Chapter 21

I got back in time to change into a black suit, black panty hose, and Carolina Herrera black pumps. Sinclair was up and working at the desk in our suite; he was also dressed for the service.

Yes, indeed, my first werewolf funeral.

I watched my husband work for a minute until he felt my gaze and turned. “Something on your mind, dear one?”

“Several things,” I replied, thinking of Lara, future psycho werewolf leader. “Mostly about how awkward this is going to be. I mean, everyone there will know. They’ll know Antonia died saving me.”

“I imagine they will, yes.” He watched me with his dark eyes, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Like I don’t hate funerals enough.”

“Yes, of course,” he soothed. “Everyone should realize how difficult this will be for you.”

“Yeah, that’s—you jerk. I hate you.”

“No, you worship the hallowed ground I trod upon, which is what any good wife should—” He ducked, and my left shoe went flying over his head. Fortunately, it missed the window. I couldn’t stand the thought of my new pump being torn by flying glass. “My sweet, I was only seeking to give comfort in your time of—”

“Do you know how many pairs of shoes I packed?”

“Ah . . . no. Perhaps a change of subject would be prudent. Where is Jessica?”

“Watching BabyJon in her suite. You know, I didn’t want her to come, but now I’m awfully glad she did. I don’t trust the werewolves with him. There’s something weird going on there.”

“Mmmmm. What were you up to until the sun set?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

His eyes narrowed. “No one bothered you, did they?”

“It’s not like that, Sinclair.” I sighed and sat down across from him. “This is a weird place. I’m not sure I like it. And this whole Council thing is making me nervous. I miss our house. I miss Tina and Laura and Marc. I just want to go home.”

“At last,” he said, “we are of one mind. Perhaps it will help you to think of the funeral as part of the cost of returning to Minnesota.”

“Or perhaps I’ll think of it as the werewolf version of Tailhook.”

“Either way,” he said, glancing at his watch, “we had best get moving. Soonest done, soonest home.”

“Dammit. No time for a quickie?”

He smiled at me and shook his head, but I could tell he hated to do it.

“Not even a quickie quickie?”

“Stop that, vile temptress. Now let’s be off; people are waiting for us.”

Hmph. I’d always thought that whole “jump in and get it over with” thing wasn’t always the way to go.

But damned if I was going to cower in a room that wasn’t mine, in a house where nobody knew me and nobody cared to. No, I’d go to Antonia’s funeral and hold my head up, and if the fuzzy lollipop brigade didn’t like it, nuts to them.

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