He’s a sharp one in other ways too, Rory. Too sharp.

He grows quiet, which is a first. It seems like he’s going to say something but isn’t quite sure how to say it. After a long drawn-out moment of silence, I realize that I probably shouldn’t have said anything at all.

Even though it’s not like I told him every deepest, darkest detail of the trauma that led to us running away from my father, it still feels like I did. In just a few, honest words, I feel like I just beared my soul to him.

And he’s left it here, hanging between us, as he stands in front of me saying nothing. What was I thinking?

“You shouldn’t be here,” he finally says. “If your goal was to stay safe, then coming here wasn’t the best choice.”

And there it is. That’s all he has to say about it.

There was a brief moment there where I thought we had an understanding. I thought wrong.

I just nod, turn on my heel, and storm off without saying anything else.

Because that’s all that he deserves.

Throughout the rest of my classes, all I can think about is what Rory said to his brothers in the hallway, and what I said to him outside the classroom. I hope I don’t end up paying for opening my mouth. I usually know better. What Rory said sounded a lot like another threat.

It didn’t feel like a threat at the time, not in the same way that Romulus’ warning did.

The more I think about it, however, the more I wonder if I’ve made a terrible mistake. I should

have been more careful. I should have watched my back. I’ve been so caught up in these fictional wolves in the woods that I didn’t look out for the real worry, the real wolves.

They warn you about the wolf in sheep’s clothing, but they don’t warn you about wolves in well-fit designer jeans with eyes that look like they’re staring into your very soul.

Rather than dulling, the feeling of unease grows for the rest of the day. By the time I get home from school, even the scent of freshly baked lasagna wafting down from the cabin does nothing to ease my nerves.

My mom can sense it when I step inside, the front screen door slamming shut behind me as I throw my backpack on the couch and reach to shuffle through the junk mail accumulated on the side table.

I can see her glance up at me from the corner of my eye, and then just as quickly look away.

“Hey, did you hear that someone broke into the big house on the hill over the weekend? I thought maybe some of the kids might have been talking about it at school.”

“Uh huh,” I mutter, still focused on shuffling through the letters on the table. I’m not really paying attention to anything, not even the mail in front of me.

We never get mail since we’ve been careful not to officially register at the new address. It’s more of a nervous tick than anything. Something to keep my mind occupied while I try to shake this growing feeling that something is just off.

“I hate to think of you here alone,” my mother continues, the sound of silverware clinking together as she sets a sorry set for two in front of the TV.

“It was fine,” I say absentmindedly, picking up the last coupon booklet from the stack and glancing over an advertisement for half-off tick bite cream. With all the breaking-in I’ve been doing, it seems highly appropriate.

I start throwing it with rest of the recycling when something catches my eye and makes me freeze.

“You didn’t see anything, did you?”

I hear the start of my mom’s question, but then her voice seems to trail off as I stare down at the booklet.

“Sabrina?”

Her voice sounds distant, as if I’m in a dream.

More like a nightmare.

Because when I turn the booklet back over and take another look at who’s name is printed on the front, I know why I’ve been feeling anxious all day. I know why this sense of foreboding has been growing, why I’ve been so worried.

The coupon booklet isn’t addressed to “current resident” as all the other mail is. As it should be.

Tags: Eden Beck Wolfish Paranormal
Source: readsnovelonline.net