Wild Hunger by Suzanne Wright

Author:Suzanne Wright [Wright, Suzanne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781503902169
Publisher: Montlake Romance
Published: 2018-05-29T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Frankie had never been to a shifter funeral before. It wasn’t much different from those held for humans, except that there were no clergy members reading out scriptures. Instead the Bjorn Alpha, Josh—who was also one of Dante’s older brothers—had spoken of what a warm, supportive pack member Iris had been and then voiced his wishes that she rested well. After that, other Bjorn wolves and relatives began to take turns speaking, sharing funny or touching stories.

Frankie listened intently to the stories, eager to hear more about her grandmother. Focusing on them also helped her ignore the curious glances and whispers coming from the Bjorn wolves.

People sniffled and sobbed, even as they chuckled at the anecdotes. One thing was clear—Iris had been well loved by these people. It wasn’t surprising; the woman had won Frankie’s affection quickly. Right then her heart felt heavy, and there was a huge lump in her throat. Yeah, the tears were building. Hoping to ward them off, she took a deep breath and drew in Trick’s scent and the smells of earth, fresh flowers, and sun-warmed stone.

Right then, his warm hand supportively engulfed hers. He never strayed far from her side. He was always touching, kissing, and soothing her. When he wasn’t holding her hand, he was massaging her nape, cupping her elbow, splaying his hand on her back, or resting it on her shoulder. Frankie soaked in his support, needing his strength.

His presence also reassured her wolf, who didn’t like being on Bjorn territory, which surprised Frankie. She had been born there. She’d spent the first three years of her life there. But her wolf wasn’t moved by that. Nor was she comforted by some of the scents that she vaguely recognized. Then again, graveyards weren’t exactly comforting places.

All in all, this particular graveyard seemed to be pretty well maintained. There were several rows of carved headstones, some granite, some marble, some concrete. Most were well kept and had decorative flower beds and framed portraits. Others were cracked and discolored, with patches of overgrown grass and dead wreaths. She wondered if the neglect signified that the people buried there hadn’t been well liked by the other members.

Frankie hadn’t failed to notice the marble headstone beside Iris’s: “CHRISTOPHER BROOKS, BELOVED SON AND BROTHER.” His grave showed no signs of neglect and wasn’t covered in graffiti, as she might have expected. He’d killed his mate and himself, after all. Maybe the headstone had been left alone out of respect for Iris, Alfie, and Lydia.

Speaking of Lydia . . . Frankie briefly glanced at her. The female was leaning into Cam, shoulders bowed, eyes raw, silent tears coursing down her face. She’d insisted that Frankie stand at the front of the mourners, among the other people who’d been close to Iris. Honestly, it made Frankie feel like a gawker, since she hadn’t known Iris well enough to grieve as deeply as they were, but Lydia had refused to budge on it.

Considering the two packs had once

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