“Mhm. Later on I’ll come back here and eat all of the deer babies. I’ll be big and fat.” No werewolf or human hunter would kill a pregnant doe or a doe with fawns. Do that often enough, and you risked your food supply. Then come winter, where would you be?

“If this is you trying to be funny, stop.”

He grinned at her. “You wanted jokes.”

“What kind of a joke is that?”

“Wolf kind.”

“You really need a girlfriend.”

Not that again.

“What about Celia?”

It took him a moment to figure out which Celia she was talking about. The Pack had four, and he interacted with three of them. It had to be the redheaded Celia. Before he separated from the Pack, she’d developed a persistent habit of thrusting herself into his daily routine. He could explain to her that every time Celia encountered him, he registered her noting his face with a calculated satisfaction. She scrutinized his scars and judged him to be disfigured enough to be desperate. Celia craved power and safety. In her head he was perfect because he would stay, and be faithful, and he would let her hold the reins, since nobody else would have him. The single time they’d spoken in private confirmed it. She’d told him that unlike most women, she didn’t mind the scars and that he didn’t have to be alone. That she would have him, even if other women wouldn’t. He’d stepped into her space then and held her stare. It was the dominating look of an alpha, and it communicated everything without words: He was neither weak nor desperate. She’d told him that if he touched her, she would scream, and she’d fled. He’d let her go. That had ended that.

“Celia is pretty.”

“No.” That was explanation enough.

“Then Lisa?”

He had to cut this short. Of all the topics she could’ve picked, this was the last conversation he wanted to have with her. He’d spent months learning to read people’s emotions. He knew exactly what to say. He forced a smile. “You’re a sweet kid, Jules, but don’t worry so much. When you grow up, it will make more sense.”

Her expression shut down, like someone had slammed a window into her closed. He’d drawn a line between a child and an adult and rubbed her nose in it. She would be mad at him for a while now. It was still better than discussing his love life.