Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Evan presents Scarlet with a bottle, and she gathers the baby into her arms hovering the milk over its lips. It latches onto the teat gratefully, and gulps away, while Scarlet’s eyes soften and her lips part in wonder.
Hunter exhales slowly. He shifts his weight like he’s grounding himself, then asks again, “So… what are you going to do?”
It’s a fair question. One we haven’t answered.
The room falls into silence, broken only by the soft gurgling of the infant in Scarlet’s arms.
Nixon’s jaw ticks. Finn paces near the window, hands clenched at his sides like he’s bracing for an argument.
Scarlet doesn’t speak right away. She stares at the baby, her thumb gently stroking the soft curve of her tiny shoulder.
Finally, she looks up. Her voice is quieter than I expect, but firmer than anything I’ve ever heard. “What are we going to do, Nixon?”
Nixon turns to her, slowly. His expression softens a little, his heart showing through his tough outer shell.
“We’ll figure it out,” he says. “Together.”
Together. Is he ready to claim Scarlet? Is he prepared to tell her everything?
Goldie eyes us all, interest gathering in her curious eyes. “We’re close. If you need anything… supplies, help, advice, say the word.”
Hunter grunts his agreement, lifting one of the twins from Robert’s arms. The toddler lets out a soft yawn, tiny fists curled against his father’s chest.
“So, you’re keeping her,” he says, understanding something we haven’t faced up to ourselves.
Nixon rubs his stubbled chin. “For now.”
Hunter heads for the door.
“Good luck,” Robert adds, following them out with Evan not far behind.
Goldie lingers, eyes scanning Scarlet one last time. “It’s tough, but totally worth it,” she says with a gentle smile.
Scarlet offers her a worried smile in return. Goldie grins and leaves, and then it’s us: me, my brothers, Scarlet, and the miracle child who has landed at the center of our lives like a bomb.
Scarlet sits back in a chair and exhales.
I don’t know what’ll happen next, but what I do know is that nothing has ever looked as right in our kitchen as Scarlet does right now.
23
SCARLET
I settle on the couch with the baby curled against me. In sleep, her breath stirs in a soft rhythm, her tiny chest rising and falling against my heart. The scent of supper drifts from the kitchen, where Finn is chopping and seasoning.
Nixon and Reed slipped out a while ago, shifting outside the door with the intention to track Aura and discover more about her abandoned child. I don’t know where they’ve gone, but I’ve been anxious since they left. Their absence is a gaping hole, the cabin too big and too empty. This world is so foreign that it’s hard for me to accept, but the real danger they might be in hangs like black drapes over my heart.
I shift slightly to cradle the baby more comfortably. Her little fingers curl into my shirt. I stare at her perfect form; her tiny red curls have tightened, her rosebud mouth moves as though she’s dreaming about milk, and her tiny fingernails seem too thin to be real. She’s a warm weight, and my heart is like a gently inflating balloon, the part of me that cracked open when the doctor told me my dreams of motherhood were unlikely to ever be made real, sealing inch by inch.
It’s dangerous to want and to hope, but I’m helpless to resist. The hole in my heart craves to be filled.
From the corner of the room, Finn’s voice drifts over: “She’s asleep? Dinner’s almost ready.”
I turn to rest the sleeping baby on the couch beside me, tucking pillows around her in case she rolls.
Standing, I approach Finn as questions tumble through my mind. “So… what is it like?” I ask. “Being a shifter.”
He pauses at the door, wiping his hands on a towel. “Do you mean the shifting?” He holds the knife above the zucchini. “Or being part-wolf?”
“Both.”
He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. “I don’t know any different, Scarlet. When you’re born as something, it’s all you ever know.”
“But you know the difference. The way you are when you’re a man, and the way you are when you’re a wolf.”
“I’m the same person inside, but a simpler version of me when I have fur.” His gaze slides to the sleeping child and back to me, thoughtfully. “When I’m a wolf, I can run free. The world is closer, the smells are more intense. My nature is… different.”
“Different?”
“As a wolf, I’d kill on instinct. As a man, I’d have to be pushed to the end of reason to do the same.”
He pauses, then his voice lowers. “The feeling of it, Scarlet. Being a wolf… It’s as if your body becomes the focus, and your mind goes quiet. There’s no doubt or overthinking, just pure clarity and instinct. It’s intoxicating. And terrifying. Because the part of you that’s human doesn’t get to steer. You have to trust the beast in you. And if you don’t…” He lifts his eyes, their golden flecks catching the light. “The wolf will eat the man.”