Chapter 2 - Faye

Things weren't the same in the townhouse without Kylie living across the way. It didn't matter that someone named Turner had taken her place, or that he played loud K-pop early in the morning, or that he had a knack for making birdhouses that he freely gifted to me. While I liked having some company, it just wasn't the same without my best friend.

The foyer floorboards creaked, pausing my count of the dollar bills in my hands—it sounded like Turner was late for his morning shift at the beach. Local fishing was a huge source of revenue for our pack, so our farm managers were rotating groups of water shifters to scour the ocean for the good stuff. Being that Turner was a rare gator shifter, he was usually best at diving into rivers and streams where he could sit still to catch unsuspecting fish.

Once the door groaned shut and the lock faintly clicked into place, I resumed my counting. A large stack of dusty one-dollar bills sat on the desk in the nook overlooking the rear garden where newly hung birdhouses painted in crisp marigold and scarlet attracted the morning crew. White paint clung to the edges of the squares holding the glass panes in a grid style. Faint echoes of a time before this place was turned into a townhouse.

Glumly, I set aside my remaining stack of bills. The numbers didn't matter much anymore. What was I saving for now? A new set of running shoes? It wasn't like I paid much rent. What little Blake requested was merely for upkeep of the property, and really, I had it mostly in tow between me and Kylie's mate, Fred. The pipes leaked every so often, and sometimes a bolt came loose in a doorway, but mostly, the place was just a rustic set of gorgeous vinyl floors and sleek rectangular edges.

Behind me was a wide living area with a doorway leading into a lush bedroom of sage silk and fluffy white rugs. Saggy teal chairs flanked the doorway, sat next to a table leading to a wider view of the land, including the barns. An older box television sat on top of a burnt coffee-brown entertainment center filled with movies. I didn't watch much. I worked more than anything. And then after that, I just liked to jog. And hike. And swim.

My brows furrowed. And run .

I lifted the pile of bills and recounted. Then counted one more time. Then I set them inside an old leather shoebox that still smelled of mink oil. After wrapping a tight band around the box, I shoved it under my desk and kicked it back toward the open panel in the wall. Late last year, I discovered the little hidey hole and used it to store my extra cash. I needed to protect it. For some reason.

I mean, eventually, I would have a good reason. Eventually. Wasn't that always how it worked in packs where I trusted them too much?

Two sharp knocks clapped through the silence of the house. I stared at my bedroom doorway, trying to think of who would possibly want to disturb my morning. Maybe Turner forgot his key. But I could have sworn I heard him lock the door when he left.

After a second, another series of knocks erupted, these three sounding more urgent than the first two. I swept my fingers through my soft blonde hair that spilled down my back and walked onto the landing, staring at the front door at the bottom of the stairs. Just then, as if magically timed, another knock came.

That was impossible. Nobody was able to access the foyer without a key. Blake never mentioned that he was planning to send anyone, and Fred didn't have access either. Kylie had perhaps made a spare key for herself, but then again, she would have said something about that during one of our morning jogs. My heart leaped into my throat as I thought of yet another impossible factor, one that had no earthly reason for occurring to me.

A fog encompassed my mind as my eyelids fluttered. Every one of my senses was consumed except for my intuition—and that meant a prediction was coming.

Something lost from the past. Something that forever lasts.

I gasped as I regained a hold on my surroundings. I gripped the banister, steadied my stance, and touched my sternum, forcing myself to continue breathing.

My magic was rusty from not being used much, but that clairvoyant poem was as loud as someone whispering into my ear. It didn't make sense like most of my predictions, and I had a bad feeling about descending the stairs into the lower living area that was sparsely decorated compared to the second floor. One more knock encouraged me to flee the last few steps and snatch open the door.

It was his eyes that caught my initial attention. A rush of blue invading a pool of violet like a swirl of galaxies in a milky midnight sky. Onyx hair as wild as hanging vines tickled the corners of his eyes, crow's feet etched those ocular ovals and enhanced the squint he gave me, curved by thick brows matching his hair color. His half-mast squint sharpened his grin on his wolfish face, and he had a large nose with a notch in the bridge just at eye-level that I had put there myself with my own fist.

Way back when.

Something lost .

Oh, I hadn't lost this. I hadn't even thought about it in many years. Because it wasn't important anymore. He wasn't important enough to take up space in my brain for free anymore. Multiple meditations and podcasts had cleared out that wreckage, only for it to come crashing back in an instant. Hurt, anger, pain .

My eyes trailed his form—and that was enough to slack my jaw. The guy who used to be a scrawny skater nobody was now a buff, olive-skinned, tattooed hunk of muscle wearing dusty black jeans that cupped his package and a flannel button-down that had been a bright green at some point and was now a rather greyish grass color from so many years of washing it repeatedly.

His hand came into view, large and veiny, rough and textured in his palms from labor, hosting a pointed index finger poised toward his face. "Up here, Cherry Pie."

Fierce indignation swept through me in hot and cold waves. A mixture of feelings swarmed my body after that, lust and betrayal taking the helm. This wasn't fair or right for him to show up now at my doorstep. The same doorstep that was behind a locked door.

I glared up at him, my heartbeat caught somewhere I didn't want it to be—at the apex of my thighs. "No."

I tried to slam the door only to find his thick arm blocking the door's passage. He leaned against it as casually as he would any doorway. "Come on, Faye Lynne. Don't you want to see an old friend?"

I pushed harder. "Hell no ."

Without back-up, I was no match for Hector Shaw. His square and buff shoulders were enough to prod the door open, sending me stumbling back toward one of the plush rose couches. The baroque carpet with the frilly gold border I liked so much that I got from the thrift shop in town for a mere five bucks decided to catch my white sock, and then I was really in for some trouble. My glass coffee table was about to break my fall.

My life flashed before my eyes, a dozen tasks undone, and every time Hector had called me Piggy Tails and Snorty. Sure, I was a thick girl back then, and I was still thick, but now I had muscle to go with my thickness, a tapered waist that would have gotten me a modeling contract in the plus-size fashion world if I tried hard enough, and a loveable set of squishy thighs that would probably get a lot of compliments from men online if I dared to show myself off.

Too bad nobody has ever touched them except me.

This is how I die , I thought. Just gonna smash my head to bits in front of my childhood bully .

Before I could properly crack my skull by falling backward on the glass coffee table, Hector caught my waist and set me on my feet. He held me steady for a second, gripping my hips, squishing me right through the spandex shorts I only wore around the house in my favorite delicate pastel pink. His breath caught as he pressed me firmly to his rock-hard chest, a plane of muscle that felt like armor beneath the fabric of his shirt.

My eyelids fluttered. I noticed how much my breasts plumped up in the sports bra I wore, the same shade as my spandex shorts. What were usually my comfort clothes now felt like a far too revealing outfit in front of the guy who had effectively ruined my life.

But this close, he smelled like burnt autumn leaves with a dash of rain. It was like experiencing the humidity before a thunderstorm while tucked away safely in the nook of a giant tree, wrapped in fall leaves with tiny twigs sticking out of the rustic crimson and sunflower yellow.

I shook him off, shoving his chest firmly without pushing myself back. I wasn't about to stumble into another mistake.

Not again.

Hector took my push seriously, something he rarely had done back when we were kids. He crossed his arms over his chest and mimicked by fierce expression. Yet, on his face, it looked so much more like he was commanding me to listen to him.

And part of me wanted to obey.

"What are you doing here?" I managed to snap. "I mean, how did you find me? How did you get in ?"

"Your buddy let me into the foyer."

I frowned. "I didn't hear you—"

He pointed to his feet—that were bootless. "Took ‘em off. Know how much you hate dirt."

"So, now you want to be considerate? I think it's a little late for that, Hector."

"It's not too late to go back and change things."

My arms tightened across my chest, hurting my nipples but somehow giving me the strength to stand there. Without his hands on my hips, I felt like I was going to fall. And that was just plain ridiculous to feel when I was still mad at him for his nasty prank from several years ago.

I avoided his crisp gemstone eyes. "I'm not in the Silverfang Creek anymore. I don't know why you're even here."

"You've gotten stronger."

Not enough to keep the door closed. That meant two things—physical and emotional.

But I refused to say it aloud.

Hector shook his head. "Your stance, your arms—" He unfolded his arms and closed the gap between us to behold my biceps. "You're thick and thick."

"Don't inspect me like an animal." Yet despite my urgent demand, I couldn't step away from him.

Something about his touch felt insistent, like he needed something from me.

Something that forever lasts.

I tried to resist him with every reminder of what he'd done to me. The horrible jeers, the rotten nicknames, the terrible paranoia that came with looking over my shoulder to see if he was following me home—and the heart-wrenching realization that he was indeed trailing after me. He always passed it off as being besties with my brother, but his eyes stayed hooked on me most of the time.

Especially when my parents had very loud things to say about my weight.

I squared my shoulders. "You always called me a cow."

"Because you never moo-ved out of the way."

"Save the jokes for Clifton."

He hummed while tracing my collarbone. "Actually, he likes to be called Cliff now."

A moment passed with him doing nothing more than following the sharp rod of my collarbone leading to my throat. With two fingers, he touched my chest just above my sternum and exhaled slowly.

I swallowed hard. "How… is my brother doing?"

"You'd know if you called him." His gaze seemed to slice right through me. "He misses you, Faye Lynne."

"Nobody calls me that anymore."

"Does anyone bother to call you?"

It was a hard jab as rude as his current expression, but I did everything in my power to keep him from witnessing my reaction to it. Bullies fed on reactions. That was the only thing my mother ever taught me. Dad always said to ignore it.

Ignoring it never truly worked. Yet responding to Hector didn't do anything either. I was in a lose-lose situation, and that was why I ran so far away from him—from everyone—and kept their names out of my mouth since I left.

"You can't get to me anymore," I retorted, "I know all your tricks."

"Really? Is that so?"

He swept his hand to my lower back and pulled me close, shocking me into freeze mode. Everything I learned since leaving West Virginia left me as quick as my resolve. Whatever personal training I'd accomplished in the gym was gone. I was a helpless teenager with round cheeks and chubby assets, including my bottom. I was back to being that dorky girl who got compared to fat animals.

My lower lip plumped up. Pouting never worked, but in moments like this when my rage was beyond comprehension, I couldn't stop my lip from doing it. Hector honed in on my mouth like it was the only thing he came to look at by showing up unexpectedly at my door.

I shivered. "How…?"

His fingers climbed my spine, straightening my posture and knocking the wind right out of me in both a metaphorical and physical sense. Those glittering blue-violet eyes kept my focus, forcing me to tune everything else out.

"It seems you don't," he whispered. "But that's fine. You're strong. That's what our pack needs."

I snapped back to reality. " Your pack rejected me."

"Well, they didn't exactly reject you so much as they—"

"Made fun of me for falling for your ruse." I pressed my hands to his chest, but he didn't budge. "You hurt me, Hector. A lot. Or did you forget so easily?"

He frowned as his eyes drifted to my throat. I got the feeling he was zoning out mentally into the past rather than trying to sneak a peek at my tits. "I didn't forget. I'm sorry."

Now, it was my turn to frown. "What did you say?"

He pulled me into a heavy embrace, one that spoke volumes to the remorse he felt. This wasn't good. I didn't want him to apologize. I had packed my rage and disappointment into a neat little box with a nice label and everything. I wrapped it in brown paper, tied it with string, and buried it.

But with this hug—with his abrupt appearance—he was forcing me to dig that box out of the rough earth and expose it to the light. There was nothing in there now except a fully decayed heart. Why was he trying to torture me like this? Why was he making me look at it?

I managed to push him off and turned away, minding the edge of the carpet so I could get across the room. I covered my mouth while fighting back tears.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "I want to make it right."

I turned to him with angry tears blurring my vision. "This is just another joke." My gaze flew over his shoulder as I sniffled. "Come out, Clifton. I know you're hiding out there." Though I tried, I couldn't keep my voice steady.

I was cracking open like a fragile egg.

"He's not with me."

I glared at him. "He's always with you."

Hector shook his head. "Not today. He's preparing your parents for your arrival."

My heart sank to the pit of my stomach. "I'm not going back to that prison with you."

"I'm afraid you don't have much of a choice, Cherry Pie."

"Stop calling me that."

He smiled tightly, and I could see him hiding so much more there, things that were too impossible to be true. Was that a hint of desire I saw twinkle in his eyes, or was he just satisfied with my new and improved curvy form matched with some confidence? "I'm alpha now. I was elected last night by the very Gods that mind our magical world even while demons clawed our protected land. Which means one thing."

With wide eyes, I stepped back. "No… Don't tell me you…"

Oh Goddess, the way my heart fluttered at the thought of what Hector was about to say. Now, he was letting the smile widen to brighten his features and eyes as he approached me casually.

"You know the rules, Faye Lynne."

I shook my head. "I can't. I won't."

"It's pack law."

"That's not my pack anymore."

His smile burned bright. "I can pick anyone—pack member or not."

"Please, Hector. I don't want to go back. You can't make me."

"I don't have to make you," he whispered as he closed the space between us, "because I know for a fact that you're already my mate."