Page 35 of Broken Destiny

“So soon?” The words emerge as nothing more than a squeak.

“Life will get busy very soon. Actions will need to be taken. We need you at your full strength. The memories don’t have to come all at once, but you will have to tackle the worst before you can find your beast. You need to shift before the library opens in two days. If you don’t, everyone will perceive it as a weakness.”

I release a breath that stirs the hair on my face. “Two days,” I repeat. No time at all. Nervous apprehension sparks through me; my stomach turns with butterflies. Gilly pats my hand where it rests on my leg.

“It will be easier than you think, child. Now, into the bath and then out of your room for something to eat.”

I follow her instructions woodenly, my focus set on anything other than what I’m doing. I’m so worried about shifting that I’m surprised when I step out of my bedroom. I’d forgotten everything changed overnight. Kodi spoke the truth.

The last apartment had been sparse in many ways, but the newly improved space is gorgeous. It’s still set up to serve whether I choose my crutches or my chair, but the heavy wooden table sits five and two comfortable couches surround a TV and gaming console in the corner. It surprises me that the library is providing an alternate source of entertainment, but I love playing the damn thing, and I hope one of the others will join me. None of the kids at the orphanage could beat me at any of the racing ones.

The smell of rich coffee emanates from the kitchen, which hasn’t changed much except to accommodate more people at once. Bren sits at the table, a frown on his face as he reads the book in front of him. Kodi hovers in the corner, looking smug. I shoot him an accusatory glance.

“What did you do?” I mouth at him, but he just shrugs and grins.

Bren looks up and gives me a smile that melts all my insides, totally eliminating all thoughts of ghostly pranks, shifting, and memories. His pale eyes sparkle as he rises from the table and kisses my cheek as if it’s something he does every morning. His lips are warm and light, making my body shiver with pleasure. He still has that unidentifiable scent, something that can only be described as home and unpredictability, even though that’s the ultimate contradiction.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks. I struggle to keep my balance because my knees are suddenly weak, and I can only nod in reply. He helps me into a seat at the table and brings me a cup of coffee. When I notice it’s lightened with cream, I shoot him a questioning glance. He shrugs and a tinge of color reddens his cheeks. “The ghost told me how you like it. What do you want for breakfast? There’s cereal, bagels…” He goes on, but I glance at where Kodi was, wondering how that exchange went. Did he tell all the guys my favorites? He’s disappeared. I miss him and dislike that he can escape any conversation at any moment. He never needs to worry about awkward exits.

I return my attention to Bren. “I’m perfectly capable of getting my own breakfast,” I protest.

“Of course you are, but I want to help.” His interest is so sincere, I have to comply. On my crutches, I will struggle to get a bowl of cereal together and carry it to the table, but I worry about putting him out. It’s just a different struggle.

Somehow, he seems to read my mind. He bends nearer to me, his eyes capturing mine in their snare. “Don’t think of it as an imposition, little lioness. I’m going into the kitchen, and I’ll just grab what you tell me to.”

“But you were reading,” I continue, ignoring the nickname that makes my chest heat. This is the worst part of being even slightly handicapped. People ignore me, or they try to do everything for me as if I can’t even tie my own shoes. Then there’s this - people genuinely wanting to help and never knowing if they’d still ask if I were one hundred percent capable. I remind myself of something the counselor I was required to see as part of living at the orphanage told me.Sometimes people help each other even when they’re perfectly capable. Even “normal” people have help.

I clear my throat, fully aware that Bren is waiting patiently. I tell him what I want, and it takes him two seconds to grab cereal, a bowl, and milk. All in all, it’s a much shorter time for him than me sitting around protesting his help.

“Thank you,” I respond honestly as I pour the sugary cereal into a bowl. I have a few guilty pleasures. Sweet cereal is one.

Bren surprises me by sitting next to me and pouring a bowl for himself. He looks like an excited boy as the bright pebbles tumble from the box. “It’s so pretty,” he murmurs and I can’t help but giggle at his joy. He glances at me with a half-smile. “I wasn’t allowed to eat food like this,” he confesses.

My eyes widen. “How old are you?” Damn my uncontrollable mouth. I can be so rude sometimes.

“Twenty. And yes, that should mean that my food isn’t controlled like a five-year-old, but it doesn’t matter. Father told our housekeepers and cooks that processed food encourages hyperactivity of the mind.”

I almost choke on my spoonful. “Does it?”

He shrugs and takes a bite of the crunchy cereal. “Let’s find out.” His joy is so contagious, I can’t help but laugh.

We’re still laughing and eating together when Garrett emerges from one of the rooms, grumbling to himself. His hair is wet; the t-shirt and jeans cling to his muscles like he threw them on while he was half damp. He glances at us, mutters something under his breath, and turns to the kitchen.

“I hope there’s something besides junk to eat,” he grumbles a little louder.

“He’s a bear in the morning,” Bren whispers to me in a conspiratorial voice.

“Just in the morning?” I ask.

“I heard that,” Garrett shoots the words over his shoulder as he pulls a large tub of something that looks like protein powder and a small blender from the cupboard. Then, he proceeds to pull a bag of leafy greens and a ripe banana from the fridge. After everything is assembled on the counter, he stands motionless and stares at it. “This is exactly what I would make at home.”

“Welcome to a magical home!” Bren remarks with excitement. I thought it just catered to me, but that’s a selfish assumption. Honestly, the power of the library surprises me at every turn. “It’s fascinating, isn’t it?”

Garrett continues to stare at the ingredients in front of him. “It almost seems like a trap,” he murmurs, but I can hear every word from his mouth. “Too good to be true?”

He’s not asking me, but I can’t help but respond. “We’ve basically signed our lives over to the library,” I point out with a shrug. “Maybe this is her way of giving back?”

“I’m also assuming it’s payment,” Bren adds.

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