Page 35 of Banished From the Pack

“Is Ethan going to be okay?” I ask, not tearing my eyes from the three men outside.

Callan’s warm palms land on my shoulders, and he pivots me toward him. “You don’t need to worry about my big, bad brothers.”

“What if they get hurt?” I demand, straining my neck to witness the violence happening outside.

“They won’t.” Callan forcefully guides me across the room, heading toward the sofa. He plunks me down and crouches before me, resting his hands on my knees. We’ve all chipped in and cleaned up around the house, and there are no longer clothes and beer bottles everywhere. Now, there’s just a mattress on the floor where Ethan sleeps.

I start to get up, but Callan gently presses me back.

“We can take care of ourselves, pet,” he assures me.

“He bit Ethan’s neck,” I say, the shock still sitting heavy in my belly.

Callan places a fingertip to my lips. “Shhh. Everything’s going to be okay, pet. I promise.”

“I just can’t lose someone else,” I say, trying to sound determined. The quaver in my voice gives away my fear, though.

Callan slides up onto the sofa beside me and slides a protective arm around me. “Tell me a story,” he says, smiling down at me.

“What?” I look up at him, blinking.

“Tell me what you liked most about living in Bogbeast Waters.”

“Oh…” My stupid eyes almost fill with tears as I recall what it was like living there with my Mama, but I hold them back and think of the good times. “I loved the moon shining over the honey locusts and tupelo trees,” I start. Callan smiles and nods encouragingly, so I go on. “I loved chasing the swamp rabbits and catching them for supper. The sand cranes were kind of fun. I’d chase them in my wolf form, though I never caught them. Just watching them take to the sky was worth it, though.”

The sounds of the struggle float through the window—there’s a whack and a clang, followed by a soft thud. Then, swishing noises and grunts.

Callan squeezes my shoulder, pulling me closer. “What else?”

Wistful feelings swirl through my heart as I go back there in my mind. “There was a spring near our place. We’d head out there in the evening and soak a while. Sometimes when Mama’s mind wandered off, I’d bring her out there to keep an eye on her, just letting her soak while I’d wash the clothes.”

“Your mama wasn’t right in the head?”

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I never knew different, just that we didn’t think the same. I know her True Mate was murdered, and her soul snapped. Then she took me out there to protect me. I’ve been taking care of her ever since I was little, though. Protecting us both.” Sniffling, I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand.

Callan stares at me, his eyes wide. Then he clears his throat and says, “That’s real sad, Luna. I’m sorry you had to do that.”

I shrug. “It was hard, but we all got hard times, right? That’s what Mama always said if I complained.”

“I guess so,” Callan says. “Can’t say we haven’t run into our share, too.”

“What were your hard times?” I ask, snuggling even closer, wanting to share his stories, too. His face hardens into lines and shadows, and I think I did something wrong. When I stiffen, ready to be scolded, though, he pulls me closer, setting me on his knee.

“The kind where your old man lives in a vial of goblin blood, and he beats the shit out of you just because you’re still breathing,” he says.

“Oh, no,” I say, laying my fingers against his rugged cheek with the bristling of short, black fur. “Why would he do that?”

“Goblin blood is real addictive and makes a man real mean,” he says. “He took out his rage on us and our poor Ma, too. We left as soon as we turned sixteen. Been on our own almost ever since.”

“That makes us kindred spirits,” I say, placing a hand on his shoulder and gazing into his green-flecked eyes.

Callan’s throat-lump bobs up and down, and he looks like he might bolt if I wasn’t on his lap. His gaze drops to my lips, and a little bat-wing thumps against my heart.

At the sound of pounding footsteps, Callan quickly pushes me off his knee and back onto the couch cushion.

“Told you it would all work out,” he says with a grin.

Warrick and Ethan stroll through the front door, arms around one another’s shoulders, laughing. I can feel the dominating maleness of their energy, some rawness in their scent ramped up by the fight. I sniff the air, and Ethan grins.