Page 48 of Campfires & Canines
"You can leave whenever you want to. We trust you to keep it secret. We need to make sure no one else finds out you're aware of what we are." I need to stop talking. I'm scaring her. But she deserves to hear the truth.
I stand, taking her plate and stacking it on mine.
"Are you leaving?" She squeaks, surprising me.
"I'll stay outside your door until Heath comes back," I reassure her.
"Could you maybe stay in here?" Her words are slow and faltering.
I can't refuse her. I nod, stepping out long enough to set the plates in the sink. Then I'm heading for the second bed in her room. She grabs my hand as I pass.
Against my better judgment, I let her pull me down beside her. Her eyes are searching for permission and I'll gladly give it to her. I'd give her anything.
She nestles into my chest, curling into me. I wrap my arms around her. I’ve wanted to hold her like this from the first night at the fire. She’s curvy and so soft. Her skin feels like satin.
She still trusts me, even after discovering I'm not as human as she is. She's incredibly brave.
"You know, my mom always said I was weird like my dad," she whispers. "It always made me proud. I barely knew him, only vague memories."
She quiets. "She loved him so much, but he wasn't even honest with her. She has no idea about this huge part of who he was. And it turns out I'm nothing like him."
I squeeze her tighter for a second. "You are, though. Everyone always talked about how kind and understanding he was. You are the kindest person I know."
Hazel's breath wavers. I tuck my chin, and I can see tears welling in her eyes. I wipe my thumb across her cheeks, wiping the tears away.
"Our dads were friends. He talked about him a lot. How great he was,” I share.
Hazel raises her face towards me. "Your dad?" She asks, her question tentative.
I never talk about him to anyone, but suddenly I want to share with her. Somehow, I know she'll understand.
"He was the beta. I wanted to live up to his example."
"You do." She speaks against my chest, the vibration like butterflies. "You're a protector. He would be so proud."
"He raised me by himself. He was a great dad," I share, my grief surging for a moment before it ebbs again.
"My mom raised me by herself after my dad died. I was five," she shares.
"In Los Angeles?" I prompt, desperate to learn more about her life.
"She has her own demons. She's fought addiction my whole life. But she's been doing good the last few years." Her voice rasps.
"That's tough." My chest aches for her. I can't imagine the struggle of your only parent being an addict. She's resilient.
"Yeah. I had to grow up quickly and take care of my sister."
"You should never have had to do that. You deserve to be taken care of," I growl, not trying to hide the animalistic noise under my words now.
"I wasn't lucky enough to grow up here." Her tone is a little bitter.
"I wish you had." I slowly rub circles down her back.
"Me too. But I don't belong here." She untucks one of her arms and snakes it around my waist, underneath mine. Heat blooms where her hand presses.
"It doesn't matter you aren't a shifter. You're still from here. You belong here if you want to." Heath would be furious, but I believe it.
She sighs. "Thank you for taking care of me, even when I was a bitch about it."
