“Oh, you’re angry at me now?”
“No. I’m giving you a chance to do the right thing.” He smiles sweetly, like he’s doing me a favor. “But I will be if you try to shoulder the blame any longer. Let it go or we will havewordsagain. You don’t want that.” He makes a face. “Nobody wants that.”
I’ve been carrying this guilt for so long that its weight has become a part of me. But hearing Dodger’s perspective makes a lot of sense. Maybe he really had channeled my brother somehow. Or maybe he and James shared more traits than I’d realized—both stubborn and blunt to a fault, both unafraid to call me on my bullshit. Though James, for all his trying, never managed to get under my skin quite like Dodger does with such apparent ease.
I can almost hear James’s voice now, telling me I’ve done enough penance, that he’d stopped wanting to kick my ass years ago, but he’d gladly start again if given the chance to knock some sense into me.
“You might be right,” I say eventually.
“Might be?” he repeats, raising an eyebrow.
“You are right, but I don’t think I can let this go, not quite yet.” Maybe soon, if everything goes right. I push myself up from the couch and extend my hand toward him. “Not until the two of us finish this.”
“Finish this?” He tilts his head, dark hair falling across his forehead as he wraps his slender fingers around mine. I pull him to his feet, bringing us face to face. “You mean until we stop Rowan?”
“Yeah, the person that killed our brothers. Then they can rest in peace and we can move on. That feels fitting, right?”
“Yeah,” he says as he mulls it over. “I guess it does.”
“Of course, you don’t need to do anything.” This is a personal matter, not his professional duty. “I have contacts in the Concordia law enforcement now. We can work to take Rowan down if you feel safer not—”
His face scrunches up, annoyed. “Hell no, are you kidding me? I’ve been waiting to kick Rowan’s ass.”
Then it looks like we have work to do.
Maybe I should insist he stay behind and let me protect him, but would he listen? Not a chance.
Besides, it felt fitting. Avenging our brothers together. Making Rowan answer for what he’s done. Everything is finally falling into place.
Then again, I’ve felt like everything started going right once I Recognized Dodger. As soon as I began seeing Dodger as my potential mate, it became nearly impossible to view him in any other way. His defiance stopped irritating me and started fascinating me instead. That stubborn resilience, the way he pushed through his fear, how he challenges me and pushes me out of my comfort zone. Suddenly I’m going to kitschy bakeries for breakfast just because he might like them or seeking out things like a supernatural carnival and cheating to win him a prize.
He forces me to reconsider my rigid perspectives, to actually stop and breathe instead of grinding myself down with duty and guilt. To remember what living feels like instead of just surviving.
I need him.
We’ll stop Rowan together. And with a little luck and a lot of persistence, maybe by the time we’re done, he’ll realize he needs me too.
Music Soothes the Savage Beast
Dodger
“Maybe I should get a whistle or something,” I mutter as I ready my guitar. It’s great for opening a passage but all I’m trying to do now is harmonize with Melody and the instrument feels a little silly out in the field. Well, the forest.
Mel and I are practicing and squaring off against Harper. Gotta train if we’re taking on Rowan. We’re in a little clearing behind the cabin, scanning the nearby trees for any sign of a cranky wolf.
“Here doggie! Come to Dodger. Here boy.” Not sure how likely it is I can annoy him into pouncing but it’s better than standing out here and feeling like I’m about to serenade the trees.
Melody growls a second before there’s a rustle from the underbrush ahead. Crap! He’s here. My fingers hover over the strings, barely plucking a single note before a thunderous bark explodes behind me. Damn it. He tricked us!
I whirl around, catching only a glimpse of tawny fur before Harper slams into my knees with enough force that my feet actually leave the ground. I crash down hard, my tailbone connecting with a protruding tree root, sending a jolt of pain shooting up my spine.
Ouch. At least he made sure I didn’t fall forward onto my instrument, but it’s hard to feel too grateful after my encounter with the hard ground.
“Yeah, you better run,” I mutter, pushing myself up and brushing pine needles and twigs from my jeans.
