Page 25 of Banished From the Pack

“Nice. Like the moon.” He gives me an easy smile. “Tell me why you wanted to die.”

Tears prick my eyes. “My Mama died.”

“Sorry to hear that,” he says, reaching out to wipe a tear away with his big, calloused thumb. “Dinner’s ready. Why don’t you come out and eat with us? Maybe that will help you feel better.”

I yank my head away from his touch. A sob bursts from my throat before I can explain.

Callan studies me, a wary expression on his face like he has no clue what to do. He rises to stand, towering over me like a giant. I cower back against the wall.

“I’m, uh, real sorry,” he says, lifting his palms. “About your Mama, I mean.” He glances toward the door, and I can tell he wants to bolt. “Maybe I’ll just leave you be.”

“Okay,” I whisper, nodding and trying to keep my tears at bay. For some reason, I don’t want him to leave. I feel too alone already.

He blinks and takes a step backward. “If you change your mind… Food’s ready.”

My stomach lets out a loud grumble. When was the last time I ate?

A sunshiny expression like clouds parting after a storm covers Callan’s face. “See? You need to eat. Food fixes everything.” He extends his big hand to me.

I hesitate, torn between hunger and the desire to crawl back in bed and hope I don’t wake up.

“I don’t bite,” he says, his mouth serious but his eyes laughing as he draws an X shape over his chest with his finger. “Unless you beg me to.”

My brow crumples into a frown. “Why would anyone beg to get bitten?”

“It’s a joke,” he says, making an encouraging motion with the hand he’s still holding out. “Come on. Let us feed you.”

I take his hand and let him pull me up. Then I touch the fur on his cheek. It’s bristly but soft, too. I give it a little tug, curious why anyone would have fur on their face.

“What are you doing?” Callan asks.

“Are you human?” I ask. “What creature has fur on its face?”

He lets out a booming laugh. “I do, that’s who,” he says. “Now we’d better hurry or the food will be gone when we get there.”

I want food, so I follow him out of the room, but my body is on alert and ready to bolt if I need to.

The house is big like Axel’s—more than one room—but all of this one rests on the ground instead of having stairs. The same brown bottles and silver cans I found in the bedroom are scattered everywhere, empty of their contents. The smell of their contents, heady and somehow alive, lingers faintly in the air. Through a doorway, I spot paper cups littering the counter, a slightly fishy, skunky scent wafting from them. Dirty dishes are stacked in the sink. A mattress covered with tangled bedding is shoved against the wall opposite the kitchen. Piles of dirty, sweaty clothes have been pushed aside, creating a path through which to walk.

“Did a hurricane blow through here?” I ask. “Big winds?”

Callan guffaws and pulls me into the kitchen. “Yeah, his name is Ethan.”

Two more enormous, hulking males fill the room with their presence.

“Fuck off,” says one of them to Callan, but he’s grinning. From the comment, I know he must be named Ethan. He sits at a table with more of the bottles pushed together in the center.

The third male stands back, eying me suspiciously. He’s got the countenance of Mama when she was angry and might snap and swat me for no reason I could tell. Something about his overwhelming presence reminds me of Axel, though, and makes me drop my eyes and lower my head.

“Luna,” Callan says. “Meet my brothers, Ethan and Warrick.”

I timidly raise my eyes to theirs and nod a quick acknowledgment.

“He’s the nice guy,” Ethan says, stabbing his thumb toward Callan. “I’m the sex god.”

The big, scary one named Warrick grunts.

Ethan smirks and gestures toward him. “Just do what he says.”