A pillow hit my face. I shoved it under my head. “What?”
Meredith plopped down on my bed next to me. “You’re seriously telling me that Hotty McHottypants is in your room nearly every night and nothing ever happens? How is that possible?”
I rolled my eyes at her use of ‘Hotty McHottypants’ for Dastien, my mate. She’d been on a kick the past week, trying to find out about us. The thing was, he’d been a perfect gentleman. “He’s furry when he sneaks in. I swear.”
Meredith groaned. “Really? Every time?”
I cross my heart. “Yup. Why do you think my sheets are so hairy?”
“Maybe because you needed to improve your hygiene practices?”
I snatched a pillow and slammed it into her face. “My hygiene is perfect, thank you very much.” I tucked my legs under my covers, and Meredith took that as an invitation to get in bed with me. We were both in our PJ’s—tank tops and shorts. I’d already gotten ready for bed—my teeth were freshly brushed and face was squeaky clean. It was Tuesday night and we had class early in the morning, but Meredith liked to chat a little before bed. Sometimes being at St. Ailbe’s Academy—a secret boarding school for werewolves—felt like one long sleepover. It was nice, especially since I hadn’t had a sleepover in…ever.
I grabbed the latest Nora Roberts masterpiece from my nightstand, while Meredith started to flip through this month’s People Stylewatch.
“I still say there’s more going on between you two,” she said after a few minutes. “You’re just being shy about sharing the juicy details.”
“I wish.” I blew out a breath. “He’s been going on patrol most nights, and keeps saying that he’s waiting for the whole full moon thingymajig before heating things up too much.”
“Thingymajig? Thingymajig! The Full Moon Ceremony is more than a thingymajig.”
The way she said the words—like they seeped importance—made my stomach knot. “Uh. Don’t remind me.” Until seven-ish weeks ago, I’d been a plain old half-bruja, aka Mexican witch, with visions. Whenever I touched things—a person, a T-shirt, even just a light brush against a wall—I saw whatever was the strongest emotional memory in that object. But Dastien bit me and now I was some sort of werewolf-bruja mash-up. I was still in the figuring-it-out stage, but the werewolf part gave me control over my visions.
The Full Moon Ceremony was supposed to cement me and Dastien’s mate bond. Make it unbreakable. So, it was normal to be nervous about it. At least I hoped it was normal…
“The Ceremony’s on Saturday. A mere four sleeps away. Are you ready for it?” Meredith asked.
God. I didn’t know how to be ready for it. Going furry still made me incredibly nervous.
Sweeping the topic under the carpet was probably a bad idea, but I couldn’t help myself. Avoidance, deflection, and repression were my BFFs lately. And I couldn’t forget about handy, dandy redirection. “So, how’s Donovan?”
She turned the page on her magazine so quickly the page tore. “How should I know?” Her words didn’t mask her scent—a hint of citrus meant that my question made her anxious.
Donovan Murray was one of the Seven—the group of Alphas who rule all werewolves—and he totally had the hots for Meredith. “Please. I know there’s something going on with you two. And it rhymes with shmates.”
I poked her side and she slapped my hand away. “There’s nothing going on. There won’t be. I’m cursed, and that’s just all there is to it. No shmates here. And, by the way, that’s a horrible rhyme. It’s not even a word.”
That’s why Meredith was avoiding Donovan? Because of some stupid curse?
She had a run in with the local bruja coven three years ago and hadn’t been able to shift since then, but the curse hadn’t caused any adverse affects for her. At least none that she had mentioned.
If Meredith was turning down Donovan because of the curse, that definitely counted as an adverse affect.
I put my book down and rolled onto my side to face her. “You guys would be a good match. Maybe even a true mated pair.”
She didn’t say anything, but the magazine crinkled under her grip.
Okay, so maybe I needed a different approach. “It’s obvious that he likes you. Those looks he sends your way…” I fanned myself.
“Shut up.” She hit me with her magazine.
“Your violence only helps prove my point.”
She turned the page, this time more gently. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Here we go again. She always made me talk about things that I didn’t want to, but when the time came for her to spill, she didn’t. The girl was a closed book.
“Do you think Dastien is going to come by tonight?” She asked, changing the subject right back to what I didn’t want to talk about.
I went easy on her and let the Donovan topic go for now, but I wasn’t forgetting about it. “Probably.” I thought about Dastien. His dark hair, amber eyes, and wicked smile. The little bit of cockiness to it, plus the sincerity and dimples…it melted me every damned time. The past few weeks, we’d grown closer, moving beyond our initial attraction. It’d been a little all consuming at first, but beyond that, we had a lot of the same interests. Books. Music. Dancing. And no one could make me laugh like he did.
I hoped he’d come by tonight.