Page 7 of Smoke

“And I appreciate you caring. I really do. But that’s my problem.” I patted Miles’s shoulder.

It was nice of him to give a damn about me. None of them had to. It told me a lot about them, and about the way they cared for each other. I had saved their cousin’s mate, so I mattered.

“Why is he called Smoke? Is that his name?” The question had been on my mind since I first met him.

“It’s a nickname. His name is Scott. But when he was little... let’s just say he wanted to be a dragon that started fires,” Miles said.

“And what he got was a whole lot of smoke instead.” Cash laughed.

I smiled slightly, still heartbroken. I’d never get to tease him about that.

All the talking we did helped pass the time, and before I knew it, we were driving down the road which ran adjacent to the clan’s property. My heart was like lead. This was it. No going back. Ever.

“We can take you up to the house,” Cash offered as he cut the engine, plunging us into complete darkness.

I shook my head. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t want you two to run the risk of being spotted, anyway. I’ve walked through these woods in the dark before, more times than I can count.”

“You’re sure?” Miles asked.

I heard the uncertainty in his voice.

“I’m absolutely sure. Thank you, both.”

“Hey.” Cash turned in his seat. “Thank you.”

I didn’t have to ask what he was thanking me for. I only nodded—I couldn’t talk over the lump in my throat—and got out of the car to make my walk.

The woods were as familiar to me as the back of my hand. I walked with confidence even though I wasn’t wearing shoes.

My feet were used to it.

I almost wished I had an excuse to get lost out here, but nobody would believe it. Everybody knew that when I wasn’t in my room, I was out in the woods to gather herbs and mushrooms and tree bark.

The moon was only half-visible behind the clouds which drifted in front of it, but I could make out the house even in the dim light. It was impossible to miss.

Lights burned in many of the windows, and the sight of them brought me a twinge of guilt for the first time since I left. I hadn’t given any thought to what my friends were going through when they discovered I was missing.

Had any of them looked for me? That put a wrench in my plans. What if they were looking in the same place as I said I was, at the same time? I would have to deal with that if it ever came up—and hope it never did.

I reached the tall double doors which led inside. They were four times taller than me and heavy enough that I had to throw my entire weight behind pushing one of them open. The crystal chandelier which hung in the three-story-high foyer was dark. I crossed the floor slowly, asking myself how I would behave if I really had been out to find my sister. If I were coming home dejected, alone, thinking I would never find her.

The door to the banquet room was open a crack. Light from inside spilled across the hall. Curiosity got the better of me—who was in there in the middle of the night, and why?

There was murmuring.

Many concerned voices. And one voice which rose above the others, reaching my ears and making my heart sink lower than ever.

“And this is why we need to arrange for search parties. I want ten teams of ten each, one assigned to each of the areas I’ve designated on this map.” George.

I should’ve known. Organizing search parties, too, because he just loved to stand at the front of a room and command the crowd. I would’ve bet the entire stock of medicines in my room that he didn’t care one way or the other what happened to Jasmine and me. It was the perception of the rest of the clan which bothered him.

He had to look like the concerned uncle, the leader, the one willing to go the extra mile to bring his beloved nieces home. The entire thing made my stomach turn.

It also made me open the door a little wider and step into the torch-lit room with the ancient tapestries which hung along the walls.

My eyes widened when I saw just how many clan members were in there, sitting around the five long tables. And George, standing up there on the raised platform at the head of the room, a map behind him.

Bradley stood up there, too, and a scowl twisted his handsome features. His role was Grief-Stricken Fiancé, and he would play it just as seriously as George played Concerned Uncle.

“Excuse me?” I called out.

Over one hundred heads turned in my direction, and a collective gasp rose up from them.

So much for a quiet entrance.

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