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“Because, it’s not right,” Jackson said, his eyes trained on my face again. “That place is dark. It’s dangerous, and it’s been shut up for five years. You haven’t been back since college. You wanted to get away so bad, you moved into my tiny apartment the second we graduated.”
I sighed and pulled the sleeves of the sweatshirt down over my hands. “We don’t have a choice, Jack.”
He shook his head. “There’s always a choice.”
22
Homecoming
There wasn’t a choice. Jackson didn’t want to agree, that much was obvious, but when Isaac suggested going to the bayou to stay with the pack, he relented. As I’d anticipated, Jackson didn’t want to bring our problems down on the women and children of the pack any more than I did.
That settled, Isaac declared Jackson could leave the hospital the next morning, and there’d be a small retinue of wolves waiting for us at the estate when we arrived. They’d guard the property and we’d focus on catching the shifter.
Everything was set, and for the first time since Nadia walked into my office, I felt like I was heading in the right direction. We had a plan. Jackson was healing. There’d be wolves at the estate when we arrived to help get him back on his feet. My cousin would be safe, and I’d finally have the space to think about our problems.
The one thing I wasn’t prepared for was the small old woman standing at the top of the estate steps when we arrived. She wore brown hiking boots, faded jeans, and a maroon sweater. Her hair was shoulder-length snow, and her eyes were piercing green.I’d never seen her before in my life but there was still something familiar about her.
“Myra?” Jackson called out, standing by the open passenger door. He’d gotten out on his own and was staring up at the woman dumbfounded.
“Who?” I asked, circling around the front of the truck.
“Aunt Myra. My…my aunt. She—” He took a shaky step forward. “What are you doing here? You never leave the bayou.”
The old woman put her hands on her hips. “You were dumb enough to get yourself shot with enchanted silver. If anyone is going to whip your sorry behind back to health, it’s gonna be me. I won’t have anyone treating you like a baby, pampering you. That’s not the boy I raised.”
“Feisty as ever, I see.” Jackson smiled.
The woman whistled over her shoulder. “Tate! Come get their bags!”
“He doesn’t need to…” Neither of them were listening to me.
Myra sized Jackson up as he walked to the bottom of the stairs. “Come up here and give me a hug, boy. It’s been too long.”
They embraced as Shado parked behind us in the driveway. I gave her a smile in greeting as she walked over to me. Then she frowned, looking over my shoulder.
“Who’s that?”
“Myra?” I asked.
Tate appeared from around the side of the house, walking along the porch. He patted Jackson on the shoulder and marched towards us. “Hey girls. We got here all of two minutes ago and tried to head inside, but the door wouldn't open.”
“It’s warded. Only a Devereaux can open it and let you in,” I said, reluctantly gazing past the people in front of me.
The house looked as if no time had passed. The garden and hanging baskets still flourished with white and purple flowers. The stairs were still solid brick, the railings were pristinely white. Magic clung to the air like burnt ozone, and gold glittering light framed the closed shutters along the main floor. It was exactly as I had left it.
“Who’s she?” Shado asked, pulling me back to the conversation.
“Who? Myra?” Tate blinked and followed our gaze up the stairs. “That’s Jackson’s great aunt. Practically raised him. I thought you, Bex, of all people—”
I shook my head. “He mentioned her, but we’ve never met.”
“Ah, well. She’s a spitfire. You’ll love her.” He chuckled.
“Tate!” Myra snapped from the stairs. “Get their bags, ya big oaf.”
His cheeks burned bright red. “I’m gonna get your bags.”
“You don’t need to do that,” I said as he grabbed the two duffels I’d shoved in the truck bed. Shado and I had gone to pack them after Isaac delivered Jackson’s release papers.
