Page 22 of Secrets and S'mores
I’m grateful to be having a private dinner tonight, even if it’s with my half-brother who hates me. The suspicious stares of Onyx’s packmates follows me all afternoon, making me sick to my stomach.
It was a relief to head northeast toward Hazel and Slate’s cabin. Onyx walks with me, his careful glances monitoring my emotional state. Since when is he part-babysitter and part-therapist? I want to push him away, but the attentive concern is something I’ve never had before and it’s oddly comforting. Ever since he held me after our fight, he’s been quiet.
Onyx raps his knuckles on their door. A soft squeal and garbled voices inside tells me Hazel is way too excited about our dinner.
The door swings open with a soft creak. “Hi, Ember,” Slate says. “Thanks, Onyx. See you later.”
My guard hesitates, his eyes bouncing between me and my half-brother. “Bye,” I say, hoping he gets the hint and leaves. All of these moments between us are getting confusing and muddying up my thoughts. I’m looking forward to clearing my head, even if it means spending time with a sibling who hates me.
Jaw clenched, Onyx finally turns away and steps off the porch.
“Thanks for coming,” Slate says, stiff and polite.
My arms cross defensively. I don’t want to be here and I hate pleasantries. It would be better if he would air his grievances and we could deal with it. Although that might lead to me being chased out of their territory. Not the worst thing that could happen.
“Ember, do you want some soda?” Hazel calls. Slate holds the door open as I step into their home. The cabin feels old with warm wood trim running along the floor and the ceiling. The front door leads into a cozy living room with a set of leather armchairs and matching sofa. Further in, Hazel buzzes around a small kitchen. The shiny appliances stand out against aged, worn cabinets. The cabin is decidedly a mix of vintage and masculine design styles. Framed sketches dot the walls throughout.
“I’m good with whatever,” I answer, pausing in front of a drawing of a waterfall. The pencil is blendeduntil the gradients are smooth, making the flow of the water in the foreground ethereal. It could pass for a photograph but somehow it portrays more emotion than a still photo ever could.
Hazel appears at my side, holding a chilled soda can in a koozie printed with a wolf wearing sunglasses. It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen.
“Slate is an amazing artist. It seems to run in the family.” Her smile is sweet and genuine, and it feels unwarranted. I’m not deserving of her kindness, of anyone’s kindness, least of all the girl I saw as an interloper needing to be disposed of when we first met.
Shrugging, I look back at the artwork. “Yeah, it’s nice.”
She watches me, waiting for me to volunteer personal information, but I have nothing to say to her. Her human upbringing is obvious at this moment.
“Ember, would you like to see the rest of the cabin?” Slate asks. Hazel sends him a look of gratitude as she heads back to the kitchen to finish some sort of salad.
Slate shows me the office through a door beside the kitchen. The room is set up with a drawing table and a computer desk. Tattoo equipment covers two shelves above the desk.
“What’s with the tattoo gun?” The question slips out of me before I can reign it in. Slate’s arms are covered in tattoos, down to his wrists, so clearly he likes them.
His mouth curves into the first real smile I’ve seen. It feels familiar, and I realize he has the samesmile as Jasper. My heart tugs at me, reminding me that I miss my idiot brother. I’d trade Slate in for Jasper if I could.
“I did a tattoo apprenticeship a few years ago. I’ll tattoo you if you want, someday.” Slate offers. The stern Alpha persona is gone and he’s putting out a calming charismatic energy. I feel drawn to him and I don’t like it.
“No thanks,” I say cooly, but then curiosity gets the better of me. “Did you do Onyx’s tattoos?”
“Yeah,” he answers. “I’ve done everyone’s tattoos. Jasper even got his first one a few months ago.
“What?” My brother let Slate tattoo him? It feels a bit like a betrayal. Another sign that Jasper has fully integrated into this pack and left me behind.
Slate heads back to the door. “Yeah, Marigold’s wolf with sunflowers. Ask him to show you when he gets back.”
“Maybe.”
Upstairs holds only their bedroom, with a wide king bed covered in an old quilt, and a line of bookshelves on the wall opposite the windows. I would guess Hazel is the reader, since Slate seems to be the artist out of the two of them.
“Dinner’s ready!”
Back down the staircase, Hazel sets a casserole dish with a vibrant red sauce on the round table. I leave the empty seat to my right between Slate and myself. His arm goes to the back of Hazel’s chair possessively.
In short order, my plate is loaded up with a sauced-up chicken burrito and a pile of salad sprinkledwith tortilla strips and tomato. The enchiladas are delicious.
Swallowing her first bite, Hazel smiles sweetly at me. “So, Ember, are you artistic at all like your brothers?”
“No really. I don’t draw or anything.”
