The Mystic Wolves

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

It was into a quiet hush— a reverent silence—when I slipped inside Jasmine's room, closing the door softly behind me. The curtains had been drawn, candles lit on almost every surface, and it gave the space a solemn ambience befitting the moment.

Not ready to look at the bed where my beloved friend and pack sister lay, I gazed around the place I'd spent so many hours in. Echoes of memories flittered about in my mind, and it tugged on my heartstrings because I truly, and deeply, loved Jasmine.

Our connection had been almost instant, two hearts reaching out, and rejoicing in finding one another. Similar in age and tastes, our friendship had steadily grown until we became inseparable—in thoughts and actions. Mason would laugh so hard each time we finished each other's sentences, and would groan over the antics we'd get up to.

He always shared how good it felt knowing we were close, easing a burden I never knew he carried. He worried over his sister; afraid she'd be lonely if his future mate didn't recognize the importance Jasmine held in his life.

Back in the room, something pulled me toward the bookshelf that was crammed—filled with some of Jasmine's favorite reads. It was the photo frame I'd given her for her last birthday—a silver one with the words "best friends" stamped into it. I gingerly picked it up, my eyes never leaving the smiling faces peering back up at me. I traced her image, marveling at the glow the camera had been able to capture.

I couldn't even remember when we took the picture, we'd taken so many. Judging from the goofy looks, I'd say it was from one of the many nights we used to lie giggling on top of her bed together, taking random poses. No matter the occasion, we always found some reason to be silly, and would spend hours trying to outdo the last shot.

Both our mouths were open, teeth sparkling, but the twinkle in our eyes showed it all. We were best friends. We were happy, and we had the rest of our lives ahead of us.

It hurt my heart knowing the last part wasn't true anymore. Placing the frame back on the shelf, I began randomly pulling out books. It was another thing Jasmine and I had in common—our love of reading romance, and the sexy heroes we found in each story. I couldn't count how many times we would text, or show up at each other's rooms, gushing over what Mr. McSwoony was doing, and sighing together. We were complete junkies, and would stay up all night talking about what it would be like to be transported into one of the books. We had weaknesses for highlanders, and no matter how hard we tried, we could never get Mason to speak in a Scottish brogue.

I laughed out loud, remembering how we used to badger him.

"Please, Mason . . . just say it. Just once, and we'll go away."

"No, Jasmine. Now leave me alone."

"Not even for me?" Running my finger down his chest, I bat my eyelashes at him. If anyone could get him to cave, it was me. I was his weakness after all.

"Not you too! Enough, I'm not going to speak like your silly romance books." Mason backed up, a frown on his face as he struggled to look serious. "How will people respect me as Alpha if they know I gave into your demands?"

"Awww, come on, Brother. It's not like we're asking you to wear a kilt and swing around a sword. Just a few words—for us. Pleeeeassee." Jasmine wasn't beyond begging.

"Hmmm, a kilt. I think that's even better. Forget the words. Wear a plaid for us. Show us that fine body of yours!" I began to move toward him, a wicked grin covering my face.

He fled after that, spending the rest of the afternoon hiding in his office. Jasmine and I returned to her room and laughed for hours, devising plans on how we could convince him.