“Like pushing me away because I’m the big, scary threat?” I raise my eyebrows, even as a strange feeling arrows through my heart.
Because…isn’t Ashton right, after all? Iama threat. Even now, I can remember the taste of power on my tongue when I unleashed the torrent inside of me at the covenstead. Then again, when I dispatched the Hunters without breaking a sweat or feeling guilt after the fact.
What if I lose control of my abilities around my mates? Around my family? I could never live with myself if I hurt someone accidentally.
“Hey.” Emery gently grabs my chin and forces my eyes to his. “What’s going through that pretty head of yours? You got all…sad.”
A frown touches his forehead, creating a furrow between his brows.
“Just thinking.”
“About Christian?” He cocks his head to the side. “Because I promise you, Izzy, we’ll find him. We’ve been looking, but I’ll do even more?—”
“No. I mean, yes.” I’m always thinking of Christian. “Just everything, you know? The last few months have been?—”
“Crazy with a side of absolutely unhinged?” Emery supplies, a wry twist to his lips.
“Crazy with a side of absolutely unhinged,” I agree.
Emery nods once, a contemplative expression on his face, before his eyes light up. He begins to all but drag me down the street, a literal skip to his steps.
“Where are we going?” I ask, laughing slightly.
“You okay if we extend our date?” Emery glances over his shoulder at me, gauging my reaction.
“What do you have in mind?”
Thirty-Seven
EMERY
“Woah.” Izzy blinks wide, dazzling blue eyes as she crawls through the doorway of the tree house. “I didn’t know these things actually existed.”
“You thought tree houses were made up?” I ask, amused.
She’s so freaking adorable.
“Of course not.” A blush tints her cheeks, and I’m grateful that, for the first time ever, she’s the one embarrassed instead of me.
“Flustered” seems to be my perpetual state around her.
And horny.
“I just thought they were something people did in movies, not in real life. Foster child, remember?”
I chuckle, even as a whip lacerates my heart, making it ache. I hate thinking of Izzy in the foster system—all alone, desperate to find someone, anyone, to love her. It makes me angry at her bio dads all over again, despite knowing they're not to blame. She wants someone to love her. Care for her. Protect her.
I vow to myself that I will be that person. Now and always.
“We made this years ago. Me, Ethan, and our father.” I grin as I remember that day years ago.
Dad asked us if we wanted to build a tree house with him and his other pack mates, and of course, Ethan and I said yes. What ten-year-old boy wouldn’t want a super-secret hideout built in a tree?
Sydney declared herself the “boss” of the entire operation and sat in a camping chair below, shouting out orders. It took us an entire day of hard, sweaty work, but the result was worth it.
A hanging ladder leads to a doorway you have to crawl through. Natural wood dominates the interior—smooth, warm-toned planks make up the floors, walls, and beams. The scent of pine and cedar lingers in the air. Moonlight filters through the windows cut into the walls, framed by wooden shutters, casting dappled patterns on the floor.
Out one window, you can see the back of my house. Out the other, you can only make out leaves that shift in the breeze. The only items in the tiny house are blankets—worn with age and use—and a few pillows, as well as a novel Ethan used to read years ago.
