I like how she’s passionate and loyal. How she takes care of people in a brisk, no-nonsense manner. How she can get so lost in a book that the world around her loses meaning.
How she was determined to build something and did.
How she’s fair, never treating me like I’m other.
How she smells like roses and has hair like fire.
But I doubt she’ll ever feel the same.
So, I tuck away the pain of never getting to hold her—one sting in a lifetime of emotional wounds—and I swim until the sky booms with thunder and flashes with lightning.
31
Mor
Rain poundsagainst the windows in a constant barrage that I normally find soothing. Nothing better than staying inside when there’s a rainstorm, curled in a chair to read or wrapped up in soft blankets as I drift off to sleep.
But this evening, the rattle of droplets on the roof can’t soothe away the restless energy fed by thoughts of Bo Folan.
I push back the covers and roll off the plush mattress, abandoning my attempt at sleep to descend from my bedroom and try to work through the grid of my own emotions. But the colors overlaying my skin have always been difficult to discern.
All I know is, the air is cool, but my skin is flushed. Memories of his forearms flexing while shelving a book continue to play through my mind, and I occasionally wonder what it would be like if Bo wrapped those arms around me. If he held me close and never let go.
“What is wrong with me?” I mutter, pressing hard fingers against my forehead, as if I might be able to massage away the new rise of urges.
“I don’t know. What is wrong with you?”
The question has me starting in surprise, and I realize that my sister isn’t twined with her werewolf lover a floor above me, but instead is perched on my research table just next to the kitchen. Ame cradles a steaming mug in her hands, and though she stares at me, the rest of her body faces the back window. In the muted light of the moon, a torrential downpour rages just past the glass.
“What are you doing up?”
Ame always goes to bed at a reasonable time. Mainly because, at eight p.m., Jack usually announces, “It’s bedtime,” then carries her upstairs. Like he’s had enough of functioning in the world and he’s finally reached a socially acceptable time of day to sequester Ame in his den to enjoy all to himself.
I might protest the move if my sister didn’t grin wide every single time. If she’s happy, then I’m happy.
“Anna had shoulder surgery today.” She names Jack’s mom, a human woman who moved to Folk Haven not long after Jack settled here with us. “Everything went fine, but he felt better, staying over with her, just in case.”
Ame sips her tea, and a warm beverage on this cold, wet evening sounds perfect to me.
As I refill the teapot, I ask, “You didn’t want to go too? I’m surprised Jack was willing to part with you for a whole night.”
My sister goes back to staring out the window. “I think Anna would like to have him to herself for a little bit. Have her son’s undivided attention.” She shrugs. “Jack can be a little too focused on me if I’m in the room.”
“I’m betting it’s the same even when you’re not in the room.” I spoon loose chamomile tea into my infuser. “He’s obsessed with you.”
Ame frowns.
A worry pricks at my nerves. “Does that bother you? Do you … not feel the same?”
My sister is self-contained and developed top-notch emotional shields years ago, so it’s hard to tell what she’s feeling sometimes. I imagine having the loving intensity of Jack focused on her all day and night could be wearing, especially if she’s realizing she doesn’t have the same level of devotion to him.
“I feel the same. Jack is mine.” There’s a warning note in her voice, but when I glance up from pouring the hot water into my mug, I realize the tone wasn’t directed at me. More like my sister was putting the vibe out into the world.
A warning to the universe.
“But, yes,” she continues, “how much he loves me bothers me.”
“Explain.” I probably should be less demanding, but she’s used to it.
