded the sole of her foot. “I’m meeting someone later, but thanks.” She halted abruptly as he suddenly appeared in front of her.

“Who are you meeting?”

The rumbled demand surprised her. “Sorry?”

“Who are you meeting?”

“What’s with the tone?” Because she didn’t like it at all. His easygoing charm was gone, and the dark predatory streak that he hid seemed to take over.

“Answer the question, Frankie.”

“And just why would you think it had a damn thing to do with you?”

He growled. “It has everything to do with me.” He went nose to nose with her and whispered, “I don’t share.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not yours to share.”

“You will be.”

Frankie really wished those words pissed her off. Instead the possessive statement made her a little tingly. Her wolf liked it. “Is that a fact?”

“It is.” He cupped her chin. “When I’m sure that you’re ready, I’ll come for you. You should probably know that.” Softening his voice, he coaxed, “Tell me who you’re meeting. I need time to look them up, find their address, and beat the shit out of them so they can’t make it to the meeting. Really, time is of the essence here.”

She wouldn’t smile, Frankie promised herself. She wouldn’t. But she did. “My uncle. I’m meeting my uncle. And I would prefer it if you didn’t beat him up.” Like that, his face went all soft, and the menacing glint receded from his eyes.

“There. Was that so hard?” Trick brushed his mouth over hers. “Don’t worry; your uncle’s safe from me.” Unless the human hurt her in any way, that was. Trick wouldn’t tolerate that. Releasing her, he stepped back. “Come on, time to eat.”

Back inside the caves, Trick escorted her to the kitchen and seated her beside him at the long table. Frankie noticed that he didn’t look happy when Dominic sat opposite her, and he even tossed the blond enforcer a warning look that made him blink innocently.

As she piled food on her plate, she glanced around the table. People were talking, laughing, teasing, and—in the case of Dexter—stuffing food in their pockets. Frankie hadn’t grown up in a house full of laughter. Meal times were stiff, dignified affairs; there would be light conversation, but no funny stories or mirth.

Being around the pack was, well, odd. Not bad odd, but different. The way they all lived together, ate together, held different roles, constantly touched each other . . . Maybe it should have been off-putting, since it was so unfamiliar, but she liked it. At the same time, it was kind of sad. Like being on the outskirts of a secret club, having a peek of what went on inside, but only being an observer. Not that they ignored her or anything. No, they included her in their conversations and told her things about themselves—particularly Jaime, who also shared some funny stories from their childhood.

One such story made Frankie’s head jerk back. “I would never eat a beetle.”

“You didn’t eat it, but you did chew it. So did I. Then we both spat the mashed-up insects at the girl who happened to be Dante’s girlfriend at the time.”

Dante winced. “Yeah, I remember that. She screamed like a banshee.” His eyes dropped to the oversize, odd-looking ginger cat that suddenly sprang onto his mate’s lap. He glared hard at the feline, who glared right back—like they were engaged in some kind of dominance battle. Then the cat hissed, and Dante snapped his teeth.

Jaime cuddled the cat close to her. “Popeye, leave him alone. Frankie, this is Hunk.”

Frankie’s brows lifted. “Really? He’s . . . cute.” Lie.

“So, Frankie . . . ,” began Dominic, leaning forward. “What time do you have to be back in heaven?”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Lydia burst out. “No, Dominic, you will not do this to my niece.”

He looked the image of innocence. “What?”