Page 3 of Chaos At Second Sight

“Grandma!”

“Serial relationships aren’t better,” she went on briskly. “Just fear dressed up as variety. Scared of being alone. At least this boy stands on his own paws instead of clinging to someone until something better appears.”

Grandma had a point.

“Does the lad play wereball?”

“The lad is his college team’s captain.” She remained unimpressed. Mom had been captain. Uncle Clyde had been captain. Lachlan was captain. In this family, being captain was simply a minimum requirement. “From his very first year,” I added with a smile.

That earned a whistle. “Good. Is he pretty?”

I grinned. “What do you think?”

“How firm and round is his arse on a scale of one to ten?”

Heat crawled into my cheeks. “I’ve never, um, tested it, but from observation alone…eleven on the Mohs Hardness scale.” Diamonds ranked at ten for hardness level.

We spent the next hour dissecting Logan. The midges had spotted us and buzzed around our faces. We swatted them away.

She was already Team Logan, which bugged me—especially after Logan’s violent episode with Sillas, my former non-mate with benefits. “He’s an Alpha. Alphas don’t share,” she said after my recap of the infamous game. “That bloody ex of yours wandered into his lair! It’s not Logan’s fault that Sullen Sillas couldn’t defend himself. And werewolves heal!”

Even so, she admitted that lies and omissions were rotten roots that needed to be eradicated before they poisoned the whole forest.

“Look there. Ravens.” Grandma pointed to them. “They’re following something.”

And so did we.

It happened to be a herd of red deer, calm and unaware, in the clearing below.

Crouched on a moss-covered rise that looked as if nature had built it specifically for us hunters, I lifted my bow, the initials Y.M. carved into the wood near the grip.

Grandma lay still; I twitched a little, my elbows itching to let go of the string, but the deer were still too far. The midges were back for round two, and I blew air at them. One landed on the tip of my nose. Despite it, I held steady.

The bush near us rustled, and two hares burst from the undergrowth. One eye closed, elbow high, I released the string. My arrow cut through the air and a furry throat. Then a second throat.

Still, we didn’t move. The ravens circled closer, spotting us, but didn’t dare steal the meal of wolves. They respected us enough.

Finally, the red deer moved closer, many with fat bellies grazing the grass, pregnant probably because of that big stag Grandpa spotted earlier this week. As a mother herself, Grandma aimed only for the deer with a single heartbeat, not two.

A click, aim, and the deer only had time to raise its head before dropping, never to stand again.

A clean shot, an artery severed.

The herd scattered; the ravens didn’t. Grandma lowered her fuming rifle and walked down the slope. As I clasped the two hares by the ears, she cut a large strip of meat, tossing it into the bushes. “Thank you for showing us the herd,” she told the ravens, bowing to them.

We reached a small clearing where remains of past campfires still marked the earth. When I brought back wood for a new fire, Grandma’s arm was already deep inside the deer’s belly.

“The truth? I’m worried.” I wasn’t embarrassed, and I was honest enough to admit that. “Logan lied for too long and so easily, it became a habit. What if this is his modus operandi? I can stitch wounds, but I can’t fix broken trust. And I know many cardiologists—my roommate’s one. They can replace a broken heart, but that wouldn’t be fair to who’s on the waiting list! And what happens if⁠—”

“Exactly, rionnag. What if.”

She drew her gut hook across the deer flank. Her cut was perfection; I wish I had that same confidence during surgery practice. “We don’t do what ifs in our family, we live by let’s dos. We take all the chances. And those not meant for us? We take them anyway. If he hurts you, I’m sure you can take care of it. Not to mention the army of my crazy offspring and that grandfather of yours. His torture chamber is full of webs, and the spiders need to be disturbed. That is, if your mom doesn’t kill him first.”

She chuckled with me.

“Nobody needs to beat anybody up, but why are you on his side?”

“Selfish reasons.” She wiggled her gut hook. “I need grandpups before I’m too old, which will happen sooner if your grandfather keeps pestering me to marry him!” My grandmother had never accepted his proposal after forty years, always saying he had to deserve it first.