Falls deciding to court me. Clover and I lived in exile in her room, Braeden prowling the rest of the house unless his duties as the vice president of the Woodsmen called him away.
My car and Holly's truck stayed up at the cabin. The animals were sold off to the man from Hadley at a better price than I had hoped for.
I would be lying if I said I thoroughly resented the days spent cloistered in Clover's bedroom. We found what I felt we had lost those months since I had last left for school. Signing until her fingers cramped, she told me about the threat from several packs and prides in Illinois, how the groups had accidentally discovered the makeshift pack in Night Falls while pursuing one of their own runaway members and how she had concocted the idea of a video that masqueraded as an extended movie trailer while threatening to expose all shifters to the human world.
She told me about mating -- not the nitty gritty, but how those in Night Falls had discovered that different kinds of shifters could breed with one another, to include Taron's pregnant mate, the she-wolf who had been running from her pack in Illinois.
The one thing she didn't tell me was whether the same held true with humans and shifters. Given that I had grown up in Night Falls more or less a pariah, I was pretty sure the answer was no.
As far as I could tell, shifters had no reason to mix with humans and every reason not to.
Catching my attention, Clover bent and touched both middle fingers to her chest then drew a line with them down her body as she frowned.
I shrugged. It didn't take a psychologist to diagnose the fleeting bouts of depression I suffered whenever her fingers stopped moving and I stopped learning.
"I miss the sun," I signed then nodded at her window.
Smiling, she thrust her raised index finger toward me, signing that I should wait a minute, then she bounded off the bed.
Leaving the room, she threw a wink over her shoulder, her finger repeating the sign for me to wait. Two minutes later, she returned with the hammer Braeden had used to nail the plywood in place.
Flipping the tool in her hand, she scanned the edge of the window for a spot where she could wedge the claw. With the claw inserted, she stepped around the handle and began to pull it toward her. The plywood complained at the force being exerted, everything groaning and creaking.
When the first nail popped free, Clover cackled.
"I thought you were a wolf, not a hen," I teased, a smile starting to crawl up the sides of my face even though I knew it was likely a matter of minutes before Braeden caught on to what we were doing.
Seconds, I amended as his voice drifted down the hall.
"Clo, what was that sound?"
"Shut the door!" she whispered as she tucked the hammer behind her back and tried to look innocent. "Lock it, too!"
I didn't make it to the foot of the bed before Braeden's large frame filled the doorway. He studied the two of us with a narrowed gaze.
"You were just in the kitchen," he said, squinting at his sister.
"Thirsty," she answered, her cheeks a guilty rose.
He closed his eyes, his head slowly shaking side to side. "You opened a drawer, not a cupboard or the refrigerator. You're a terrible liar, baby girl."
Swinging the hammer from behind her back, she shook it in his direction. "It's horrible in here with the light blocked."
"So come into the front room," he answered, his brows lifting with the same snarky attitude that coated his words.
Pretending she hadn't heard him, Clover turned back to the window and wedged the claw higher up. Braeden ignored her, his attention drifting to me as his eyes went all squinty again.
"Who is Cort?"
My lungs seized at the question.
"Is he here?" I blurted, standing on my tiptoes in an attempt to see around Braeden.
"Do you want him to be?"
I stopped to consider the question, especially Braeden's tone. It was wary, but also predatory, delivered with a low grumble of menace.
Clover stopped trying to remove the plywood
My car and Holly's truck stayed up at the cabin. The animals were sold off to the man from Hadley at a better price than I had hoped for.
I would be lying if I said I thoroughly resented the days spent cloistered in Clover's bedroom. We found what I felt we had lost those months since I had last left for school. Signing until her fingers cramped, she told me about the threat from several packs and prides in Illinois, how the groups had accidentally discovered the makeshift pack in Night Falls while pursuing one of their own runaway members and how she had concocted the idea of a video that masqueraded as an extended movie trailer while threatening to expose all shifters to the human world.
She told me about mating -- not the nitty gritty, but how those in Night Falls had discovered that different kinds of shifters could breed with one another, to include Taron's pregnant mate, the she-wolf who had been running from her pack in Illinois.
The one thing she didn't tell me was whether the same held true with humans and shifters. Given that I had grown up in Night Falls more or less a pariah, I was pretty sure the answer was no.
As far as I could tell, shifters had no reason to mix with humans and every reason not to.
Catching my attention, Clover bent and touched both middle fingers to her chest then drew a line with them down her body as she frowned.
I shrugged. It didn't take a psychologist to diagnose the fleeting bouts of depression I suffered whenever her fingers stopped moving and I stopped learning.
"I miss the sun," I signed then nodded at her window.
Smiling, she thrust her raised index finger toward me, signing that I should wait a minute, then she bounded off the bed.
Leaving the room, she threw a wink over her shoulder, her finger repeating the sign for me to wait. Two minutes later, she returned with the hammer Braeden had used to nail the plywood in place.
Flipping the tool in her hand, she scanned the edge of the window for a spot where she could wedge the claw. With the claw inserted, she stepped around the handle and began to pull it toward her. The plywood complained at the force being exerted, everything groaning and creaking.
When the first nail popped free, Clover cackled.
"I thought you were a wolf, not a hen," I teased, a smile starting to crawl up the sides of my face even though I knew it was likely a matter of minutes before Braeden caught on to what we were doing.
Seconds, I amended as his voice drifted down the hall.
"Clo, what was that sound?"
"Shut the door!" she whispered as she tucked the hammer behind her back and tried to look innocent. "Lock it, too!"
I didn't make it to the foot of the bed before Braeden's large frame filled the doorway. He studied the two of us with a narrowed gaze.
"You were just in the kitchen," he said, squinting at his sister.
"Thirsty," she answered, her cheeks a guilty rose.
He closed his eyes, his head slowly shaking side to side. "You opened a drawer, not a cupboard or the refrigerator. You're a terrible liar, baby girl."
Swinging the hammer from behind her back, she shook it in his direction. "It's horrible in here with the light blocked."
"So come into the front room," he answered, his brows lifting with the same snarky attitude that coated his words.
Pretending she hadn't heard him, Clover turned back to the window and wedged the claw higher up. Braeden ignored her, his attention drifting to me as his eyes went all squinty again.
"Who is Cort?"
My lungs seized at the question.
"Is he here?" I blurted, standing on my tiptoes in an attempt to see around Braeden.
"Do you want him to be?"
I stopped to consider the question, especially Braeden's tone. It was wary, but also predatory, delivered with a low grumble of menace.
Clover stopped trying to remove the plywood
Similar Books
