“Time for what?” I nearly shout, jumping at the sudden sound. Everything is super loud, sensitive, and like there is a knife pointed at my back, even though I know there is no one behind me.
I wasn’t jumpy at the supercenter when we picked up the protection supplies or at Written Memories when we were browsing books. But now that I’m sitting down, outside, out in the open, my nerves are shot. I’m not safe anywhere. I’m not safe here, I’m not safe in my old apartment, and I’m apparently not safe in my home. Where can I go? What can I do?
“To figure out what we are going to do about this.”
“You mean whatIam going to do,” I sigh. “I have no idea.” It’s not every day I have to deal with someone trying to kill me. I’ve never thought someone would hate me enough to try to kill me. I’m a homebody, I rarely go out, and when I do, I’m nice and kind—at least I thought I was.
My breathing is getting heavy, and my vision is blurring. Shoot, I need to calm down now, right now.
Eddie shouts my name, and I can’t help but study him. Really peer at him. His brown eyes dig into mine. His plush lips set in a straight line. His nose is wide and smooth. He has clear, flawless skin. He must shift often to have such beautiful skin; only shifting magic could make skin that soft. He has a white T-shirt on that wraps nicely over his shoulders, at the right amount of tightness: not too small but enough to show his muscles. When did he have time to work out?—?
“Willow, I have an idea,” he says, scooping some of his ice cream and reaching his spoon out to me. My gaze trails to the spoon and back up to him. I part my lips as he continues talking. Milo never shared, never wanted to, yet Eddie is without somuch of a flinch. In fact, he offered it first. This is... this is nice. “We have to find out who is trying to hurt you and take care of them ourselves.”
“I’m not a killer, Eddie,” I say as he puts his spoon in my mouth. I drag his ice cream off the spoon with my lips, letting the flavor sit on my tongue. It is good, cold, yet warm, with the chocolate syrup and warmed crackers on top.
I say the wordsI’m not a killeralmost instinctively. As if Eddie wasn’t there the night I killed Cassandra. But he was. He was, and yet he sits here with me still.
“Doesn’t mean I’m not.” He bristles as he says it. Is he the same as me? Are we monsters? “Or Dylan, Jackson, Felix, hell, even Ryder, who is all about the law and doing right, might even get his hands dirty.”
There was the difference.
He could never be a monster. He’s never had to be. Neither did I. I didn’t have to kill the woman who kidnapped my best friend, but I did. There is no we in this; it’s only me. I am the monster. Maybe I deserve to be alone. Maybe the Moon Goddess is mad at me for the instinct she knows I have.
“I barely know them. I barely know you. They wouldn’t—” I try to explain, but he’s shaking his head before I can get the sentence out.
“They would.Iwill, Willow,” he says, and it makes everything final. There is no room for debate or argument, barely room to think. I feed him my spoon of ice cream, and he takes it, biting the spoon for a millisecond before giving me a closed lip smile.
“So, we are going to kill Ghost?” I confirm.
“It’s the only sensible thing to do, Buttercup,” he says, giving me the last scoop of his ice cream. I try giving him my last scoop—it’s only fair—but he shakes his head.
“Together?” I sure as hell didn’t want to do this alone; protecting me and Layla is already a battle in itself since I’m theolder one, and I can’t run anymore. I bought that house. Own it. It’s mine. I shouldn’t be hightailing it away. I’ll be running forever, and that’s not fair to me, my cat, or my friends. I have people here worth fighting for.
“We do this together.”
Together. What does together mean for us?
8
EDDIE
I’m not qualifiedfor this. Not in the slightest. I am an architect, not a bodyguard. Yet here I am, and here I will continue to be, right by Willow’s side. I pull my car into Willow’s driveway, glancing in the rearview mirror at the stuff I shoved in the back seat. I’m staying at Willow’s place until further notice, and I only hope she’ll be on the same page as me. She was silent when I was packing the stuff in the car, and silent on the ride here. She’s stuck in her head. Maybe the realization of her situation is settling in.
“How long are you going to stay?” Her voice is too quiet. I wouldn’t have heard her without my enhanced hearing. I turn to face her; her face is as alluring as it was when we were sitting at the ice cream parlor earlier. She draws me in, holds me in space and time, and all I can do is be consumed by her attention.
“As long as you let me, Buttercup.” When her full attention is on me, my breathing becomes slightly faster and heavier, and my eyes are glued to her in the best way possible. I have to fight to keep my hands to myself on this side of the console.
“Okay,” her little voice says before she rests her hand on the door handle. She’s scared. Scared to move, scared to be out inthe open, seen, followed. I wish I could eradicate these fears, wrap her up in bubble wrap, and carry her to the door myself; maybe she’d let me while she’s in this state.
Willow Buttercup is a magnet, pulling me into her no matter how far away I am. The first time I met Willow was in that same grocery store where we bumped into each other a few days ago. She had toppled over me in the freezer aisle, and I caught her. I’d caught her scent before I saw her. Her warm buttercream, pancake-like scent had me following her around the store. She was so determined in following me that when I stopped abruptly, finally connecting the dots that the scent I was following wasbehindme, she fell straight into my arms. That moment, her in my arms, changed everything for me. Never in my twenty-nine years on this earth have I felt this way before.
Since then, she’s been part of my every thought. The second time I met her made my thoughts of her stronger and more compelling. She came to stay with Flora at the Pack house for protection. She didn’t stay long, disappearing to go, who knows where, but when she came back, Flora had been kidnapped, and her bear wasn’t having it. Willow’s bear took on a panther, one of the scariest mother fucking shifting animals in the United States, and she tore that bitch apart for hurting Flora.
I jump out of my car and speed around to open her door. Willow wouldn’t have to do this alone, not while I’m around. Her hand falls to her lap, but I grab it, guiding her to get out of the car. She stands still for a moment, gazing at the forest that surrounds her house before walking towards the door. I grab my bag and game console, following after her.
“Willow, you’re back! Finally, I have some news,” Layla says, bouncing on her heels and dragging Willow by her hand to the kitchen table. “I’ve already put on your tea. I need your full attention. I got a job!”
“Congrats! Where?” Willow asks. She’s smiling now and gripping Layla’s hand with more excitement than the lost girl in my car moments ago could have dreamed of mustering up.
