Sonia detached from Callum and mumbled, “Thanks, Kerry. I better go see what that’s about.” She walked away with a distracted smile in his and Kerry’s direction, muttering, “I didn’t even order salmon in puff pastry.”
Kerry’s eyes tipped up to him and she grinned.
Then her grin grew hard and she said, “I know you’re a big guy and you could probably break me in two.” This, Callum thought, though she couldn’t know, was exactly true. “But make her happy, will you? I don’t know why, though considering your story she was probably waiting for you to stop dicking around,” she informed him baldly (and courageously). “But she’s been alone a long time. She deserves to be happy. In fact, I don’t know if I know anyone who deserves it more.”
She gave him a look that clearly said she would not be happy if he didn’t do as she asked, even though she knew her displeasure would be lost on him.
Yes, Callum decided, he liked her a great deal.
She tilted her head to the side, the seriousness going out of her eyes, the hardness going away from her mouth, and announced, “One thing I can say for you, you convinced Sonny to have beer. Always wine and champagne and cocktails. A girl needs a beer. Which I’m getting right now. You need one?”
Callum shook his head but grinned at her.
Then, with another bright smile, she wandered off while Callum thought that he didn’t like her a great deal. He seriously fucking liked her.
He noticed Sonia rounding the dining room table and decided for perhaps the fiftieth time that night he liked what she was wearing. A skintight, winter white turtleneck that had opalescent beading around the shoulders and down the chest which gave the impression of sparkling snow. She’d paired this with a matching, slim skirt that came to her knees and cupped her ass so perfectly, it had to be made for her. She was wearing outrageously sexy, high, stiletto-heeled, gray snakeskin pumps. She had her hair loose in a sleek fall past her shoulders and down her back but a pretty, wide, velvet ribbon was threaded through it, holding the thick locks away from her face.
She looked like a sophisticated snow angel.
His claiming chain hung outside her skirt (she always wore it visible, at his command) and her wedding rings sparkled on her finger. Both of which, even the rings, being his, Callum felt a fierce pride that she, Sonia, his mate, his queen, dressed in that fucking sexy outfit, was displaying for all her friends and his family to see.
The minute he saw her emerge down the stairs earlier that evening, he’d decided to try to find some way to fuck her with that skirt on.
If that failed, he was definitely fucking her while she was wearing those boots.
He knew every man in this room would envy him that opportunity.
And he fucking loved that.
She stopped at the outer end of the table and was talking with one of the women who came to cater her party. The woman was gesticulating wildly and Sonia was looking at the table in charming bafflement as Caleb slid up beside him.
“Stop flirting with Sonia’s shop girls, brother,” Caleb muttered jokingly and Callum watched, his eyes instantly narrowing and his body immediately alert, as Sonia’s shoulders shrugged slightly up.
It was a fleeting, sparse movement but it was there and further, her head had slanted with a nearly imperceptible jerk, moving her ear to point toward where Callum and Caleb were standing.
“Cal?” Caleb called.
“Quiet,” Callum ordered, his enjoyment of the evening eroding.
Sonia had these kind of reactions and often. Callum started noticing it the day after their first full day and night in this house. A human might not notice but Callum definitely did.
Callum and Caleb were standing across the expanse of the wide living room, well away from the dining room table. Even without the distance, there was soft Christmas music playing, numerous people in the room creating a loud buzz of conversation and Caleb had muttered his joke under his breath.
But Callum would bet his immortal life she could fucking hear it.
And now, with her ear pointed toward them, she was listening.
It wasn’t just her heightened sense of hearing, it was more.
For instance, when they played, it didn’t happen often, but she’d run her nose along the skin of his neck or the whiskers on his jaw. Once he’d even heard and felt her taking in the scent of his hair.
Female humans didn’t do that, not any that he’d met.
She-wolves, however, like wolves, did it all the time, during play or just affectionately with their mate. Your mate or partner’s scent was a massive aphrodisiac but it was another way your senses recognized a loved one. It was one of the reasons their mingled essence between her legs was so important. It was part of the claiming ritual for the male to coat the female with it, spreading their intermingled scent, a physical representation of their connection, to mark his territory after the claiming.