Chapter 15 15
I was two seconds away from breaking down the cottage door and announcing myself as the Wolf Queen of Soup when Gregor, ever the gentleman (read: control freak), rapped his knuckles against the wood.
The door creaked open almost instantly, like whoever lived here had been waiting. And then—boom. A woman, tiny and ancient, wearing a black shawl and an apron covered in flour. Her eyes crinkled up when she saw Gregor, and I swear, the man who usually looks like he’s auditioning for “Scary Alpha of the Year” suddenly froze like a naughty schoolboy.
“Gregorino!” she exclaimed in a thick Italian accent, throwing her arms around him. Yes. Threw. Her entire, ninety-pound self. The giant Alpha, conqueror of wolves and destroyer of minivans, nearly staggered under the sheer force of grandma affection.
I choked on my laughter. “Gregorino? Oh, I’m never letting you live that down.”
He glared at me over her shoulder, but old lady hugs apparently neutralized his ability to rip out my throat. I considered this valuable intel.
Then her eyes shifted to me. Sharp, black eyes that pinned me like I’d just tracked mud all over her rug (which, for the record, I hadn’t—yet). She squinted, took one look at my messy hair, my puke-scented leather jacket, and the fact that I was standing next to Gregor, and then gasped.
“Mate,” she whispered like she’d just spotted the Virgin Mary in her tomato sauce.
I sputtered. “Whoa, hold on. No, I’m not his—”
But she had already clasped her hands together, nodding like a psychic who had just confirmed the winning lottery numbers. “I knew it. I saw it in the flames last week. The Dark Wolf finds his equal. Bellissima.”
Gregor muttered something in Italian that sounded suspiciously like “not this conversation again,” but Nonna completely ignored him. Instead, she ushered us inside with a strength that should not have been possible for a woman her size.
The second I crossed the threshold, my knees almost buckled.
Food. Real, actual food. The smell hit me like a tidal wave—garlic, simmering tomatoes, herbs so fresh they could’ve been plucked straight from Eden. My mouth watered. My wolf howled. My dignity packed its bags and left the building.
I sat down at the wooden table without waiting for an invitation. “I don’t care if this is a trap. If you’re about to poison me, sign me up. At least I’ll die happy.”
Nonna chuckled, ladling steaming tomato soup into bowls. “Eat, eat. Wolves who run on empty stomachs make bad decisions. Trust me, I raised Zach.”
Gregor sat across from me, his face locked in Alpha Seriousness™, but his stomach betrayed him with a low growl. I smirked. “See? Even the big bad Alpha is about to cry over soup.”
He gave me a look that could’ve killed a lesser woman. Too bad I was too busy dipping the thick slice of crusty bread into my bowl and moaning like it was a Michelin-star meal.
“Oh my god. Is this—what is this—actual tomatoes? Fresh basil? Bread that isn’t stale enough to qualify as a weapon?” I shoved another bite in my mouth. “I think I just saw heaven. Heaven is red, and it’s covered in garlic.”
Nonna laughed, patting my hand. “Finally, someone appreciates real food. Not like these wolves who only eat meat, meat, meat. Bah! No culture. No soul.”
Gregor growled. “Meat keeps strength.”
I leaned across the table, smirking. “Meat keeps your biceps. Soup keeps your soul. And right now? I’m winning.”
His jaw clenched. “You’re insufferable.”
“Thanks, Gregorino,” I said sweetly, watching his eye twitch.
Nonna cackled, clearly entertained. Then her laughter faded into something softer, her eyes knowing. “I knew you were coming. The flames told me. Black Fang shadows creep where they shouldn’t, and the King’s leash grows tighter.” She looked right at me, her gaze like a spotlight. “But you—girl with the dark wolf—you are a storm. A storm that changes everything.”
The bread slipped from my hand into my soup with a sad plop. “Uh. Excuse me? I just wanted carbs, not prophecy.”
Gregor’s eyes darkened, serious again. “Nonna…”
She waved him off, like his brooding was nothing more than a mosquito buzzing around her head. “Eat. Rest. But don’t get too comfortable. Danger follows you like a shadow, bellissimi.”
Well. That was comforting. Not.
I slurped another spoonful of soup just to cope. “Great. So, hunted by assassins, wanted by royals, and now I’m apparently a weather forecast. Just what I needed.”
Gregor’s lips twitched. Almost a smile. “At least you’re well-fed.”
I pointed my spoon at him. “If I die tomorrow, bury me with this soup recipe. Forget legacy. I want garlic immortality.”
A few hours later.
The cottage still smelled like herbs, garlic, and simmering tomato soup, but somehow the air was thicker than Gregor’s brooding aura. He was in the far corner like some gothic painting—arms crossed, jaw clenched, staring at the fire like it personally insulted his ancestors.
Me? I was parked on the opposite side of the room, hugging my soup bowl like a baby because Nonna’s cooking deserved that kind of loyalty.
“Eat more, ragazza,” Nonna crooned, already sliding a third piece of bread onto my plate. “You’re too skinny. Men like a woman who can throw a plate when she’s angry, not one who faints after half a breadstick.”
I grinned at that, dunking the bread in my soup. “Finally, someone who gets me. Tell him that, Nonna.” I pointed my spoon at Gregor, who didn’t even flinch, still smoldering in his corner.
Nonna waved her hand like she was shooing a fly. “Bah, men brood. Let him stew in his darkness. You eat. The world will still end tomorrow, but at least you will have soup.”
I almost choked laughing, but the mood snapped when Gregor’s phone buzzed. He answered on speaker—lucky for me, since I was nosy. Zach’s voice spilled through the room.
“It’s bad. Really bad. Word spread fast—everyone thinks you kidnapped Margaux and ditched the pack. The royals are involved now. They want your head, Gregor. Both of your heads.”
Gregor shot to his feet so fast his chair skidded. “What?” His voice was a growl that rattled the soup bowls. “That’s a lie. The king himself—”
“Yes, yes,” Zach cut in. “The king’s orders aren’t matching what’s being told at court. Somebody twisted the narrative, and now you’re both fugitives. Congratulations.”
Gregor slammed his fist on the table, rattling cutlery and sending my bread rolling to the floor. “Son of a—”
“HEY!” Nonna snapped, wagging a wooden spoon like it was a sword. “Break my table, and I break your face. That wood is older than your father’s father’s pride. Sit down, lupo, before I turn you into a decorative rug.”
I nearly snorted soup out my nose. “Please do, Nonna. A Gregor-rug would look fantastic in front of this fireplace.”
He whirled on me, eyes dark, his wolf bleeding through. “Do you think this is funny? Our heads are wanted.”
“Correction,” I said sweetly, sipping my soup. “Your head is wanted. Mine? I’m just collateral. I didn’t ask to get thrown into your testosterone soap opera.”
His growl deepened. “You don’t understand—”
“No, I get it,” I interrupted, slamming my spoon down. “You were supposed to bring Margaux to the king. That was your mission. And instead, you got me. Surprise! Worst trade deal in history. So tell me—what now? Because apparently, we’re Bonnie and Clyde without the romance.”
Silence. Heavy, thick, and only broken by the sound of Nonna calmly slurping her soup like she wasn’t listening to two young wolves arguing about being wanted criminals.
Finally, Nonna sighed dramatically. “You two argue like a married couple that hasn’t kissed in weeks. Useless, both of you.” She stood, muttering in Italian, and tossed a pinch of herbs into the fire. The flames hissed green for a heartbeat.
I froze. “Uh, Nonna? Did your soup seasoning just hex the fireplace?”
She smiled at me, all teeth. “Not a hex. A reminder. Shadows follow you, ragazza. And wolves that chase you are not the only ones.”
Gregor’s head snapped up. “What do you mean?”
“Eat,” she said simply, sitting again. “You will need strength for what comes through that door tonight.”
The three of us fell silent. And then, as if on cue, the front door rattled under a heavy bang.
I whispered into my bowl, “Of course. Couldn’t even digest the soup first.”