The scent of burning bacon filled the kitchen the next morning, followed by a string of creative curses that would have made a sailor blush. I found Dante standing over the stove, glaring at a pan full of what had once been breakfast like it had personally offended him.
"Having trouble?" I asked, trying to keep the amusement out of my voice.
He turned, his hair disheveled and an apron that read "Kiss the Cook" tied around his waist—a gift from Sarah that he'd never worn before. The sight of the powerful Alpha looking so domestically flustered sent an unexpected warmth through my chest.
"I thought I'd make you breakfast," he said, his voice gruff with embarrassment. "Before you... before the Bayou Pack picks you up."
The reminder of my impending departure cooled the warm feeling immedia
