Little Prick by Zenina Masters Page A

weed, hexes or crushed carob this time.”
    Pansy sighed in relief. The drama surrounding her birthday parties was legendary. Her father moved location, gave Keelie the wrong times and even went so far as to bribe transporters to hide the event. Somehow, her godmother always managed to find her and give her her gift.
    When she was young, she was given jewellery that she thought was pretty. Now that she was an adult, she knew that she had enough money in gems to buy a large chunk of the countryside. When she turned fifteen, the gifts had become more practical, classic cars and deeds to property near her father’s home. Now that she was turning twenty-five, she had no idea what the gift would be, but she knew that her godmother would be happy to see her. She always was.
    “Come on, Jarrod is making dinner and it isn’t spaghetti.”
    Pansy grinned. “Oh good. Pot roast!”
    Andrew tucked her under his arm and steered her through the woods, down the path from the garage to their home and into the pack house.
    Pansy went up her private staircase and into her rooms, taking a quick shower before dinner. Her situation in the pack house had been a matter of concern. While she was family, she was not pack. It was a bit of a technicality headache, but she, her six brothers and her father had managed to get the rules down and all visitors to the pack house were educated within a few hours. Anyone who didn’t like it was free to give his apologies to the alpha or to face Pansy herself in combat. Most simply minded their manners.
    Dressed in a long-sleeved, button-down, oxford-cloth shirt, she slipped on her jeans and a pair of ballet flats.
    She headed back downstairs and sat at the kitchen counter, watching Jarrod try to navigate his way through the second of the two meals that he could cook with dexterity. “It smells good, Jarrod.”
    “Thanks, Prix. You are home early.”
    “I had a slight emotional moment at work, so Andrew found me and brought me home.”
    “You still have a smudge on your nose.”
    She cursed and grabbed a napkin, using the toaster as her mirror as she removed the bit of grease that she had missed in the shower. “How is that?”
    He glanced at her and grinned. His own face was decorated with splashes of mashed potatoes and a smear of gravy.
    “You look edible, Jarrod.”
    “I promise to clean up before dinner. Roger has been looking a little peckish lately. Don’t want to deal with him chewing on my face.” Jarrod laughed.
    Jarrod was the brother closest to her in age. Andrew and Jake were next then Dougal, Thomas and the eldest was Roger. They were all handsome, as most shifters were, but all still single. Some days, Pansy thought they were waiting for her to get hitched so that they were free to find female wolves and live happily ever after with piles of puppies, but she was holding them back.
    She didn’t care if they wanted to mate with turtles; she just wanted them to find someone, anyone to make them happy.
    Jarrod hauled the enormous pan full of beef, vegetables and potatoes out of the oven, and he settled it on the sideboard.
    “Do you want some help, Jarrod?”
    “Nope. I have got this.” He started to move quickly, setting places at the table, covering the meat with foil and thickening the juices into a heady gravy.
    She watched him and finally whispered, “The Chilean merlot.”
    He blinked and jerked toward the wine rack as if pulled. He gave her a stage whisper, “Thank you.”
    Wine in the gravy had started as an accident when their mother cooked and had become a tradition. Pansy didn’t remember her mother, but she knew every iota of information and every story and anecdote that her family would mention. Tales of their mother were carefully horded in her mind.
    When dinner was ready and her brothers and father were freshly scrubbed, Jarrod rang the bell and the alpha took his seat at the head of the table.
    Pansy took her seat and every other brother sat on one side of the