A second later he thawed, freed from paralysis by his mate’s cry of wordless protest. She did the unthinkable, at least for Willow. She got up in her dad’s space, backed him up to the porch steps. Her voice was high and sharp.
“This is done. We’re done, Daddy.”
Brandon shouted past her at Ezra, as if his daughter were invisible. “Is she in some kind of thrall? Is that why she’s turned on her family?”
Ezra’s torso ached, one rib especially sharp. The overwhelm of his senses, of his feelings too, threatened to shut him down, reduce him to a curled ball on the ground. Brandon and Lisa’s scents were thick as slime on his tongue, blends of everything they felt toward him. Anger, terror, revulsion. He couldn’t take any more. He turned away. He opened the passenger door of Willow’s little car, and she ran and jumped inside.
Brandon’s shouts kept coming. “Can she even say no to you? Are you giving her a lot of dirty diseases?”
Willow let out a loud sob, and the salty tang of her sorrow was almost too much. Ezra shut the door and walked around the car, kept his head down as though Brandon might pitch a brick at him.
“Don’t you dare drive away with my daughter!”
Ezra squeezed his legs under the steering wheel, shut the door, and hoped Willow couldn’t hear the continued conversation on the porch.
“Hismate. Brandon, our baby girl, in bed with…”
“With a werewolf. Forget the lupine crap. They’re werewolves, that’s what we called them for centuries. And now one of them’s got Willow, and I won’t stand for it.”
He adjusted the driver’s seat all the way back, the wheel all the way up, and still had to hunch. Whatever. Lisa began to cry as Ezra drove off. Their voices began to fade with distance.
“I was so proud of you. You tried to protect her.”
“If he gets her pregnant with some kind of filthy hybrid—”
“Oh no. No, not Willow.”
“Well, do you know how it works? Because I don’t. But I won’t have a grandchild that turns into a monster every month. I won’t.”
Even as he lost their voices, the stench of their disgust toward him lingered in Ezra’s nose, in his mouth. He reached across the console, and Willow grabbed his hand like a lifeline. Her composure had melted away. She sobbed for long minutes while Ezra drove.
“Oh, Ez, I’m so sorry.”
“Shhh.” He caressed the back of her hand with his thumb. “Shhh, I’m okay.”
“But what he called you. What my own dad said to you. I’m so, so sorry.”
Ezra pulled into the next parking lot, a closed pet store, and parked. He got out of the car and walked around to her door. When he opened it, she reached for him, and he drew her into the cradle of his arms and leaned against the side of the car. “Shhh. It’s okay, Wil. I’ve got you. I’m here and I’m fine.”
Her fingers curled into his shirt, grasping. She burrowed close, a betrayed child seeking comfort, and Ezra stroked her hair and whispered to her again and again that he was okay, that everything would be okay.
“They hate so hard,” she said. “I don’t even know why, but they’ve both hated so hard ever since I was little. They find one thing to hate and then they find another thing and it’s exhausting, and now it’s you they hate.”
“I’m sorry, Wil.”
She angled her face up to meet his eyes. Her tears sparkled in the floodlight high over their heads. “For what? You didn’t do anything.”
He kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry they hurt you so much.”
“They do,” she whispered, and another tear fell. “You’re right, they do hurt me. All the time.”
“And I’m sorry they don’t respect you.”
Willow nodded, bit her lip and looked down, then lifted her head again. That angle would be awkward for her neck within minutes, so he shifted his arms better to support her posture. She didn’t let go of his shirt. In fact, as he resettled against the car, her grip tightened, and her scent spiked with the panic of sudden loss.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” he said.
“Are you rethinking?” she whispered. “Whether I’m worth it? I wouldn’t blame you if—”
