Page 31 of The Lunatics

I thought we were still early. Dinner was supposed to be served at eight, and it was quarter till. But when Michael led me into the dining room, we were met by a crowd of people. The only ones I recognized were his mother and Lizzy.

I forced my spine straight as they turned toward us, taking shallow breaths through my nose to sniff out the mood of the collective. Wariness pervaded the room. Their heartbeats ran the gauntlet from pulsing at the speed of a hummingbird (Lizzy) to the slow cadence of boredom (a handsome man near the windows who wore laconic disdain like other people did designer clothes).

I felt several soft points of pressure along my psyche, their power stretching out to brush against my own as they gleaned the unique signature of a new wolf. The probing was delicate, like they were trying to be polite about it. With difficulty, I managed to pull my power back even more. Hopefully they assumed that I was leaking metaphysical juice because I was nervous to meet them and didn’t think I was an alpha trespassing on their territory.

A tall man with salt-and-pepper hair detached himself from the crowd and came over to us. “I hear congratulations are in order,” he said, unsmiling.

“Thank you, Father,” Michael answered smoothly. If he was annoyed by his dad’s rudeness, I didn’t feel it. “May I introduce Layla. Layla, this is my father, Derrick.”

Derrick didn’t offer to shake my hand. He made no effort to welcome me, either. His wife’s hostility must be infectious.

Say something, I told myself. Bridge this gap. Be the bigger wolf and offer to shake his hand. But I couldn’t. By being rude to me, he was also showing disrespect to my mate, and while the former was no skin off my back, the latter made me want to gouge his fricking eyes out.

A dark-haired, heavily pregnant woman pushed her way in front of Derrick, breaking the awkward silence. She was closer toMichael’s age than my own, pretty, sharing some of Michael’s features, only softened by femininity. She extended her hand toward me. “Layla, hi. I’m Amy, Michael’s sister.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” I said, taking it. Her grip was warm and firm, and the smile on her face seemed genuine, which was a relief.

She released me and shot an annoyed glance at her retreating father, who hadn’t even bothered to excuse himself. “Well, he’s in fine form.” She turned back to us and looked down at her distended abdomen. “Really wish this kid would hurry up and get out of me so I can go back to drinking my way through these family dinners.”

She hadn’t lowered her voice, and across the room, Lizzy snorted.

I did my best to tamp down my own amusement.

“Where are the other children?” Michael asked.

“With their nannies,” Amy answered. She turned her back on the rest of the room so she could roll her eyes in relative safety. “Mother insisted it be only adults tonight.” Her scent spiked, turning prickly, telling me she was pissed at her mom for some reason.

Wariness crept over the bond, Michael responding to this small show of family drama. My arm was still slung through his, and I rubbed my thumb over the fabric of his jacket sleeve a few times, more out of commiseration than to soothe him. Still, the motion calmed us both.

Amy’s gaze dropped to where we were joined, and she smiled to see it.

The smarmy, handsome man with a disdainful expression joined us then. “Thomas,” he said, sounding insufferably bored.

“My husband,” Amy explained.

I looked between them. Their hearts didn’t beat as one. Their scents contrasted. Definitely not bonded. Married for political or financial reasons, then? Or true love?

“Nice to meet you,” I said.

Thomas raised his glass to me and then sauntered away. Amy didn’t watch him go. Must be a political alliance. Either that or whatever love they’d shared had soured long ago. Or they were just really good at hiding it for some reason.

I met two more of Michael’s brothers after that—Matthew, who was in his first year of college, and Winslow, who fell somewhere in between Amy and Nathaniel. Winslow’s wife, Kristin, was a short blond woman with an eerie resemblance to their matriarch. I really hoped it was because she was trying to emulate her and not because the Kolbecks formed alliances like old school kings and queens and she was a cousin or something.

A servant came in to announce dinner shortly after the introductions were over, and we moved toward the chairs.

“Not there, Derrick, over on the other side of our guest of honor,” Michael’s mother said.

Her husband had been halfway to sitting and arched a brow at her—must be where Michael got it from—before he straightened and came to sit beside me. I thought nothing of it, at first, but then she made similar commands on several more occasions, and by the time everyone was in their seat, I sat in the corner with my back to the windows, the largest of the males in her family spread out around me like my own personal harem.

Okay then.

Michael drummed his fingers on the table as though impatient, while deep beneath the surface I felt him doing his best to quash his unease. He seemed like he was succeeding, but then I started to worry because he was worried, and our mirroring emotions circled around each other in my mind until he lifted his arm from the table and draped it across the back of my chair. How he made it look so casual was beyond me. His expression was one of supreme nonchalance. His bicep brushed past my shoulder blades on theway down, like an invitation. As naturally as I could, I leaned back into him, and the contact served to settle us down.

I made a mental note. Touching skin to skin: bad. Touching with layers between us: good.

The room was uncomfortably quiet while the first course was served. Michael’s father gave me a sharp look when I thanked the young man who set my food in front of me. Apparently, that wasn’t something they did here.

The last of the servers left, and Michael’s mother pinned us with her cold eyes. “Tell us what happened.”