Page 20 of To the Grave

Why had he gotten mixed up in something so dark?

Why had he wanted to hurtme?

But now we talked about him as he’d been before. We laughed about the time he’d stolen my dad’s car a year before he got his license, about how he’d picked up Jace, Wolf, and Otis for a joyride to the overlook. My dad had been furious when Blake had finally gotten home, emerging from the car with his hair windblown and face ruddy with happiness.

Wolf and Otis reminded me of the time Blake had streaked through the gardens, ass-naked, just for the hell of it. I’d had to cover Ruth’s eyes while closing my own because I’d been all of twelve and the last thing I’d wanted to see was my brother’s dick flapping in the wind.

Blake had always been wild. I couldn’t fault the Beasts for what they’d done — not when they’d been trying to protect me, to protect other girls — but I wished my brother were still alive, wished I could see his rakish grin one more time.

I was full and relaxed by the time we got to dessert: chocolate pots de crème with lavender grown in the inn’s big garden, hand-churned espresso ice cream, and soft crumbly olive oil cake with a hint of citrus and rosemary.

Wolf and Otis had been right: it was good to get out of the house. It wouldn’t always hurt to be there without Jace — at least I hoped not — but right now it was filled with ghosts.

I was practically comatose with pleasure when Wolf looked at me across the table, his blue eyes shining with hunger.

“That was an incredible meal. But I’m still hungry. And not for food.”

A swell of desire rolled through my body and my pussy clenched with anticipation. For the first time in a long time, I knew exactly how he felt.

Chapter 16

Daisy

Lamplight glowed from the nightstands, the room bathed in cozy light.

“I’ve never stayed here,” I said, walking to the window. A ring of golden light surrounded the property, but beyond it was only darkness, the forest and river unseen in the night. I turned to find Wolf leaning against the wall and staring at me. “Do you mind if I crack a window?”

“Make yourself at home, doll,” Otis said, walking to the bags.

Soon it would be too cold to leave the windows open at night, but I loved falling asleep to the sound of the wind in the trees, loved waking up to birds chirping, so close it felt like they were in the room.

I opened the window and breathed in the burst of crisp air, then exhaled as the sound of the river wound its way into the room. It was hard to imagine all those years at my dad’s house, locked up in the climate-controlled environment dictated by the heating and cooling system.

Being at the house at the top of the falls had changed me forever. It wasn’t like camping or anything, but it made me feelpart of the landscape. Inoticedthe seasons now, noticed the way the earth smelled moist and peaty in the spring, the scent of sun-warmed wood in the summer air. The land was on the verge of another change now, the rustle of dried leaves different from the sound of them in the summer when everything was green, the bite of the wind a promise of what was to come during winter.

I turned around to look at Wolf and Otis. Wolf was still leaning against the wall but Otis was sitting on the bed, holding a package wrapped in brown paper. “Thank you for bringing me here,” I said. “It was a good idea.”

“We want to make you happy,” Otis said.

It was so typically Otis. Simple and to the point.

I smiled. “I want to make you happy too. Is it time for presents?”

“It’s time for presents,” Wolf said.

I went to my bag and removed the two packages I’d bought that morning. Then we all piled on the king-size bed.

I gave them their gifts first. I watched as they opened the packages, wishing I’d had more time to choose presents but hoping they’d like the things I’d chosen in town.

Otis got his open first and I watched as he pulled out the leather mechanic's bag I’d bought at one of the newer specialty shops in town.

“Whoa,” he said, rubbing his hand over the mustard-colored leather. “This is amazing.” He opened it and looked inside. “It’s perfect for my tools. Where did you get it?”

“That little shop in town,” I said. “The one with the neon Harley sign in the window. Turns out one of the guys makes these by hand.”

“Thanks, doll.” He leaned over to kiss me. “I love it.”

Wolf had unwrapped his more slowly to reveal a small box. He lifted the lid and removed the handmade guitar pick I’dfound at Blackwell Emporium, a gift store filled with locally made items.

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