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"You can't cheat if it isn't a competition," I sang as I left the bathroom, and Bran gave me a filthy look. I just smiled, sitting on the counter. "Whatcha making?" I asked, looking at the bowls on the counter. "No, let me guess, pancakes. That looks like pancake batter."

He didn't give a reply. I pouted, and he growled. "Don't."

Confused, I stopped,. But replied. "Why?"

"Because," he stated unhelpfully.

"Fine, can I go to my house and pack an overnight bag?" I asked, and he nodded.

"Take the Humvee."

"Thanks," I replied, jumping off the counter and taking the keys, leaving the house and turning on the heater in the car ASAP once the engine warmed. I backed out of the driveway, driving to my house, and I opened the door to a blast of warm air. I hurried inside, closing the door behind me and going to my room to shove some clothes in a backpack. After a moment's thought, I took my acoustic guitar, too, then made the mad dash back to Bran's Humvee through the snow. Thanking God that the engine hadn't cooled too much, I blasted the heater again, just sitting in my driveway for a moment before driving, soaking up the heat.

I really hate the cold. I loved staying inside, anyway, and I had a home and a good pack, now, so it wasn't as bad, but I still really hate the cold. I jumped up and down in the entryway of Bran's home for a second to warm myself back up. Unlacing my boots, I put them in the closet, then (very reluctantly) my jacket as well, using one of the spare hangers. I went into a spare bedroom to change (it was after five o'clock, and pajamas are so much better than denim). I curled up on the couch with my guitar and started strumming a Maroon 5 cover without the lyrics. I heard Bran in the kitchen distantly, but allowed myself to mostly tune out the outside world and concentrate on the music.

I set the guitar down as I reached the end of the song and went into the kitchen still carrying it to find the pancakes abandoned and Bran nowhere to be seen. I frowned. Flipping the pancakes, then started looking around for him. I checked the entire ground floor, then went back to the kitchen to remove the pancakes and unplug the griddle before continuing.

I'd saved his and Leah's bedrooms, both individual and shared, for last. I knocked on the door to his room first, with no answer, then Leah's, to the same result. I knocked on their shared one last, and poked my head in to find Bran on the bed, staring at the ceiling with a tear leaking out of his visible (hazel) eye.

"Bran?" I whispered, but he didn't seem to be in the present. I nodded to myself, then started to play another song on the guitar I still held, this time a Beethoven cover, softly, curled up in a chair. I glanced up and found him asleep, so I moved him into a better position and climbed onto the bed next to him, wrapping my arms around his middle and fell asleep with him, having never turned on the light.

Anna had decided that she should go check on Bran, and Nicole, too. She was in Charles's truck (he'd gone somewhere on business), parked in Bran's driveway. She got out, trudging through the snow to the door and opened it, toeing off her boots before proceeding into the house. There were pancakes in the kitchen, some of the batter left uncooked in the bowl. It was a mess and unlike Bran, so she continued looking through the house to find a bag that smelled like Nicole in one of the guest rooms. Anna checked each bedroom but found Nicole absent, and so proceeded to the three bedrooms which had been (previously) Bran's, Leah's, and their shared room.

Nicole was with Bran in the latter of the three, curled tight around him as they slept together. When did this happen? Anna asked herself, taking out her phone and snapping a picture, sending it to Charles. Look what I found, she added to the picture, leaving the room and closing the door gently as not to wake them, going back into the kitchen to finish cooking the pancakes and clean up, putting them in a plastic bag and into the fridge, then went home, pondering what she'd found.

I woke up to hear a phone conversation in the next room. "—hurts and helps," I heard Bran say. "You know why I took Leah as my mate. I could never love her."

"Maybe it's time for you to try to overcome that fear, Da," the person on the other end replied, and I decided that it was a private conversation, so I took my guitar from the chair and went downstairs. Someone had finished making the pancakes and cleaned up, because the kitchen was spotless again.

Sometimes my guitar can become a bit of an obsession— I play mostly as a sort of therapy. My wolf is really dominant and being stuck at the bottom of the pack makes her angry, but the music soothes her and makes her easier to handle. I started softly strumming enough to cover Bran's conversation upstairs and stared off into space, thinking about what I had heard without really realizing it, letting my fingers move instinctually from my years of practice. It hadn't taken me long to re-learn my old proficiency after I'd gotten out of my abusive old pack. I'd been more dominant than the Alpha there, and they'd kept me locked in a silver cage most of the time, when they weren't trying to rape me. I still have the scars from the silver weapons they used, and the memories of being drugged with a silver/DMSO/ketamine mixture were as vivid as the day I acquired them. I felt myself start crying, but I was too distant from myself to really be involved in where my mind was wandering. It was like a lucid dream, except I wasn't asleep. I was aware of my fingers moving but I didn't really feel it as I lost myself in memory.

I was in wolf form, curled up in the center of the cage to avoid touching the silver. I tried to hold in a whimper as I saw Darian enter the room with a syringe, and my grogginess was wiped away in a rush of adrenaline and fear as he advanced, and my Alpha drew from his entire pack to push me over the edge into human form. I was tired, hungry and weak as I felt my bones begin to crack and the Alpha watched me maliciously, syringe in hand and smiling a bit. I wasn't a large person; five-foot nothing, long (blonde, but you couldn't tell from the dirt and sweat) hair and green eyes, somewhat stocky (but mostly as a result of being a werewolf). I shook on the floor of the cage and curled in on myself to keep the silver away from my skin as Darian approached the cage. He unlocked it, pulling me out by my right arm, and injected some of the drug he had in the syringe. I went woozy again as he dragged me out and into his bedroom, where he put the syringe in a desk drawer as he started stripping, dumping me on his bed. I curled into as small a ball as possible. Everything hurt as he forced me onto my back and crawled on top of me—

"Nicole," Bran said, shaking me. He'd taken my guitar from my arms and I was curled up, sobbing, my face soaked with my tears. "Nicole, you're not there anymore. He's dead. You're safe."

I wrapped my arms around his neck and cried, and he picked me up and sat down in the chair, settling me in his lap and petting my hair soothingly. I sobbed harder, remembering how filthy I felt after his hands roved my skin, how violated I'd felt when he was whispering things in my ear in his bed as he abused my body. I let Bran's dominance comfort me as I cried on his shoulder and he stroked my hair soothingly. He smelled like safety and pack and Bran, a sweet saltiness along with the mint and musk all werewolves possessed.

"You smell sorta like caramel, I never noticed before," I said shakily.

"You smell like dark chocolate," he replied, still petting my hair.

I let out a watery giggle. "We're the perfect match."

I felt Bran go stiff under me, and looked up. He had paled and his eyes were gold.

I had a sense of dawning comprehension as I had an idea. "Bran, are you philophobic?"

"What?" he asked, but he sounded weird.

"You're scared of love. I'm a psychologist, Bran, I know these things. Is it because of Blue Jay Woman?"

He nodded. "How did you know about her?"

"People like to talk to me. I'm actually kinda sort-of friends with Charles, I think," I said uncertainly.

"You're not scared of him?"

I shook my head. "Only when I stop to really think about it. Then again, Anna is almost always handing out calm vibes. Really, are you okay?"

"Are you?"

I took a deep breath. "I will be, eventually, if you are."

"Your dominance shows a lot."

I grimaced. "I've always been a horrible actor, but really, pot calling kettle."

"I never said I didn't like it," he replied somewhat irritably.

"Was that what happened last night?" I asked quietly. "Your philophobia."

He nodded. "I panicked when I saw you playing your guitar."

"Are you sure it wasn't just my horrendously attractive physique and personality? Or are acoustic guitars sexy now?"

"You're beautiful when you play. You get lost in it."

"I'd say the same, but you tend to look more pensive. But you're beautiful all the time, so whatever," I replied with a smile. "I'm not going to push you unless you want me to."

He nodded, and we fell silent, Bran still stroking my hair.

"Pancake salad?" he asked after a second.

"Absolutely," I replied.

I hope you enjoyed; please REVIEW and tell me if you did! And pancake salad doesn't have greens in it, just to clear that up. It's tiny (or cut up) pancakes with chopped fruit and syrup or jam for dressing (I wanted to have Bran and Nicole share a quirk).