Even if he never knows the way I feel about him, it doesn’t matter. I’m a realist. I know I don’t have a chance with someone as sunshiny as him, but that doesn’t mean I won’t do everything in my power to make him smile.
A birdlike whistle from outside makes my ears perk up because there’s only one person who gets my attention that way.
I reach the entrance to my place as Lynx appears from the tree line, Bob, his adoptive bobcat, trailing close behind.
“Got a nice, fat rabbit this week,” he says, holding up the large pot, forearms and biceps more distinct under the weight. “Should do you for a couple of days.”
That means stew, and Lynx’s stews are some of the greatest things I’ve ever tasted. He passes me to walk inside and tuck the pot away in my fridge.
“Heat it up whenever you’re hungry.”
I tap my chest twice in thanks, but he pretends not to see me. Lynx drops by twice a week with food since he knows I don’tcook, then normally leaves right away, but this time, instead of disappearing, he rocks back on his heels.
“So.” His deep voice comes out cold as a snake. “I heard you’re working with those outsiders?”
News sure travels fast. The way I see it, the brothers need an electrician, and I am one. Well, I was in my life before here. If I can help them, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t, considering they’ll find someone else for the job anyway.
And this way, I get to spend time with Kennedy, doing something that will make his life easier.
Not that I can or will tell Lynx any of those things. It’s not like Ican’ttalk. My voice works. Apparently. Sometimes the anxiety of letting out words is barely present, but most of the time, it’s like the words are strangling me. Like my whole body is braced against them, at war with myself over setting them free. Because once the words are out there, I can’t get them back, and people have a real skill for using those words against you.
“Why don’t you ever talk? What, you think you’re too good for us?”
I shake the memories away.
It’s easier to let things happen around me rather than to me. The soundless, inoffensive shadow that goes unnoticed and forgotten.
Because Lynx is still waiting on an answer, I nod.
“They’re using you,” he says in a low, deadly voice. “They’re mining our resources and disrupting our homes, and you’re helping them do it.”
Again, I say nothing, only blink at him, waiting for him to get bored of this and leave.
“Don’t let them walk all over you.”
While I agree that Hudson and Hartwell are more than capable of using people and spitting them out, there’s no wayKennedy could. He’s not cruel. It’s one of the many reasons I gravitate toward him.
Lynx can sense my disinterest in the conversation, so he changes topics. “Wilde is fucking one of them. The oldest one.” He paces closer to the entrance of the mine and looks warily up at the sky. “First twins. Then Wilde falling under their spell, and now you. Something bad is coming. The forest feels dark.”
Since meeting Kennedy, the forest feels like pure sunshine. I wait until Lynx looks at me and give him my most skeptical expression.
“You don’t believe me? Bob feels it too, don’t you, Bob?”
Like it can understand him, the huge thing stands and lets out a creepy demon sound.
Whether that was supposed to be confirmation or not, I’m not about to take an animal’s word for it, especially when the animal willingly chose Lynx to bond with. It doesn’t strike me as having sound judgment.
I slap my thigh loudly, pulling Lynx’s attention back my way.
“What?”
I do it again, then make a slashing motion over it before pointing to Bob, then my throat. If he wants to talk aboutbad,I’ll remind him how that’s already happened, thanks to him and his animal attacking Wilde.
Lynx’s hand flexes toward the machete strapped to his leg. “Wilde touched me. Of course Bob was going to attack. The leg was an accident, thanks to his pretty boy toy. Trust an outsider to not know what happens when you push a man with a knife.” He spits on the ground. “Could have killed me. No one cares about that though, do they?” He turns his hazel eyes on me and gives me a narrow, searching stare. “Who would make your rabbit stew then?”
I make sure he’s holding my eyes when I tap my heart again, forcing him to see it this time.
His gaze darkens, and he looks away. “Right. Enjoy. Don’t forget to heat it over one seventy.” I’m sure I’m not supposed to hear his mutters as he walks away, but I do. “Don’t want you getting sick.”
