“She dealt with the problem directly,” Michael explained. “She teamed up with the alpha male and tried to support him. Going to you would have been. . .”
“Useless?” I offered.
“Unnecessary,” Antonia corrected me, but her cheeks were red. She had underestimated how much I could help, and who could blame her? I wouldn't have thought I could do much, either.
At least not until today.
“Culture clash,” Derik said cheerfully, wolfing down his second slice of cake. “Antonia has spent too much time with you vampires. A true werewolf would have sought to put together the largest pack possible.”
“Yeah, well, a true werewolf can kiss my ass,” Antonia offered.
“You are a true werewolf,” Michael pointed out. “You always have been.”
“Come on, pack leader. Don't deny there'll be some at home who will finally decide I'm actually worthy of the secret handshake.”
Michael said nothing, but Derik broke the tension by showering Antonia in cake crumbs.
“Anyway,” Tina put in, batting a few wayward crumbs out of her hair, “everything worked out fine that day, thanks to Her Majesty. Now people will know better than to ask you, Eric, when they need help.” She delivered this last line with a nasty, but still friendly, smile.
“I will pretend my feelings aren't lacerated,” Sinclair said dryly. His hand was resting on my shoulder. In fact, since I'd rescued him, he was always touching me somewhere or other. Not that I minded in the slightest. I was also loving the fact that we were spending most of our evenings trying to hurt each other during lovemaking.
I glanced down at my new rings. Traditional wedding band and engagement ring. Platinum bands (Sinclair had the twin), one carat diamond setting. Not used. Not cursed.
And Sinclair had taken the news that he was Babyjon's new daddy with remarkable calm. I suspected he still felt tremendous guilt over giving me the cursed ring in the first place. So it was only fair that he would help me raise this kid for the next seventeen or eighteen years.
“So where are you guys off to?” Laura asked. We'd made up just before the wedding, and she had apologized. I'd told her that dear old Mom had dropped by from Hell, and she'd been horrified. She'd suited up in her Vera Wang (emerald green, the color of her eyes when she was eeeeevil). We were fine again. For now.
“New York City,” Sinclair replied. The one aspect of the wedding he'd actually taken an interest in was planning the honeymoon. “And I thank you for taking the baby while we're gone.”
“Oh, it's my pleasure,” Laura gushed.
“We're leaving him behind?” I cried. “But he'll miss us! Me.”
“Sorry, my wife. On that I draw the line. Babies and honeymoons do not mix.”
“Fascist,” I muttered, but I didn't put any real heat into it. In three days I'd gone from lonely and frightened to surrounded by friends, family, and new allies. And Jessica was all better! “You wait until later.”
“I dream of later,” he murmured back.
I laughed and squeezed his hand. Poor guy, he was holding up pretty well under all the nuttiness. Werewolves, a queen with mondo weird new powers, his privacy shattered by hordes, all who wanted to talk to me. Don't even get me started on Babyjon. So I knew he was looking forward to ditching the group as much as I was, but he didn't know what I'd gotten him for a wedding gift.
Spray-on gourmet flavors. I had bought him Turkey, Gravy, Raspberry, Hash Browns, and Baked Alaska.
I could hardly wait to squirt them all over him. And I'd never been to the Big Apple. I planned to take a great big bite.
“—my own.”
“What?”
“I said, come along for a moment, my own. I have something to show you. . . upstairs.”
I glanced at our guests. They had broken off into small groups and were chatting about this and that.
“Race you,” I whispered, and chased him all the way to our bedroom.