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“It’s possible.” More likely probable, really. Zander sank onto the sofa, on the exact spot where Gwen had been sitting. She called Julie her sister, but his nose told him they weren’t blood relatives. Also, Marlon wasn’t biologically related to either of the females or Yvonne. That meant these people were either Gwen’s foster family or adopted family. “We might as well wait here. Something tells me that Yvonne will be down here soon enough.”
It was a good twenty minutes before Yvonne finally entered the room, alone. She looked from Zander to Bracken as she spoke. “My Gwen says you’re offering to stay and help with the Brandt situation.” And she sounded no more trusting than Gwen had. “Why?”
“What kind of people would we be if we didn’t offer to help?” asked Bracken.
“Normal,” said Yvonne.
“We don’t know Andie,” began Bracken, “but she’s one of us—a shifter. She needs help, and the only person doing anything about that is Gwen. Your daughter could end up being the target of extremists, and believe me when I say they are not people whose attention you want.”
Yvonne rubbed her arm. “We’ve seen the things they’re capable of on CNN. I don’t understand that type of prejudice and brutality. As Gwen says, it’s all senseless. You think the Moores would contact the extremists and tell them what she’s doing so they’ll come after her?”
“Honestly, I doubt it,” replied Bracken. “Even other anti-shifter humans avoid the extremists now—they’re out of control. Plus, wherever the extremists are, The Movement soon follows.” The Movement was a group of shifters that had formed to retaliate against the extremists. “No one wants to be stuck in the middle of their ongoing battle. Still, it’s smart to envision the worst-case scenario so that you can be prepared for it.”
“What is it you want from her in exchange for your help?”
“Her cooperation would be good.” Bracken’s mouth curved. “She fought us on accepting our help.”
“My Gwen doesn’t trust easy. And she likes to take care of herself. She’s well liked around here by most people, so it’s rare that anyone bothers her. Especially since she has a paranoid eccentric for an uncle. But the Moores don’t care, and I doubt they’ll care if she has the protection of two shifters—they regard your species as inferior.”
“Yeah, we got that.”
“My concern is that your presence here could rile the Moores enough to make this worse for her. Brandt won’t back down; he’s scared of going before the shifter council. If your support does aggravate the situation, are you going to then disappear and leave her to bear the weight? Or will you stick by her until the end? Because if you can’t stick by her, you should stay out of the matter.”
She’s right, thought Zander. “We’ll be here for as long as the situation requires us to be.” And he meant it. Lack of empathy or not, he found himself wanting to help Gwen.
Leery of staying, his wolf released a low, disgruntled rumble—a tame response from his usually bold wolf who had no compunction about clawing the fuck out of Zander if he wasn’t getting his own way.
Yvonne gave them a slow nod of respect. “Then we’re in your debt.”
Leaning against the doorjamb, Zander watched as Gwen cleaned the newly vacated room. It wasn’t as spacious as his room, but it was just as warm and restful. He’d offered to help, but she’d politely declined his offer—and damn if that stiff politeness didn’t still grate on him.
Once Yvonne had agreed to let him and Bracken stay, Zander had tracked down Gwen to ask her some questions while Bracken took a shower. Unfortunately, Gwen wasn’t being very forthcoming. He got the sense that it was instinctual for her to keep her business private, and she was finding it difficult to push past that. He also got the sense that she liked keeping people at a distance.
“We can’t help if we don’t have the full picture, Gwen. Marlon said that the Moores have tried pretty much everything to make you back down. What exactly did he mean by that?”
Finishing stripping the linen from the duvet, she balled it up and dumped it in a basket. “At first, it was just dumb pranks. Egging my truck, toilet-papering the yard, and calling the house—sometimes no one would speak, other times a voice would threaten me to keep my mouth shut if I wanted an easy life. Once, he even snatched the clean laundry that was drying on the line and dumped it in the marsh. Another time, he left a dead skunk on the hood of my truck. He and his friends were watching from the other side of the lot, laughing. It was all juvenile shit.” Tugging off a pillowcase, she added, “But then, it got worse.”
“Worse how?”
She threw the pillowcase in the basket. “Someone emptied my bank account, canceled my cell phone contract, maxed out my credit cards—shit like that.” Gwen thought it was lucky she hadn’t kept much of her savings in the bank. Donnie taught them to hide their money, not to trust banks. If she hadn’t followed his paranoid advice, she’d have lost it all. “Of course, I can’t prove that the Moores had anything to do with it, but I know by the call I got from Brandt, passing on his sympathies to my situation, that his family was behind it.”
Bastards. “He ever assault you?”
The dark note in Zander’s tone made her look at him. “He came close to hitting me with a bat a few days ago when I stopped him from vandalizing my truck. Donnie scared him off.”
Zander bit back a growl. Even his wolf didn’t like that she’d almost been assaulted. “What did the Moores do to terrorize Andie?”
“Way worse stuff than they did to me. They threw bricks through her windows, spray-painted her house, slashed her tires, tried breaking into her home. Brandt and his friends always had alibis, but I doubt Colt would have acted even if they hadn’t claimed to have them.”
Zander watched her apply the fresh bed linen. She had very elegant hands. Pretty and smooth. Hands that would look so fucking good wrapped around his cock. Shoving that image out of his head, he asked, “I don’t foresee the Moores backing down at any point. You?”
“No, they won’t back down.” And neither would Gwen. “I had a thought earlier. I was wondering if . . .”
“If?” he prompted.
