RETT POV
There are three things a wolf never forgets.
The first time he shifts.
The first time he tastes blood.
And the first time his mate makes him breakfast.
Pauline set the plates down in front of us, and I swear—hand to the moon goddess—I saw a light shine down from the ceiling. Either that or I was about to cry.
Eggs. Bacon. Pancakes sent directly from the gods. Hashbrowns that glowed like treasure. There was even a little parsley sprig like she was feeding royalty.
We stared. She smiled.
And then she winked.
I almost died on the spot.
“Enjoy, boys,” she said, and then—then—she winked.
My fork slipped out of my hand. Robert caught it before it hit the floor, and we both stared at each other for a second like: Did we just get blessed?
“She made this,” I said reverently.
“
