Chapter 7
“First blood, one-year moratorium on further fighting?”
The question came from behind me, the male second in line for bacon suggesting rules I understood to be the Atwood default in duels such as this. But Edward didn’t answer, nor did he take the time to untie his shoelaces. Instead, he shifted in a burst of alpha aggression, shreds of fabric flying everywhere...including into the food trays we were all hoping to serve ourselves from.
Good thing I wasn’t married to the idea of bacon, I noted even as I danced backward, assessing the shape of Edward’s wolf. He was every bit as large as Gunner in fur form, his more advanced age far from obvious as he paced toward me on silent lupine feet.
Which would have been daunting eight months earlier. But I’d been sparring with the guys o
