Chapter 8
Over the next few weeks, I started feeling more comfortable. It wasn’t easy to ask Trey for what I needed, but he was pretty good about reading me. We ate together when he was home, slept in the same bed at night, and in between, we talked about silly things and just got to know each other.
Trey hated peaches. He loved classic rock. He cared about his pack more than anything else on the planet and he knew every one of their names. From the oldest—George, ninety-eight and a total firecracker—to the youngest—Macy June, three months old and the spitting image of her mother. He knew something about each of his wolves, and he wanted to know them even better, but with sixty-three total wolves, plus Ellis the owl shifter, twin tiger shifters named Rigby and Ross, and a coyote who only
