Mortal Sins by Eileen Wilks

you.”
    “More like you turned me on, actually. But if the—”
    Whatever else she’d meant to say was lost in his mouth. She tasted warm and welcoming, with hints of bad coffee and minty toothpaste. And what stirred in his belly and below had nothing to do with the mantles.
    All too soon, she pulled away. Her well-kissed mouth curved in a smile. “Men are so opportunistic about sex.”
    He sighed. “Not in Mrs. Asteglio’s driveway, I’m not.”
    “Good point. About the mantle—”
    “I know better than to call up the new one, Lily.”
    “Okay. I have to go.”
    “Yes. I love you.”
    “Oh.” Her eyes softened. She touched his lips with her fingertips. “Love you. Now I’ve got to go.”
    Moments later, Rule let himself into the silent house. Neither Toby nor his grandmother was awake yet, which wasn’t surprising on a summer morning just brushing up on seven a.m. Rule had an urge to go upstairs where he could hear his son breathing, watch him sleep in the twin-size bed that had held Toby’s dreaming self since he left his crib.
    Watch him and worry, his wolf pointed out, about all manner of things he had no control over.
    Well, wasn’t worry a parent’s prerogative? Still, he heeded the wolf this time, heading for the kitchen instead of the stairs. He’d brought some of his own coffee with him—already ground, which wasn’t as savory, but Mrs. Asteglio didn’t own a grinder, and Lily had rolled her eyes when he proposed bringing his.
    The kitchen was a large, comfortable room at the back of the house, flanked by a den on one side and a formal dining room, seldom used, on the other. It was immaculate; Mrs. Asteglio was as uneasy with disorder as Lily, and more militant about it. Rule spotted the piece of paper on the counter right away.
    A glance told him Lily had written it. She’d made sure that if she and Rule were delayed, Toby and his grandmother would know where they were and not worry. She thought of things like that.
    He didn’t, not always. He’d lived alone too long, grown accustomed to the autonomy of distance. Too, secrecy was a habit for most lupi, especially one in his position. He was learning new habits with Lily, but he had a ways to go. Lily would help, though—by pointing out when he screwed up, for one thing.
    Rule grinned as he measured coffee and poured water, enjoying the smell and the habitual quality of the small ritual.
    What about Toby’s rituals? How were they going to change?
    He knew some of them—the need for a book and tucking in at night; the way Toby brushed his teeth before washing his face; the proper order in which to build a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Toby had spent part of his summers with his father, as well as a few rare weekends during the school year. But full-time fatherhood would be different from visits. He had much to learn.
    He was eager, greedily eager, to begin those lessons.
    While the coffee dripped, perfuming the house, Rule wandered into the little den, where the only television set in the house resided. He had a decision to make.
    There seemed little chance of keeping the vultures of the press unaware of the hearing. Even if the judge and the various clerks with access to the court’s schedule didn’t spill the story, Mrs. Asteglio had probably spoken to her friends and neighbors about it. She wouldn’t have told them who Toby’s father was, but she would have spoken to them about the upcoming loss of her grandson.
    The best way to deal with the press was usually to give them some portion of what they wanted. What if Rule told the reporters why he was here?
    Not the main reason. Not about Toby. About Leidolf.
    The human world knew little about lupus clans and nothing about the mantles that held them together. That was as it should be. The press insisted on calling Rule the Nokolai prince, but Rule’s position, though partly hereditary, had little in common with human royalty. Rule was Lu Nuncio to Nokolai clan and had carried the