His thumb swiped away invisible tears of laughter from underneath his eyes. “Shit, I’d pay money to see you say that to his face.”
“It’d cost you a pretty penny,” I quipped.
Feeling Corbin’s chest rise with a hefty inhale, he held it a second before slowly releasing it with renewed composure.
“There’s a lot to Bale that’s best left unpacked. Weboth have our baggage, but Bale? He carries his with the weight of one too many souls.”
Finally, he shifted to look down at me, tipping my chin with his fingers so I could meet his gaze for what came next.
“He thinks no one sees what’s underneath his stitches and seams. However, the truth is that it’s not what’s underneath them. It’s what they’re made of.”
He leaned over and pressed a kiss to my forehead. The gesture came as naturally as if it had been done a thousand times prior. Then, he continued to shed more light on Bale.
“He doesn’t hate you. He reserves that particular emotion for a very select few. As for us?” He shrugged indifferently. “Bale is aware of my feelings for you. He’s just being a bastard about admitting anything that doesn’t involve self-deprecation and contempt for people who try to see the man behind the curtain.”
Corbin grinned and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And that includes how certain kitty-cats make him feel like he’s made of more than just a bunch of straw.”
Hearing him suggest that Bale had feelings for me underneath all that infuriating snark and emotional whiplash sent a conflicted shiver down my spine.
If Corbin noticed the slight shudder, he didn’t say anything. Gave me the space to allow the gears in my head to turn with this fresh insight on his best friend.
Recalling my initial assessment during my dance withBale, that he didn’t even let Corbin see all of him, I reevaluated my stance. It was with sudden clarity that I was certain that Bale was just blind to his true self.
If a blind man tells you he’s blind while using a white cane to find his way, how many people question the man? In this case, I wasn’t questioning the man; Bale was figuratively blind to his true self, that much I knew. I questioned the cane he relied on to guide his path.
Use of fear as a means of obstacle avoidance. Well, I refused to be avoided just because he didn’t want to find his way.
About the time I surfaced from my reeling thoughts, I shifted my head to look at Corbin. His eyes were shut, and his breathing had slowed. The sight warmed something inside my chest at how he looked particularly boyish when his features were slack with slumber.
I curled up on top of him, nuzzling his neck and breathing in his scent deeply. A quiet purr rolled through my vocal cords, a sign of my contentment.
There were still so many things I needed to know. Not just about Corbin and Bale, but about this town. What were the odds that it was home to two shifters in such a tiny population of people? I had lived in a massive metropolitan city before moving here and hadn’t once found someone who was more than ordinary.
Something prickled at my spirit, telling me that a little prowling was in order if I wanted to get some answers. With day two of the festival looming hoursaway, I would see to it that I put my curiosity and instinct to good use.
Mrs. Sampson at the library had discouraged me from digging through the town archives, noting that it was a pastime better suited for grey-haired widows and men who valued the scent of prehistoric dust.
However, I recalled a table set up for library cards at the festival last night. If she were otherwise busy tending to activities in the courtyard, I could do a little exploration in the basement of the library.
I’d rather be surrounded by books with discolored pages and faded ink than bobbing for apples anyway.
Stretching languidly in Corbin’s arms, the last thing that crossed my mind before my own exhaustion caught up with me was my Aunt Laurel’s obscure words of wisdom.
We see crows as harbingers of death and messengers of ill omens, but I’ve never met a crow who harms a shadow. Be a shadow wrapped in fur and silk, and fate’s golden threads will bind you tightly to those worthy of all your secrets.
It seemed fate had its sewing needle out and was ready to patch me up in places where only the shadows could reach.
Chapter
Fifteen
The festival was in full swing on its second day. There was nothing but crisp autumn leaves tossed around like confetti, mountains of pumpkins at each display, and bundles of dried corn stalks tied to every lamppost.
The scent of the harvest hung thickly in the air, and for those of us who could tap into the underlying vibe, something darker lurked beneath it all. It was the same sinister undertone that tainted every fall festival.
Standing just outsidePop’s Pub & Grub, which didn’t open for another couple of hours, someone passed me holding a roasted corn on the cob. They used its peeled-back husk as a makeshift handle while biting into the messy kernels. The whole thing was drenched in butter, turning a grotesque shade of orange from all the excess seasonings that had bled into it, like some sort of bastardized trophy of theseason.
A five-point leaf the color of goldenrod being consumed by the blazing red of a roaring bonfire fluttered down from the sky. When it landed on my shoulder, I flicked it off the worn material of my navy chore jacket. The temperature today was cooler than usual for an autumn day, forcing me to layer up with a burgundy button-up over my black tee.
