Five Weeks (Seven Series #3)(105)

I’d only asked for a few staples, but much to my delight, she had brought fresh fruit. I didn’t have a fridge in the room, so most of my meals were going to be peanut-butter sandwiches and microwave soup.
“Here, we can just put it all on the dresser,” I said. “That way I can eat at the table and enjoy my magnificent view.”
Ivy laughed softly and shook her head. She had a warm complexion with dark eyes and lush lips, but she didn’t doll herself up like most women. Her lashes were elegantly long and black, and her high cheekbones created contours in her face to be admired. Mascara and lipstick would have detracted from her natural beauty.
“Nice mirror,” she said, glancing at the sliding closet doors next to the bed.
It felt a little sleazy because it was right beside the bed, and it took no stretch of the imagination to realize what it was put there for. A long dresser filled the right wall with a microwave on the left side. The television wasn’t just mounted on the wall; it looked like it had been screwed in there to prevent someone from stealing it.
“I’d make you some coffee, but the machine doesn’t work,” I said.
Ivy lined up the little plastic cups of soup on the heavy dresser and put the snacks to the right. I guessed she was health conscious, because most of the foods were labeled as whole wheat or organic.
“How do you go through your cycle while living in a pack?” I asked out of curiosity. “Austin’s mated. Is he really able to keep all the men away?”
Ivy handed me a green apple, and I sat on the bed while she folded up the paper bag. “As crazy as it seems, they’re really respectful. I haven’t gone through my heat spell yet, so I don’t know what that’s like. When I went through the change for the first time, Austin could sense it. He made sure I had privacy, and Lexi was the first one to see my wolf.”
“Wow, you’re younger than I thought.” Ivy seemed like such an old soul that it came as a surprise to find out she was a new wolf.
Ivy tipped her head and smiled. She had a lovely tan that complemented her mahogany hair, which was the richest shade of brown I’d ever seen. A glint of her lavender nail polish caught my eye, and she held her hands out for me to see. “April likes to do my nails. Isn’t that a beautiful shade?”
“She has a keen eye with picking the right colors,” I said, remembering her suggestions in the store when we’d first met.
“I like April a lot. She’s quiet and thoughtful, although young.”
“You’re young.”
“Yes,” she replied, a hint of sadness in her voice. “But I had to grow up fast. It’s not the numbers that age us in life.”
“Where did you come from?”
“The Kizer pack up in Oklahoma. My father traded me off because… Well, he didn’t think I was a good influence on his pack. I’m grateful. Sometimes family isn’t where we really belong.”
“And you belong with the Weston pack?”
She shifted her eyes pensively. “I don’t know that belong is the right word. I feel protected and cared for, and I guess that’s all a woman needs to draw strength.” She tapped a can on the dresser with the tip of her finger. “Anyhow, I was getting too old, and it was time for me to change hands. A woman must break from the pack she’s raised in; it’s not safe. You know how it is.”
No, I didn’t know. All I knew about packs was what I’d overheard in conversations at work. I turned the apple in my hand, twisting at the stem. “I didn’t grow up in a pack.”
Ivy looked at me contemplatively, tracing her finger over the dimpled surface of an orange. “Maybe you were lucky. Not all packs are like Austin’s.”
My brows stitched together. “What was so wrong with the pack you were raised in?”
Her face heated and she folded up the second paper bag, setting them both on the floor. “I came from a different world.” When she finally stood upright, a quiet sigh blew past her lips. “My father called me Poison Ivy—that was his name for me. My mother died years ago, and I had no siblings to turn to. I mostly kept to myself in the later years. My father believes in ruling a pack with an iron fist, and that’s not always a good thing. Things were different when my mother was alive.”
“Do you still talk to your father?”
“I haven’t heard from him since the day I left, but Austin mentioned he’s called and asked about how I’m fitting in with the pack. It’s been just under a year. I was his only child, and you can imagine his disappointment that I wasn’t a boy.”