Wolf Bonded (Wolfish 1)

I watch from the door for a second as he hops back into the car, but it isn’t until he’s started pulling away that I realize my mistake. Or, more accurately, my mother does.

“Tomorrow? What’s going on tomorrow?”

I keep my eyes on the back of Rory’s head as he turns the Jeep down the drive. “Oh nothing, just school.”

“On the weekend?”

“The …” I trail off and it dawns on me. Rory wasn’t talking about school. He’s talking about the river.

“Wait!”

I take off down the porch and onto the drive, waving my arms over my head to try to get Rory’s attention.

“Wait! I don’t know if I’m coming!”

My voice sounds small in the trees and the rain. It’s not enough to get Rory’s attention.

He doesn’t look back.

My mom is watching me, eyebrow cocked, from inside the doorway when I turn back.

“What was that about?”

It’s my turn to shake my head. “You don’t want to know.”

But really, I don’t want her to know. I’d almost forgotten Marlowe and Kaleb’s invitation. I just assumed they hadn’t told Rory.

This is exactly what I never meant to happen. No ties. No connections. And certainly, no days spent down by the river with three gorgeous, complicated boys who seem determined to make all this so much harder than it needs to be.

17

Sabrina

Despite what I said to Rory as he left, I wake determined not to join him or his brothers down at the river.

That would just be reckless.

I busy myself around the cabin, keeping my mind occupied so I’m not tempted to reconsider. Fortunately for me, there’s plenty of work to keep me busy.

The old house must have sat empty for a long time before we arrived because there can’t be less than three autumns worth of fallen leaves sloughed up against the walls outside. I find an old shovel leaned up in the closet of the outhouse and start using it to dig out the still-moist and rotting leaves away from the base of the house.

It’s intoxicating in a way. Every dig into the leaves releases a burst of moist air, the scent of decay and soft soil filling my nostrils. I work section by section, each time getting more vigorous with my approach. Soon my hands are rubbed red and threatening to blister, but I don’t stop.

“Everything alright?” My mom says at some point mid-morning, her head poking out the window above the sink for the third or fourth time already. I imagine I must look a fright.

I pause, leaning one arm against the shovel while I attempt to push the damp, sweaty hair away from my forehead with a rare spot on my upper arm that isn’t spattered with dirt.

She narrows her eyes at me. “You know you don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” I say, finally giving up on getting that one stubborn strand of hair off my forehead. I pick the shovel back up and drive it into the next pile of leaves. “I want to. It keeps me sane.”

She nods from her perch in the window, but the look on her face is less understanding and more pitying.

It just makes me work harder.

I would probably clear the entire lot by the end of the day if it isn’t for the incessant ringing that starts up inside the cabin around noon. At first, when my mother reappears in the window to tell me that someone named “Jess” is on the phone for me, I’m a little disappointed.

I’d expected to hear from … someone else.