Page 22 of Pack Kasen: Part 3
When I glance up at him, he’s staring into the distance, with a hint of a smile lifting one corner of his mouth. “No. I don’t think I will.”
“Because?”
“I think you know the answer to that, Kat. If you want me to say it…” His voice trails off.
I don’t respond.
He caught me staring at his chest before. He knows I like what I saw, and he's determined to keep that shirt off because he likes me looking at him.
“The bed is yours,” he says after we’ve been trampling through the forest for the last several minutes.
“Excuse me?”
I don’t know what he’s done with his shirt. He’s not wearing it or even holding it.
He looks at me. “The bed. It’s yours.”
“And where will you sleep?”
He shrugs. “The bunkhouse or by the creek.”
I eye him warily, not sure I should believe him. “I won’t find you sleeping under the bed, will I?”
“I prefer the creek.” He grunts and looks down. I do the same.
Leo is aiming a big, wolfy smile up at him.
“You ran into me,” Aren says mildly.
Leo whirls around and sprints off. Then stops and turns back.
“I think he wants you to play with him.” This slow walking we’re doing can’t be much fun for him when he thought we’d be going for a run.
“I’m walking with—Leo.” Aren glares at the wolf pup innocently peering up at him as laughter fills my head.
“Don’t go far, Leya. Stay where I can see you. Do you hear me?”
“Okay, Momma.” My feet slap across hardwood floors, and I barrel down worn porch steps, flipping my long, brown braid over my shoulder.
I leap the last two steps, land, and?—
“Kat?” Aren is gripping the tops of my arms, and I’m leaning against him, breathing hard. He looks worried, and I don’t understand why.
“What is it?”
“You tipped over. I’m taking you back to the house.”
Leo is staring at me, tongue hanging out of his mouth, eyes concerned.
“I’m fine,” I tell him and turn back to Aren. “I, uh… I think I had a memory.”
Understanding flashes across his amber gaze. “Of your past?”
I swallow. “I didn’t think I would ever remember anything.”
Maybe meeting my mom and sister is triggering more memories, and I’ll eventually remember everything. I hope so. All my memories start when I was about five, and they’re about people I now know weren’t my parents at all.
He gives me a gentle squeeze. “You will. Was it a good memory?”
