Page 10 of Secrets and S'mores
Onyx throws his head back and laughs, exposing his throat to me. Fuck, he’s gorgeous. Unclenching my fingers, I step away, out of the haze of his citrus scent. Gulping down fresh air, I try desperately to clear my head.
The grin widening across his pretty face is a weapon in its own right. Most girls would swoon. I hold my ground, my teeth grinding together as I ignore the way my stomach flutters. Treacherous body.
“I’ll see you in fifteen for dinner, Hummingbird,” he says before closing the door behind him.
“You are such a dick,” I whisper at the closed door. His low laughter echoes in the hallway, barely detectable even with my sensitive hearing.
Heart racketing in my ribs, I survey his sister’s bedroom looking for a distraction from my heated skin.
Dried flowers splay in plastic frames along one wall. Christmas lights line the edge of the ceiling.
I would have given anything for a space like this. My sterile room back in Granite Ridge seems like a prison compared to this. Some sort of glossy green houseplant hangs from a hook by the window, the vines draping along the curtain rod.
The duvet is a creamy ruffled confection and I hesitate before sitting on it. The sheets and pillowcase are crisp and smell like detergent.
Curiosity wells up and I fold at the waist to peer under the bed. A low bin overflows with clothing, and beside it sit two soccer balls and a couple of wrinkled magazines. Reaching under, I extract a length of black ribbon, graying with age and dust. With two pinched fingers, I lay it across the dresser.
A stack of newer fashion magazines perches on the desk in the corner. These aren’t teen versions, but luxury fashion, like Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar. I’ve never read any of them. But from the creased corners, they look well-loved.
The desk holds gel pens, drawing pencils, and notepads. Under the school books, I find a sketchbook of fashion illustrations. Mostly dresses.
Who's heard of a wolf shifter who wants to design fashion? The thought makes me smile. It will be interesting to see what Onyx’s little sister does as an adult.
A door past the desk opens to a tiny bathroom. Dainty white tiles cover the walls up to waist-height, where a wallpaper of teeny sea turtles rises to the ceiling.
Artwork above the toilet features a flamingo in a yoga pose with the words, “Let that Shit Go.” Despite myself, I chuckle at it.
A girl could get spoiled in a room like this. Heading back to the bed, I tug open the gauzy curtains and take a deep breath. Maybe this won’t be so bad. I can hide in here and avoid Onyx. Yes, that’s a good plan.
Onyx
“Planning your escape already?” I ask, taking in Ember’s tempting figure before the window. A patch of purple lupine flowers sway between tree trunks visible from Briar’s room, their violet petals painted magenta from the fading sunset.
Ember spins, her eyes wide for a split second until her brain catches up and she settles into the wary glare I’m so familiar with.
“If I wanted to leave, I’d be gone already,” Her hands go to her hips, eyes alight with a fire.
“I have no doubt.” Playing polite host, I hold the door open. “Ready for dinner? You’re about to be very impressed. I’ve been told we have the best food of any pack.”
“Good to know,” she says, breezing past me. Her sugary floral scent washes over me and I follow after her like a puppy begging for scraps. She’s hostile and spiteful, but she smells amazing.
Inquisitive eyes jump to us when we enter the clearing. Most of the pack has gathered, though no one will eat until the Alphas do, per pack custom. We strolltoward my family, Ember doing her best to look unbothered, though I can feel anxiety rolling off of her.
Cedar and Briar stand beside our parents, Briar chattering away and Cedar listening stoically. He nods at me as we approach and Briar gives a little wave to Ember.
“Hi, I’m Bri,” she says.
“Ember.” She smiles, but it looks strained. “I think I’m staying in your room?”
“Yeah, hope you don’t mind it.” Briar scrunches her nose in a cute half-smile.
“It’s nice. Thanks.”
If I didn’t know better, I would think Ember was just another teenage friend of Briar’s who is a little shy.
“Hey.” A lanky boy with a tumble of reddish-brown hair joins us.
“This is Indie. He’s Marigold’s brother,” Briar explains to Ember, her hand going to Indigo’s arm. Ember looks between them and I wonder if she can see Marigold’s features in him. They have the same upturned nose and wide, friendly mouth.
