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Chapter 6
Nestled amongst a thick grove of ancient trees stood a small wooden cabin that blended perfectly into the background. Fading sunlight pooled through the tops, spilling ample light on the moss-littered ground. The scent of wild herbs wafted on the breeze, accompanied by the sweet song of a bird.
The cabin itself was a simple one-storey building, with half a dozen steps that led to a porch. Two plastic chairs and a small table stood by the door, a few empty Coke bottles resting on top – no better evidence of a lack of parents. Lacey’s own mother would have tanned her hide for leaving trash out for anyone to see.
The two windows set on either side gleamed in the sunlight, spilling rainbow-coloured light onto the porch. Drapes hung from within, giving her a glimpse of furniture, but from where she stood, she couldn’t identify what the rooms were.
The whole scene sent Lacey on a trip down memory lane. It was eerily similar to how Sam’s pack lived, just with a dozen more buildings that served as family houses. There had been another, longer building, designed as a storeroom, holding food, clothing, shoes, medical supplies. All the things they may have needed in human form. She’d only been to the heart of the pack village as she called it back then, only twice, but twice too many times for everyone’s comfort. They’d never willingly allowed humans in their homes until then.
And if they did, they never left.
If Sam hadn’t helped her, she wouldn’t have either.
Pushing down the memories, Lacey followed Mr Gorgeous up the steps and through the door. A small living area sat in the front, furnished with just a single sofa in an old denim blue colour and a matching armchair, both dating from the late seventies or early eighties, but a jug of wildflowers and a bright yellow rug sprawled across the floor gave it a touch of warmth.
Lacey mentally bet herself that the sister had been behind those things.
The place had the essentials, but she couldn’t fail to notice the lack of things usually found in homes. Photographs, art, things that meant something to those who lived there. What she saw was reminiscent of kids on the run.
“Shouldn’t you take her to a hospital?” Lacey asked as Mr Gorgeous headed straight for a room in the back. Unable to help herself, she followed him into what appeared to be the girl’s bedroom. The wooden walls were bare, devoid of posters of whatever movie star or boy band girls her age drooled over.
Lacey couldn’t remember who she’d had on her walls. Shit. Am I really that old that I can’t remember?
A few books lay sprawled on the bed, which he soon swept off with an arm, sending them tumbling to the floor, equally as bare as the walls. From their covers they appeared to be some soppy romances. Urgh. Give her Patterson, Grisham, or Craven any day. A well-worn teddy sat on top of a floral comforter that matched the curtains at the window. At least she’d finally found something that suggested real live people actually lived there.
Laying her down with gentle motions, he tucked a star-shaped cushion beneath her ankle. “No. Stay with her while I get some stuff,” he said, the words tight, and quickly headed out of the room without bothering to look her way.
Now alone, Lacey glanced around the girl’s room, searching for anything that could identify them as her target before he came back. Sam wanted results, positive results. If said she’d found Mace and Kari, and it turned out these siblings weren’t really them … she didn’t want to think about the consequences.
But a quick inspected around revealed nothing.
No bank account statements with names on. No school admission paperwork. No credit or debit cards.
These two siblings, Mace and Kari or not, were definitely in hiding. No one had this lack of a paper trail without hiding from someone.
Footsteps echoed through the air. Lacey jumped back from the chest of drawers back to where she originally stood and suddenly Mr Gorgeous reappeared, holding a grey metal box with several dents. With swift fingers, he opened it and pulled out a handful of cloths and bottles. “Here,” he said, thrusting a white cloth in her hand as he sat on the bed next to his sister. “Start cleaning.”
Internally bristling at the bite of command in his tone, Lacey took at deep breath, dropped her rucksack to the floor, and lowered herself to the bed beside the girl’s legs and fought the need to be sick as the gaping holes revealed things that should never see the light of day. “This looks bad,” she admitted, hating the tremble in her tone.
“She’ll be fine once she’s cleaned up and I get some of this on her,” her brother replied, smearing a thick glob of what appeared to be a homemade concoction of some sort near the edges of the wound once the blood had been wiped away. “It’s something out mom taught us to make,” he explained, catching her confused glance. “She used to create all kinds of medicine from stuff found in the forests where we grew up. It may not smell nice, but it’ll help keep infections away and close the wound.”
Sceptical, all Lacey could do was watch him apply the salve onto his sister’s legs. Her own mother would use a few salves that she’d made, but for a wound this deep and nasty, even with the girl being a shifter, her first instinct was to get her to a hospital.
She bit her lip though. She needed answers and pissing him off wouldn’t get her far.
Instead, she leaned closer to the pot and inhaled. A rich aroma of various herbs shot into her nose, making her eyes water. A flash of pain erupted over the girl’s face, and a strangled whimper fluttered out of her mouth, but disappeared as quick as it had come. Her leg twitched, then lay still as her brother started to wrap the wound with a roll of clean gauze.
Gathering the pile of bloodied cloths Lacey had discarded, he finally turned his gaze towards her. “Your turn.”
A few minutes later, Lacey found herself sitting on the edge of the denim blue couch, the sunlight streaming through the window, warming her skin. Despite the patches where it was almost threadbare, and the fact that the springs had lost their sprung, it was pretty damn comfortable.
Sitting beside her, Mr Gorgeous took her hand in his. Warm fingers probed her wrist, wringing a genuine wince with their examination.
“I guess I hit him harder than I thought,” Lacey said, her words soft and low.
“Not a bad punch,” he conceded, starting to wipe away the blood smeared across her knuckles. “Did you get him on the nose?”
“His cheek, but at least I got that. I doubt I’d be able to find the other place I wanted to hit without a microscope.”
