Page 4 of Ruffled Feathers

This girl…

But Sonny didn’t complain, following her orders quickly until he was climbing back down, wicker basket in hand. I realized it was one of the flower girl’s baskets. Damn, the girl was resourceful.

“What nuts?” I asked her, trying to distract her from the pain.

“The bombo-things that Citrine picked as wedding favors.”

I snorted. “You’re feeding them the sugared almonds from the bomboniere? They’re going to start life with diabetes.” She just glared, and then Sonny landed in front of us like a fucking superhero, and I saw her eyes go wide.

Yeah, yeah, he’s impressive.

“She’s got a broken arm, maybe a dislocated shoulder. You need to get Buck, and she needs to go to a hospital.”

She began to protest, but a stern look from Sonny made her quit. Hell, maybe I needed to cultivate that look. Sonny ran off to find Buck and Citrine, while I gently led Otillie-James around the back of the buildings toward the estate’s garages. It was a little farther, but if I dragged her through the reception with only Sonny’s suit jacket on and not much else, this accident would follow her for years, with the rumors getting further and further from the truth, and far more salacious.

Leading her into the garage and over to Citrine’s Range Rover, I propped her gently against the car. Her face was now even more pale, and her teeth were gritted through the pain.

I slipped off my dress shirt, my undershirt still covering my torso. “Here. This will cover more than Sonny’s jacket.” Holding it out, I gently maneuvered it over her good arm, then buttonedit up. My fingers were shaky, and I could feel the warmth of her skin against my knuckles. I gave myself a stern talking-to about the fact she was my best friend’s stepsister as I fastened the buttons over her chest, then right up to her neck. The shirt went down to her knees, and while she was seventy percent covered, there was something… appealing about her in my shirt.

Fuck. I’m going to hell.

As if he could sense the fact that I was lusting inappropriately over his daughter, Buck burst into the garage, Citrine and Sonny behind him. As they took in the scene, it took everything in me to not leap away from Otillie-James like I’d been doing something wrong.

But like the father I’d never have, Buck only had eyes for his child. I doubted her outfit even registered in his brain.

Citrine, however, looked the girl over, then looked between Sonny and I, the question—and the disapproval—silently evident on her face.

“Mom, don’t even. We found her up that damn tree. The dress is still there, if you need proof. We were perfect gentlemen,” Sonny whisper-yelled as Buck gently helped his daughter into the back of his SUV.

Citrine gave us the stink-eye. “And it betterstaythat way.”Or else.

“I promise,” I said, crossing my heart. It would be an easy promise to keep, because in a few months, we’d be off to college. Otillie-James would be a funny anecdote we’d tell at frat parties, and nothing more.

But as I met her eyes in the back of the car and watched her lips mouth the wordsthank you,I wondered if I’d already fallen a little in love with the wildcard that was Otillie-James Baler.

One

Otillie-James

Six Years Later

Tonight, I was going out. I was dressed in black. I had my make-up on. I was feelingfierce.Granted, the black I was wearing was a pair of skin-tight cargo pants with a thick, hooded sweatshirt, and my makeup was just boot polish smeared across my cheeks, so I could blend in with the darkness. At least, I was pretty sure that’s why they used it in all those action movies. My hair was tightly braided and pushed up into a knitted cap.

As I climbed the chain-link fence, I kept one eye on the road and the other on the junkyard in front of me. The steady thump of music from the mechanic’s garage could’ve been because the workers were tearing down cars late into the night, but I knew it wasn’t some hard-working employee.

When I’d heard about this place, it had sat heavily on my mind for weeks, until I couldn’t stop myself, despite the fact this was a terrible damn decision. My parents would have my skin if they knew what I was doing. They’d have me packed up andshipped off to Nebraska to Great-Aunt Trudie’s before the week was out.

Fortunately for me, Dad and Citrine were in Alaska on an assignment, doing research on the effects of drilling on the surrounding geo-something or other, and ecological landscape. They’d be there for at least a year, which meant I was down here without a safety net.

Lancelot had made me promise not to do anything rash, but this wasn’t rash. I’d thought this out. I’d planned. I’d surveilled from my Fiat. Iknewwhat I was doing. It wasn’t rash, though it could be argued that it was stupid.

There was a burst of cheering from a hidden crowd, and I knew I had to hurry. Wiggling my way over the fence, I dropped down the other side and hoped there wasn’t a junkyard dog in here waiting to tear me to pieces. It wouldn’t be its fault, but I’d still rather keep all my arms and legs intact.

Bending closer to the ground, I moved swiftly through the shadows. Luckily, there were lots of places to hide amidst the banged-up, crumbled car bodies. I was Unshown, so the Alphas inside the garage shouldn’t really be able to scent me, but just in case, I’d sprayed a liberal amount of scent blocker all over myself. Even if I’d eaten an entire garlic clove for lunch and rolled in a puddle of essential oils, they shouldn’t be able to smell me over the rest of the scents here.

A cat scurried away, and I watched it go. Hopefully, it was safe from the people inside these fences, but I doubted it. One thing at a time, though.

Sprinting the open distance between the last car and the dilapidated building, I aimed for the tiny half-door on the side. Slipping in slowly, I let out a small sigh of relief. Step one was done.

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