A small smile lifts his lips. He’s unreasonably handsome, and it seems wrong to see such beauty on a person who ran me down like I was wild game he was hunting. The devastatingly sexy upwards curve of his lips feels like a personal affront.
“Now, we go inside. We’ll talk over a drink.”
“I don’t drink much,” I respond. “Do we have to talk?”
“Yes. It’ll be brief. You don’t have to drink—I can get you a soda. We have pretty much everything stocked up.” He takes both my AirPods and returns them to their case, slipping it back into my backpack. “Stay in the car.”
He opens his door, grabs my backpack, and rounds the vehicle. Connor and Seamus exit the car in unison, leaving me alone in the luxurious interior. The three of them meet at the front of the hood and exchange hushed words, occasionally throwing glances in my direction. I wonder if I should tell them they could’ve spoken freely in the car while I had my headphones in. I’ve trained myself to mentally detach from people and their energies when I’m listening to my classical music playlist. It took a while, but I eventually learned to blur out the presence of others and entirely immerse myself in the melodies of specific songs. Sometimes it’s the only way I can sleep.
Connor says something with furrowed brows before turning and walking into the house. Seamus and Dorian stay outside a bit longer, chatting. Seamus slaps Dorian on the shoulder, breezes his gaze over the car, then heads inside, as well. Dorian rounds the car and opens my door for me.
“Am I still safe from swimming with the fishes?” I ask. “Or being buried in a grave? Hey, if you kill me, can you bury me in a specific spot on the mountain? I’d like to be near my pack.”
Dorian stares at me for a long moment before a small smile tips up his lips. He shakes his head with amusement. “Nobody’s killing you. Let’s go inside.”
“Can I have my phone?”
“No. You can have it for school tomorrow.”
“So I’m going to school tomorrow? That’s relieving. I’d lose what little sanity I have left if I missed classes and got behind.” I tilt my head. “It’s surprising that you’re giving me my phoneandletting me go to school.” I watch him closely, searching his eyes. They remain completely blank; he has a masterful poker face on, but his energy hums with calculation. “Oh, you’re gonna bug it tonight. Okay.”
“Do you always just…knowthings?” Dorian questions, taking my arm and gently pulling me out of the car.
I shake my head. “No. That’d be really useful, but no. I don’t know a lot of things—it’s not like I can foresee the future or anything. That would be nice, though. Then I wouldn’t have gone up to the mountain tonight.” I frown at the tear on my shirt, which reveals a bit of my waist. “Or torn my shirt. God, the alpha is such a jerk. I love him and he’s protective of me, but he’s also irritatingly possessive. I have to bribe him every time I try to leave. Last week, he walked me down and tried toget in my carwith me.”
“You have a thing for taming wild beasts?” Dorian asks, gazing at me.
“Not really.Theyhave a thing for claimingme. I’ve seen the alpha run down a rabbit and snap its neck with a single bite, but if one of his wolves gets rough with me—even when it's playful—he puts them in their place. It’s like I said, I think he sees me as a pack member. A weak one in need of protection.”
“Are there any other forest friends you have?” Dorian questions, taking my arm and steering me toward the house. I go willingly, because I suspect running is futile.
“A skulk of foxes on another mountain.”
“Tell me about them,” Dorian requests.
I glance at him, startled. I’m used to people asking me to shut the fuck up, not encouraging me to go on. “Why?”
“I like hearing you talk. You have a soothing voice.”
“Oh.” I pause as he opens a grand wooden door that has alionengraved on it. He leads me into a polished entryway, with a coat closet and ahat rackthat has fedoras reminiscent of those worn by 1960’s gangsters hanging on it, along with a few holsters and…is that a bulletproof vest?Weird.
Beyond the entryway, a maze of hallways branches off in various directions, the walls adorned with intricate moldings and softly illuminated by overhead lights. One to the left leads to a staircase of polished wood, its banister carved with delicate patterns that look like vines. Another hallway to the right is a path to what looks like the kitchen, which gleams with a beautiful marble center island. Straight ahead, the largest opening beckons toward a sitting room.
Dorian leads me straight into the lovely living room. The decorations are simplistic, with a color scheme of navy blue and black. A dark blue furniture set stands proudly before a huge flatscreen TVmounted on the right wall, with a simple black coffee table separating them. An awesome stone-and-marble fireplace holds court on a wall to the left of the entrance, surrounded by bookshelves on either side. The room has a high ceiling, and a bank of windows with tinted glass on the back wall, facing the side of the property. It’s pretty in here—there’s something refined and tasteful yet simultaneously unhinged about this house.
“The foxes,” Dorian prompts, motioning for me to sit on the couch. He sets my backpack down beside it.
“Right,” I say, sinking into the plush navy cushions. “I was hiking last winter when a white-furred vixen happened to dart across my path. She didn’t stop to approach me right then, but she did stalk me for a little while as I walked. After I ate lunch, I offered her a crust of bread from my sandwich. She emerged from the banks of snow to accept it. It was an otherworldly experience. She blended with the snow so seamlessly—it was only her blue,blueeyes and dark pink nose that made her stand out.” I smile as I reminisce. “We stared at each other for a while, she chittered at me, then trotted away. I went back a few days later and she found me again. That time I came armed with treats. She liked the fox-friendly cookies I baked for her and stuck around for a bit longer, even let me give her a stroke on her neck. I started visiting her regularly, and each time, she was more receptive to my touch. Two weeks later, she dumped the most adorable kit in my lap.” My smile grows at the memory, one of my favorite moments with furry friends. “That threw me for a loop, since most animals are really protective of their young, but she just offered hers up to me. I figured that meant she trusted me way more than creatures of the wild should ever trust humans. Shortly after, five more kits came stumbling out of the woods and started falling over each other to climb on me. It wasreally cute. I visit the foxes less frequently than the wolves since they’re less attached to me, just once or twice a month.”
“Have the foxes adopted you?”
I shake my head. “No. They’re not possessive of me like the wolves. They just feel safe around me, and I give them treats.” I grimace. “It was pretty awkward when the vixen dumped a headless squirrel on my lap as a gift. I shuddered at that one, but still gave her a treat. The kits are nippier than the wolf pups, but the biggest kit is protective of me and warns the others to play nice, and the dominant foxes in the skulk have taken to me. They’re really cute.” I smile. “I want to visit them again soon.” A long breath escapes me as I think about the gas bill that visiting all these animals racks up.Murder.“I spend most of my paychecks on gas and supplies for treats, which is tough, but totally worth it to hang out with my furry dudes. What are you doing?”
“Making a drink,” Dorian replies, rifling through a minibar hidden in an antique cupboard by the bookcase. “What do you want? We’ve got most of the usual sodas.”
Huh.We’re really going to talk over a drink. “Sprite, please.” I watch as Dorian fixes himself a drink from a mini fridge, then grabs me a sprite. He hands me the can, taking a seat on the couch beside me, close enough that his leg bumps mine. I shift to the side to get some distance, which he tracks with sharp eyes.
“Right.” He takes a long pull of his drink. “You’re intuitive—alarmingly intuitive. I’d like you to tell me what you think you stumbled on tonight.”
