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“Not here to fight.” McGoven’s words were even harder to distinguish. Loren could only clearly make out two more—herandpack.
“The hell I will,” her father grumbled, sounding insulted at the mere idea of…whatever they were talking about. “She doesn’t need those bastards. A lot of good they’ve done you. Big shot William-fucking-McGoven. Hell, they shun you, and you still do their dirty work like a lost pup. It must be lonely out here without a bitch to keep you company. Is that why you’re sniffin’ around my girl?”
Officer McGoven’s reply came in a series of guttural notes. “Don’t test me.”
“The girl doesn’t needthem,” her father insisted.
Was he referring to long-lost family? She had already had enough of estranged relatives. Like,Uncle Bart,who still haunted her nightmares.
“You don’t get to make that decision,” Officer McGoven said, sounding louder than before. “Especially if she’s—”
“She’s not. If she’s any daughter of mine, shewouldn’tbe. Though you know that better than anyone, don’t you,Bill?You fucking pure-bloods and your rules.”
Bill. The oddly harmless name stuck in Loren’s mind.Bill McGoven.The man would unintentionally get her killed if he mentioned her skipping school or falling asleep in his barn.
“Rules don’t determine our ways—biology does. Even a mongrel like you can sense what she is. You know what could happen to her if you keep her secluded,” McGoven said, in a tone decisively more somber. “She’ll become isolated. Demented. You wouldn’t want that.”
“You don’t know what the hell I want, Bill. Now, get the hell out of my house! I’m of half a mind to call that precious Alpha of yours. You aren’t supposed to speak to me directly. Just report on my every move like a good dog—”
“Goodnight, Mr. Connors.”
The sound of retreating footsteps echoed amid the slam of the screen door. Loren scrambled to the window in time to catch sight of a dark figure striding from the house to an awaiting patrol car. Right when he reached the driver’s-side door, he looked up, and she swore his gaze fixated directly on her.
She jumped back as more footsteps broke the silence, only these were louder, inside the house, mounting the stairs.
A second later, her bedroom door flew open to crash against the wall. Dingy, orange light from the hall lamp illuminated dark hair, matched by two narrowed eyes set in a face that didn’t seem capable of holding a smile.
“Girl,” her father snarled. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot—he was most definitely drunk. “Care to explain why that fucking bastard McGoven just came over here asking about you?”
Loren could barely squeak in her own defense. “I-I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” He lumbered forward, his hands in fists. Compared to McGoven’s bulk, he appeared scrawny, swallowed by his stained T-shirt. Loren cowered anyway.
She used to wonder why he never took her in after her mother’s death, despite being listed on her birth certificate. He never visited, never called. The first time she met him had been the very day social services dropped her off after a failed placement with a distant relative. Not long after that, Loren realized the grim truth—Fred Connors wanted nothing to do with her. In fact, they looked nothing alike. His hair was sandy blond, and their eyes were shaped differently. They may have had the same, wide, oval face, but so did her mother.
“You didn’t talk to him?” Her father’s tone was dangerous, daring her to slip up.
Careful, Loren thought. “He stopped me on the way to school,” she began in a tentative whisper. When that didn’t seem to spark a rage, she continued. “He spoke to me—”
“And what did you say?”
“N-nothing—I mean,” she croaked. “I-I was polite, but I didn’t say anything. I told him to leave me alone. I swear.”
He appeared to mull her answer over in silence. Finally, he turned, bracing one of his fists against the door.
“The next time he tries to speak to you, you tell him to go to hell, understood? He’s a fucking pervert. Probably heard down at the station how much money I get for you from that bitch’s insurance. That’s what he’s after.”
Loren winced, but he was already stumbling down the hall to his own bedroom. He slammed the door after him, but she didn’t dare move a muscle.
Neither did she have the nerve to close her bedroom door, or even creep into the hallway to switch off the light he’d left on. She stayed frozen until morning, when the dull light of dawn entered her window in a silent reprieve.
* * *
It was Saturday.
“Lazy day” her mother used to call it, a weekly holiday they would spend in pajamas, eating cereal, and watching cartoons.
Those days were long gone. Loren didn’t even realize it was the weekend until she hastened downstairs for the bag her father kept the papers in, only to discover that it wasn’t there.
