Page 91 of The Patron Saint of Timber Hollow

It's over quickly. Ethan doesn’t even have the opportunity to move, to draw the gun or knife at his side.

Ethan White dies with a whimper in his throat, the last sound he’ll ever make.

I should feel remorse, empathy–somethingother than relief, I know. But I don’t think I’ll ever be able to feel anythingbutrelieved that he is no longer walking the Earth.

His death is over quickly, which, according to all the books I've read, is an honor Ethan White did not deserve.

Still, I feel nothing but appreciation for Jay and Saint as I step over Ethan's body to pull them into a hug. My boys return the embrace, folding my small human body into the forms, careful not to scratch my skin with their claws.

"Thank you," I murmur into their chests.

"We'd do it again if we had to, Gorgeous." Jay rumbles, nuzzling the side of my head before stepping away.

Saint nods in agreement, and I give them both a soft smile before shifting back into my bipedal form.

Cleaning up what remains of Ethan isn't too hard. He'smostlyin one piece. The blood can't be helped, but the snow will melt eventually, and he will dissipate into the ground.

We dump Ethan's remains in the roaring river. With any luck, theactualwild predators of the wood will take care of the rest.

34

Birthday Wolf

Last year, I'd been avoiding everyone I knew in favor of being miserable at the hands of a garbage human. Honestly, the best part about that complex was the large swath of forest that it bordered. Knowing what I know now about the Whites, though, makes it all make much more sense. I'd been so lonely out there, but not anymore.

It’s almost been a month since everything happened with Ethan. As expected, his remains were found on the frozen banks within wolf territory–real wolves, that is– his father made a show of PR campaigns where he explained his son’s death away as his son’shubris. Cassandra is also frequently pictured pregnant–and, by the looks of it, positively miserable.

Checkmate, bitch.My wolf and I share laugh in the darkened corners of my mind.

Not only do I have Pack, but… I havelove.I can finally admit to myself that I’ve loved Jay my whole life, and so has my wolf. We drive each other crazy sometimes, which is why we’d run so hot and cold when we were kids…Saint, though, brings… balance, I think. He isn’t afraid to call us out on the bullshit. I don’t think I can admit it to anyone yet, but…

I love Jay Temple,andI love Saint Delacroix.

They’re mine, and I am theirs.Pack.

Today is Jay’s birthday, but the wolf is conveniently at the Forge for a while, so I’m in the kitchen wrapping his gifts. Onlyhalfwatching Saint clean up from breakfast through my eyelashes, listening to him sing along with the music quietly streaming through the sound system.

Jay doesn’t want a party; when asked, he only said he wanted to celebrate withhisPack. So Saint and I are going to make dinner for him before he gets home and dessert afterward.

You know, treat our Alpha like royalty.

When I finish wrapping Jay’s presents, placing them on the dining room table, and picking up my mess, I wander back intothe kitchen, leaning a hip against the countertop. Saint is still buzzing around the kitchen, singing and dancing as he moves. I don’t think I will ever tire of watching him in his element.

Finally, though, Saint notices my reappearance. Immediately, he’s striding over, boxing me in against the counter with his arms braced on either side of my shoulders. "Want to make cookies?" He asks, green eyes peering down into my soul.

"I thought we were making Jay a pie?” I ask, tilting my head back a little farther. “You know, since it's his favorite for his birthday."

"Oh, I have that covered. Now I need to make the cookies and prepare acream pie,” Saint says, grinning like a fool at me. “So, what do you say, Tiny?"

"Sure," I gulp, staring into his electric green eyes, the flash in the iris making my wolf rise with his. I'm still not used to how much taller he is than me, the way my head has to crane back to look at him when he's this close.

"We do things my way, though," Saint replies, eyes bouncing between my eyes and lips before he drops a kiss on my forehead.

"Heard, Chef,"I tease, smirking.

Saint smiles at me and says, "So what I'm going to need you to do is trust me, Artemis."

It only takes me a split-second to reply, "I trust you."