Page 22 of Claimed By the Wolf
Brynn is his sister, and I’m his best friend. The betrayal will not go unanswered, even if it’s beyond our control. This is not a good idea, but it’s still better than anything else I’ve come up with so far.
And it gives me more time with Brynn while I can still take it.
How am I going to manage when Brynn’s gone?
I can barely be away from her when she’s in the same territory. I won’t be able to function. I walk up the front steps to the house, knocking loudly.
Here goes everything.
“What are you doing here?” Brax asks. “Is there a problem? Is it Willow Grove?”
He’s ready for battle, his broad shoulders squaring as if he’s ready to shift into his panther body. I flash him the most disarming grin I can muster under the circumstances.
“No, no problem,” I tell him quickly.
Brax’s brow furrows in confusion. “What are you doing here then?”
“Can’t a guy drop in for a beer with his best friend?” I ask nonchalantly, leaning against the door frame and trying to sound casual.
Perplexed, he looks behind me. “You alone?”
“Are you?” I quip back.
He snorts. “Brynn just got home. I’m pretty sure she’s about to go to bed.”
Lucky bed.
I shake off the thought. “I’m alone.”
He steps back to let me in.
“I’m just surprised. You didn’t mention stopping by when I left the packhouse,” Brax explains. “You haven’t stopped by spontaneously in a long time.”
I follow him across the threshold, allowing the door to close, and my breath catches as I look for Brynn. She’s nowhere in sight.
She’s smart. She’s going to come out slowly, tentatively.
“That’s why I got the urge,” I lie. “It’s been a while since we just hung out. And with all this shit going on, I thought it might be good for us.”
“Well, I’m happy you’re here,” Brax tells me, and then heads to the fridge and grabs a couple of beers.
I make myself comfortable on their small, L-shaped couch, my head turning to look outside. A heaviness lingers over the sky like rain is coming, the smell of ozone permeating the air.
“I heard thunder earlier,” Brynn comments from behind me.
I don’t turn, even as Brax hands me a beer and plops on the couch beside me.
“Did you?” her brother replies. “It’s a bit overcast, but I don’t think it’ll rain.”
We’re talking about the weather.
Slowly, deliberately, I move my head in her direction, the fission of energy pulsating so strongly, I’m surprised it doesn’t reverberate through the glass of the coffee table. I know I’d promised not to look at her, but I can’t help myself, my eyes searching her face as Brax takes a swig of his drink.
“I thought you were going to bed.” Brax stares at her questioningly.
She stands at the entrance of the living room, and I shift my eyes away, fixating on my beer.
I wait for Brax to call us out, to sense what we’ve been hiding.
