39. Chapter 39

Chapter 39

L ayla walked slowly down the stairs, keeping her ears open to hear what was happening.

She still felt something pulling her back to Jackson but forced herself to continue. Admitting what she had done would need a little fortification first.

The house was quieter than she had expected. Instead of wails like last time, there were only soft, whispered words. Instead of the pain and grief, there was a sense of calm and peace.

That meant no one had died. She hadn't caused any more deaths.

Hope flared up inside her but she squashed it down. She didn't want to tempt fate. Maybe they hadn't been on the brink of death as she had suspected. Even Jackson had woken up after a day and not weeks like the last time.

Still, relief and hope mixed inside her as she stopped at the last step.

There was a lot of activity outside. She'd heard them setting up the tents again, but their mood was more relaxed this time.

The front door opened, and a few women walked in carrying empty trays and baskets. One of them was Faith. She hadn't seen the young girl since they had all stopped coming to the house after the attack in the garage.

The women stopped talking when they saw her. She shuffled her bare feet and waited for the inevitable wave of feelings she would sense from them.

"Oh, you're up! I didn't expect to see you today," Faith said as she approached her.

The girl put her basket down, and a smile lit her face. Layla held her breath. She hadn't had an ounce of warmth from anyone in months, not since they had attacked Jackson.

Faith offered her hand to help her down the last step, and then she pulled her into a hug.

"I'm sorry I doubted you," Faith whispered.

She had been Jackson's number-one supporter from the beginning. Layla let out the breath she had been holding as the girl's warmth surrounded her. She'd never known what it was with Faith, but she felt like a weight lifted off her shoulders.

Faith released her and took her hand.

"You must be starving," Faith said. "It's not good for the baby."

She turned to one of the other ladies, who was also smiling and instructed her to prepare a tray.

"Thank you. Could you... could you take something up for Jackson?"

They all stopped as if they hadn't expected her to say that, and then their heads cocked slightly, a tell-tell sign that they were communicating or listening.

"He's awake," one of the older ladies stated, and their relief was palpable.

Maybe not everyone had been against Jackson, after all. She'd steeled herself for their reactions, knowing half of them probably wanted him dead, but she hadn't expected to feel the relief and gratitude.

"Are you in trouble?" Faith giggled.

"I think so," she whispered back.

"We will take care of him. Don't worry," Faith smiled as she led her to the door. "In the meantime, I think some fresh air will do you some good."

Faith had her out the door before she could protest, and it seemed they had already been waiting for her. Jackson would hate that she was alone with them, and he didn't know the details of what she had done yet. She'd exposed herself, and if what he said was true, they would kill her on the spot.

"Maybe I should wait for Micah or Dylan?" she whispered to Faith.

"They are both swamped," Faith said, pulling her forward to walk down the front steps. "Besides, there are some people who want to meet you."

"Miss Layla!"

She turned at the sound of the voice and saw the young girl beckoning her to where a marquee had been set up close to Jackson's window. Several people were seated under it, and tables were laid with food. All of them were looking in her direction, but she couldn't read their moods. Her own emotions were wreaking havoc inside her and disrupting everything.

What if she got attacked, and her eyes gave her away?

"Come. You'll be okay," Faith smiled.

And her anxiety eased again. Did Faith have a gift for that? Her heart calmed down and allowed her to gauge the emotions around her. There wasn't as much hostility as there had been the last time.

She allowed the young one to lead her to the marquee, where the young girl immediately hugged her.

"You've met Kelly. She's had a lot to say about you," Faith said when the girl let her go, and then she introduced her to the group closest to her.

And then she came to the young mother who was attacked last time, who was busy feeding her baby. Marjorie, Faith said. It was nice to put a name to the face. It looked like she had escaped the fighting entirely this time.

"Have a seat," Marjorie said, indicating an empty chair beside her.

And when she did, Kelly pulled another chair and sat beside her. She had the biggest smile, almost as if they had known each other for years, and she was welcoming a friend.

"They didn't believe me when I told them about you last time," Kelly said. "I told them you're a warrior. Where did you learn to fight like that?"

"Um..." Was Jackson listening to this conversation? His suspecting she had gone out was one thing, but hearing the details was another.

She looked up at the main bedroom window and focused her senses. When she sensed nothing but anger, she tensed and pulled back. Jackson was clearly listening.

She offered Kelly a tight little smile.

"Let her eat first before you bombard her with questions. You're as bad as Max," Marjorie smiled.

She hadn't seen the brave little boy who had protected her sister in months. She often wondered how he was recovering from that trauma. Not just him but all the children, especially the ones who had become orphans. The orphans had been moved from the packhouse after that incident in the garage.

Faith put a tray on her lap filled with food and gave her another smile.

"I'll go and see to the Al... to Mr King now, but you're in good hands."

Were they pretending the other day didn't happen? The word must have gone around; they knew she had fought werewolves. But she didn't want to upset Jackson, so she just nodded. And then Faith walked away, leaving her alone with strangers. Her anxiety started to return.

"I never got to thank you," Marjorie said.

"Anyone would have done the same. And your little boy did all the work, really," she answered.

"I don't mean that, although you have my eternal gratitude for that, too."

Then what was she referring to? The attack the day before? She didn't remember seeing Marjorie there.

But that wasn't a conversation she wanted to have until she was brave enough to face Jackson again. He was seething, and she didn't even have to focus on the bedroom to feel that.

The pack members continued talking as if they didn't mind her presence. She ate and observed quietly, only offering a word or a smile when directly spoken to. They had all sounded terrifying when she had listened in on their conversation from her room but sitting outside with them like that was different.

She watched how they interacted with each other. They were like a big family joking around and eating together. She could see why the grief had been so immense when they had lost people the last time. They would have all felt that loss because they were close.

She had struggled to create an environment like that for Brit in their tiny trailer home, but it was something she had always yearned for. Before her mother had left, she remembered they used to host many parties and barbeques in the backyard. Wolves were social creatures, they preferred to live in packs—maybe that was why her mother used to love hosting.

Would she be like that? Would she crave a social setting like the pack had?

"Have some more meat," a man said while he picked up a platter of assorted meat from the table. "The baby needs a lot of this so he grows strong."

"It's a girl," she muttered without thinking.

"I suppose it's about time we had a princess," the man laughed, then stopped abruptly. "Girls need to grow up strong, too. Eat as much as you want."

She wondered if the man had stopped because he realised he'd said too much. And once again, she pretended not to understand it.

By lunchtime, she had probably spoken to more people than she had ever done in her life. She felt included. Like she was one of them.

Was that because they were waiting for her to give birth safely before they killed her, or they genuinely liked her? That was something she would probably never know.

The pull towards Jackson grew stronger, so intense she couldn't ignore it anymore. With a sigh, she stood, stretched, and told them she had to go back to check on Jackson.

"I think we'll be here for a while. Come and hang out anytime," Marjorie smiled.

She was almost at the steps when the back of her neck prickled. She had ignored the few negative feelings she'd felt all morning, but she couldn't ignore this one. That was a lot of hatred directed at her. The hair on the back of her neck rose, and goosebumps formed on her arms. Fear inched down her spine like ice. She felt the same heavy air she had sensed when they had been attacked.

Slowly, she turned to look. Too many people were in the tents and walking around, and no one seemed focused on her.

But the evil was there. Somewhere.

"Miss Layla."

She jumped when she heard Faith's voice at the top of the steps.

"Mr King wants to see you. You can't put it off any longer."

Her shoulders slumped. What would her punishment be this time?