be forced to grab a coat and abandon her work before they dripped sweat all over the place.
“Hey.” She grinned, turning her face up for a kiss on the cheek. Fionn sat on a nearby table, watching as she turned and shaped the glass.
“Hey, Littlebit. Need a hand with anything?” he asked, looking around the room. She shook her head, humming to herself as she ran the piece smoothly against the steel table, the glass glowing orange from the heat.
“You should put goggles on if you’re going to be in here though,” she reminded him. He shrugged, as it was unlikely anything in the studio could blind a wolf, but he humored her anyway: why suffer unnecessary pain? She could always count on her uncle to do the right thing.
“I can’t believe you had a reputation for being such a troublemaker.” She laughed at him as he perched back on the table, goofy-looking red goggles covering his eyes.
“Why red?” he asked, blinking as he looked around. “And my reputation was as a hound, not a troublemaker.”
“Rose-colored glasses make everything brighter,” she tossed back. “Actually, I hate those goggles; I don’t know why they are even here.” With a shrug, she turned back to her work. “Uncle Fionn, if it’s going to take you a while to work up to whatever you came to say, can you hand me the duckbills behind you?” At his confused look, she added “The things that look kinda like scissors.”
As he handed them to her, he asked, “What the hell are you making anyway?”
“It’s a bowl. Commissioned, actually. It’s supposed to have this weird split thing here…” She studied the piece for the place she needed to cut. “I don’t get it, but the job is going to bring in some good bank, so…”
“So, Littlebit, I thought you might want to talk about the whole Usher thing.”
“Oh Goddess, not you too.” She sighed. Her mother had been on her case most of her life about listening to her Guide and trusting her instincts. For once, she’d like to have a conversation with someone in her family that didn’t involve duty.
“Hey. Ita. I’m not your mom. And you should give her a break, she loves you. And she had it really fucking rough back when she was ‘The Chosen One.’”
“And you didn’t?” She scowled at her bowl as she sliced into the hot glass with her shears, then curled the edges back, shaping almost by instinct, leaving a sharp point on either side of the split. The piece was sort of odd and gruesome-looking, actually, but it did look like the example photos sent over by the client. To each their own. It helped support the pack; that’s all that mattered for commission work.
“I did, of course, I did. But, Ita, I was up against wolves. I wasn’t contending with First Blood.”
“We don’t know that I will be either, Fionn,” she reminded him. “I just need to get to the right spot during the eclipse. Unlike you and Mom, it seems my role is more metaphysical.”
“Littlebit, you can’t think like that. What you’re going to do is dangerous. There are a lot of people—humans, Blood-Drinkers, maybe even a few wolves—who don’t want the Mother freed.”
“Well, they can take it up with Mac and Bear.” She scowled. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m all of five foot two; I’m an artist, not a warrior; and until I took my wolf, I was treated as the Omega of this pack by everyone except my family. I’m still treated as the Omega by most of them, but at least some pretend to have some manners.”
“Sarita Murphy. I say this because you’re family, and I love you. I know all about self-doubt. I know all about depression. It’s a lying fuck that doesn’t deserve the space in your brain you’re giving it. You are not the Omega. You’re the fucking Third Usher. You’re unbelievably powerful, or you wouldn’t be the Usher, let alone mated to someone like Angelo. The man is lethal, and your connection with him is far more than genetic compatibility. Your wolf
“Hey.” She grinned, turning her face up for a kiss on the cheek. Fionn sat on a nearby table, watching as she turned and shaped the glass.
“Hey, Littlebit. Need a hand with anything?” he asked, looking around the room. She shook her head, humming to herself as she ran the piece smoothly against the steel table, the glass glowing orange from the heat.
“You should put goggles on if you’re going to be in here though,” she reminded him. He shrugged, as it was unlikely anything in the studio could blind a wolf, but he humored her anyway: why suffer unnecessary pain? She could always count on her uncle to do the right thing.
“I can’t believe you had a reputation for being such a troublemaker.” She laughed at him as he perched back on the table, goofy-looking red goggles covering his eyes.
“Why red?” he asked, blinking as he looked around. “And my reputation was as a hound, not a troublemaker.”
“Rose-colored glasses make everything brighter,” she tossed back. “Actually, I hate those goggles; I don’t know why they are even here.” With a shrug, she turned back to her work. “Uncle Fionn, if it’s going to take you a while to work up to whatever you came to say, can you hand me the duckbills behind you?” At his confused look, she added “The things that look kinda like scissors.”
As he handed them to her, he asked, “What the hell are you making anyway?”
“It’s a bowl. Commissioned, actually. It’s supposed to have this weird split thing here…” She studied the piece for the place she needed to cut. “I don’t get it, but the job is going to bring in some good bank, so…”
“So, Littlebit, I thought you might want to talk about the whole Usher thing.”
“Oh Goddess, not you too.” She sighed. Her mother had been on her case most of her life about listening to her Guide and trusting her instincts. For once, she’d like to have a conversation with someone in her family that didn’t involve duty.
“Hey. Ita. I’m not your mom. And you should give her a break, she loves you. And she had it really fucking rough back when she was ‘The Chosen One.’”
“And you didn’t?” She scowled at her bowl as she sliced into the hot glass with her shears, then curled the edges back, shaping almost by instinct, leaving a sharp point on either side of the split. The piece was sort of odd and gruesome-looking, actually, but it did look like the example photos sent over by the client. To each their own. It helped support the pack; that’s all that mattered for commission work.
“I did, of course, I did. But, Ita, I was up against wolves. I wasn’t contending with First Blood.”
“We don’t know that I will be either, Fionn,” she reminded him. “I just need to get to the right spot during the eclipse. Unlike you and Mom, it seems my role is more metaphysical.”
“Littlebit, you can’t think like that. What you’re going to do is dangerous. There are a lot of people—humans, Blood-Drinkers, maybe even a few wolves—who don’t want the Mother freed.”
“Well, they can take it up with Mac and Bear.” She scowled. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m all of five foot two; I’m an artist, not a warrior; and until I took my wolf, I was treated as the Omega of this pack by everyone except my family. I’m still treated as the Omega by most of them, but at least some pretend to have some manners.”
“Sarita Murphy. I say this because you’re family, and I love you. I know all about self-doubt. I know all about depression. It’s a lying fuck that doesn’t deserve the space in your brain you’re giving it. You are not the Omega. You’re the fucking Third Usher. You’re unbelievably powerful, or you wouldn’t be the Usher, let alone mated to someone like Angelo. The man is lethal, and your connection with him is far more than genetic compatibility. Your wolf
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