15. Fifteen

fifteen

E vera and I ate breakfast together, which she cooked. Sadly, her eggs weren’t nearly as good as Penn’s, though I wasn’t about to share my culinary critique. Cooking sucked, so I’d take whatever appeared in front of me.

Speaking of Penn, I had yet to see his surly face today, which I appreciated after the previous night. My tangled words haunted me. Why had I said anything? What had stopped me from demanding he put me down? Where had my ice princess persona been when I needed her most?

“I can come back whenever,” Evera was saying as we finished rinsing the plates and loading them in the dishwasher. “Your babysitter okayed it.”

“Penn?” I asked, as though she might’ve meant someone else.

Evera arched an eyebrow. “Do you have a second shadow you haven’t told me about?”

“Not that I know of.” I cocked my head to the side and narrowed my eyes. “When did you talk to him about it?”

She twisted her hair into a bun on top of her head, eyeing me with interest. “Last night. When he told me to get my ass off his bed.”

I frowned. “Did he actually say that?”

Evera rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Not in those exact words,” she admitted.

I fought a smirk, which brought back the memory of Penn asking me what I was so happy about. Blood rushed to my cheeks.

“Where was I while this was happening?” I asked, sounding just as flustered as I felt.

“You were already asleep in your bed when I came upstairs.” Her gaze searched me for a long, uncomfortable moment. “You’re being weird.”

“No, I’m not,” I said too quickly.

Evera’s eyes rounded. “Did something happen between you two?” she demanded.

“No.” I shook my head. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

She leaned back against the counter, eyes fixing on my face. “Is it? I mean, he’s not hideous. His personality needs a makeover, but maybe a good roll in the snowbanks would loosen him up.”

“He’s Finneus’s brother,” I reminded her.

“Yes…,” she agreed before hesitating.

“Spill,” I demanded.

“It’s just… He’s been visiting your father.” She sighed. “I didn’t know whether you’d want to know. Mom said he goes a lot in the middle of the night but never stays long.”

“I see,” I said, not sure what to make of the information.

Evera retrieved a dishwasher tablet from beneath the sink and secured it in the little compartment. She closed the door and tapped the buttons until the machine started making whooshing noises.

“Will you be okay for a few hours?” she asked.

It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Finneus has no reason to kill me today. I haven’t done anything to piss him off.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Can you keep it that way until I return?”

“No promises.”

Evera still wore my clothes, and I found her a snug pair of boots and a jacket for the walk home. She hugged me tightly and whispered in my ear.

“Some walls should crumble.”

I returned to my bedroom after she left, curling up in the pillows with my father’s book of fairytales. The pictures told enough of the stories that I didn’t need to understand the words. Honestly, nothing about the contents of the book mattered. Just holding the tome made me feel closer to him, and my heart ached a little less.

The front door opened and closed loudly about an hour after Evera left. My stomach dropped. Penn. I didn’t want to face him, yet part of me itched just to get it over with. The conversation would be awkward, but I’d just explain what I meant, and we’d never speak of it again.

Penn paced back and forth downstairs for several minutes, his heavy boots clomping loudly on the hardwood. Finally, he stomped up the steps and pounded on my door.

“I only accept gentlemen callers who wear smiles,” I announced before I could see him.

Penn cracked the door just enough for his head to fit through. The corners of his mouth twitched, but never fully turned upward. “Get dressed.” He backed away.

“Wait. Where are we going? What am I supposed to wear?” I called after him, brow furrowing.

“Something warm,” he said after a moment. He closed my door without another word.

Had Finneus summoned me? No. He preferred his dolls in dresses. Did that mean Penn was taking me somewhere? I couldn’t decide if that was a good thing. I longed to leave my house to do anything besides attend one of Finneus’s fetes.

I slid on my thickest pair of jeans and layered three tops, including a white wool sweater with a hood and hand-warming front pocket.

I did a quick makeup job, just enough to even out my skin and avoid reality for a little longer.

When I finally emerged, Penn sat on my couch, texting furiously. Whatever he was talking about must have been engrossing, because I had to clear my throat to get his attention. Penn stiffened and turned around, darkening the phone screen so I couldn’t read his messages.

The blue in his eyes became more prominent as his gaze swept over me.

“Where are your shoes?” he asked.

My nostrils flared. “You sound like my father,” I said before I thought better of it.

Tense silence filled the living room. Penn’s intense stare unnerved me, yet I held his gaze. His irises swirled like small whirlpools. I wanted to know what went on inside Penn’s head, to hear the thoughts he didn’t share with the world.

Eventually, Penn lowered his gaze and muttered, “Basil was a good man, so I’ll take that as a compliment.”

I nearly asked him about his visits to the Gold Cave. Why had he brought my father’s body to such a sacred place when Finneus forbade mourning him? Why did he make pilgrimages to pay respects to a man his alpha had declared a traitor?

I held my tongue, afraid that asking pointed questions might get me answers I didn’t want to hear.

“I was going to wear my brown boots… They’re already by the door,” I said at last, sidestepping his comment about my father.

“Can you walk a while in them?” he asked, standing and stretching.

His navy hoodie rode up an inch to expose his hard stomach. I’d seen him naked, yet there was something oddly sensual about only seeing that small part of Penn, just a sampling of the overall package.

“Drake?” he prompted.

“Um, yeah, they’re super comfortable,” I said.

“Good. The road will only take us so far.” In typical Penn fashion, he didn’t elaborate. He jerked his chin toward the front door. “Come on. I don’t want to make the return trip in the dark.”

I slid on my boots and grabbed a peplum-style wool coat, declaring myself ready. Penn didn’t bother with the extra layer.

Donnelle and Elton were on the porch, both in wolf form. I thought Penn might release them from their guard duties while he and I embarked on whatever journey he had in store. That didn’t happen. Instead, he gave them strict instructions to hold their posts and refuse entry to anyone while we were away.

I only half listened to Penn’s list of commands; I was more interested in the giant truck sitting on the street in front of my place. It was emerald green with gold stripes on the sides. A lot of Ophiuchus wolves had vehicles, even though they were a bit unnecessary in our world. It was much easier to shift and run between locations. We reserved human methods of traveling for when we visited their cities.

Was it sad that I hoped that was our destination? No one in the mortal world knew what happened in the Snake Mountains. They would never understand our ways. And right about now, the thought of getting lost among people who didn’t know me sounded more relaxing than a spa.

“Is that our ride?” I asked as he steered me down the front walk toward the truck.

Penn didn’t answer. He did, however, unlock the passenger door first and offered me a hand up. I grabbed the door handle instead and hoisted myself into the cab. For once, I didn’t mean to be contrary. I just didn’t want to feel the warmth of his rough fingers on mine.

He climbed in beside me and started the engine. It was an odd sound that broke the silence settled over the valley. Penn shifted the truck into drive and headed away from town. Quiet punk rock played on the radio.

A comment about his musical choices nearly burst out. Then I noticed his fingers tapping out the beat on the steering wheel. I undid the buttons on my coat, suddenly feeling flushed.

Penn didn’t drag his gaze from the road as he reached down and turned on the air conditioner.

“It’s fine. I just wore too many layers,” I said.

I rarely came this way when I stretched my wolf legs—there wasn’t much to see besides a few random houses and a lot of snow. A layer of ice covered the roadway, and Penn drove cautiously to avoid skidding.

“Where are we going?” I asked as the song changed to something that made Penn tap out a faster rhythm with his thumbs.

I unbuttoned my coat the rest of the way and shrugged out of the sleeves. Air-conditioning blasted in my face as the outside temperature hovered around zero. Still, my skin grew warmer and warmer beneath my clothes.

He still didn’t tear his eyes from the road. “I have a weekly errand I run. Thought you might want to tag along to get out of the house.”

“To where?” I pressed, regretting the tank top.

“You’ll see,” he said.

I leaned back against the buttery leather seat cushions and tried a different approach. “Finneus said it was okay to take me this far from his spying eyes?”

“Don’t get any funny ideas,” Penn replied stiffly, ignoring my commentary on his brother. “We aren’t leaving pack lands.”

Unfortunately, I was already having funny ideas, and they had nothing to do with escape. When had I become so needy that I latched on to the first guy who did something nice for me?

Of course, transporting my father to the Gold Cave wasn’t the same as helping to change a flat tire. What he’d done was significant.

At first, I wondered if maybe Penn was taking me to see my father. Once we passed the looming Silver Cliffs, I knew that wasn’t the destination. My ears popped as we lost altitude. The snowdrifts weren’t nearly as bad as farther up the mountain; I even saw green foliage peeking through the frozen landscape in patches.

Penn finally turned off the main road and started down a winding passage that ran around the middle of Mt. Alpha. I realized then where we were going—to the Widows’ Den, where many of the oldest members of our pack lived. As far as I knew, none of them were short of a hundred years old. I knew their names and their family trees, though I’d only visited a few times many years before, when my great-grandmother lived there.

My father and I hadn’t returned since she died.

Penn turned down an unpaved road. Even with the truck in four-wheel drive, the ride turned bumpy. The snow became more prevalent again as we started up toward the peak of a different mountain.

Finally, Penn pulled the truck to the side of the road and turned off the engine. He turned to me, eyebrows raised.

“Does this answer your question?”

I nodded. “The Widows’ Den.”

“I do a monthly supply run for them, and they needed to stock up before the next snowfall.” I watched him for a beat too long as he got out of the truck, then climbed out as well.

Gaia, my inner monologue sounds like Evera , I thought with a shiver.

I followed Penn’s lead and joined him around back at the bed of the truck. He unlatched the tailgate and started pulling bags with glass jars forward.

“When you said supplies, I thought you meant food.” I stared at the cargo. “What is all this stuff?”

Penn paused for a second but didn’t look my way. “It’s ointments and healing tonics from a market in Rome.”

My eyes widened. “A fae market?”

He shook his head and yanked out a box of what appeared to be wine bottles. “Mostly human vendors. But if you know what to ask for, there are some fae.”

Penn handed me two bags, neither particularly heavy. That left six bags and the box. Penn started looping straps over his shoulders until he had three bags over each one. Then he held the box under an arm while he slammed the tailgate shut with his free hand.

“It’s about two miles to the den. The terrain isn’t bad, though,” he told me. “You good with those for that long?” He jerked his head toward my two bags.

I frowned. “I’m not completely useless. You want some help?”

“Nope, it’s all balanced,” he said with a shrug.

Penn started for a path several yards away and turned at a snow-covered passage. His strides were long and confident, and I hurried to keep pace. He was clearly caught up in his own thoughts, because he seemed to remember himself before slowing to match my shorter gait.

This annoyed me. It felt like he thought me lesser. I started walking faster to prove I could carry the load of jars and keep up. Penn said nothing as he walked beside me.

Admittedly, the bags grew heavy quickly, as did my breathing. Penn eyed me with concern.

“I’m good,” I insisted.

Penn’s lips twitched, but he said nothing.

I marched on, feeling the puddle of sweat forming at the small of my back. The leather of my boot rubbed the arch of one foot, and I felt a blister forming. I increased the pace again. The sooner we arrived, the better.

“You don’t need to set a world record to prove you’re capable,” Penn called.

I shot him a glare over my shoulder. My boot slid on a rock, and I lost my balance. I tried to catch myself, but the heavy bags of jars made it impossible. Before I knew it, I toppled off the path and over the side into a ravine.

“Drake!” Penn hollered loud enough to wake the spirits that supposedly haunted Widow’s Mountain.

My spine hit a branch, and pain exploded at the base. The sacks slipped from my arms. Rocks and twigs clawed at my face as I rolled. My left leg caught on something and twisted at an odd angle. My muffled, pain-filled shriek cut short when I finally slammed to a halt on the frozen ground.

At first, I couldn’t catch my breath. The fall knocked all the wind out of me. I blinked up at the blue sky and attempted to wiggle my fingers and toes. My left foot wouldn’t obey my command, and the other three extremities tingled.

Not good.

I moved my head back and forth in the snowy leaves. There was a lump forming at the base of my skull.

It could be worse , I thought.

I tried to sit up. My leg screamed like a banshee belting a ballad of pain. The world went black for several beats. The sound of his voice pulled me back, and then he was on his knees in the snow beside me.

“I lost the jars,” I wheezed.

His hard gaze locked with mine. “Fuck the jars.”