(Small Fry Chapter 2)
Once I’d finished, I stomped down the stairs. I found Declan in the kitchen making himself, his mate and three other cups of coffees for our expected guests. Crankily, I sat up on the kitchen bench, which made him move two of the cups aside, so I wouldn’t knock them over. I watched him pour the boiling water into the mugs which had instant espresso in them, before he applied the milk and sugar, as he recalled who drank theirs which way.
“What was THAT supposed to mean?” I glared however, his youthful face remained impassive as he carried out his task. “Declan?”
“I’ve never seen you maul someone, B.” He said coolly. “The only time I’ve seen you attack something with teeth and claws, was an animal during a hunt. Whenever you fight a foe, you reach for your silver sword.”
“You mean my Katana.” I corrected. “It’s a Japanese sword, remember?”
“Whatever.” He stirred all five cups, before tossing the teaspoon into the sink. He handed me my cup before picking up his. I held my mug in between my hands, savouring the warmth before I took my first sip. Declan continued, “This fact also worries me.”
“Why, because you’ve never seen me maul an enemy?”
“Sometimes you’re more Circulator than you are Lokoti Werewolf. You don’t hunt as much as the male Lokoti Werewolves and you don’t use your predatory instincts as much as they do either. You’d rather use your Circulator abilities instead. This worries me about your pregnancy and I know it’s also worrying your Werewolf relations as well.”
I looked back in surprise, to find his eyes were waiting to hold my gaze.
I asked stiffly, “What’s this got to do with my pregnancy?”
He spoke plainly, “Because we’re worried that you may not be Lokoti Werewolf enough, to carry a half European Werewolf inside you.”
But before I could rebuke him for saying something so stupid, we were interrupted by a loud KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!
“Come in, Caesar.” He called out knowingly.
We heard the front door open and the footsteps of four large males, enter then shut the door behind them.
A second later, the elderly face of the 156 year old Forrest came to the fore, as he stood in our kitchen entryway.
He was followed by the middle-aged appearance of our First, Caesar, who was 131 years old. His son Tyson who stood behind him, looked like he was in forties and he was turning 100 this year. Ki, who looked like he was in still his thirties when really he was 68 years old, stood beside our leader. Such was the slower aging process of the Lokoti Werewolves, who could live for two hundred years.
All four sets of dark brown eyes were trained my way and their expressions were grave.