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Maybe that myth had some truth to it after all.
CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO
FRIDAY - BROOKE
“How do you know this guy again?” I asked.
Declan shrugged, sliding a rag over the bar. “It’s just a thing. When you’re a wolf, you cross paths with other local wolves.” He dropped the cloth into the bucket on a stool a few seats down. “And he kinda knows my mom.”
“Kinda?”
His nose wrinkled, fighting a cringe. “They… I don’t know. Something happened between them a few years after my dad died, and…” An involuntary shudder coursed through him. “Not my business, man. Not my business.”
I laughed.
He talked about her a lot, and I liked that.
In the past, there were guys I’d been with who also talked about their moms a fair bit, and it bothered me. Typically because it was codependent. They had to call their moms to ask how to start the dishwasher. They’d bring her a bag of clothes to wash, even though they were financially capable of washing them themselves. Their moms would come over and clean their apartments for them.
It showed a lack of maturity.
Declan, though, he talked about his mom like she was his friend. A friend he held a great respect for, but a friend. He didn’t depend on her to take care of him like he was a child. He didn’t expect her to be his maid. He just loved her.
They had a good relationship without it being overbearing on either end. That wasn’t something I was used to, and I found it refreshing.
As he dug for his jacket on the wall beside the kitchen door, I wondered what that was like. To be normal. To have a healthy family life. To know what a healthy relationship looked like from a young age.
Part of me envied it. The other part of me was grateful. Because I may not have known what a normal, healthy relationship looked like, but Declan did.
That gave me hope for whatever it was that was slowly blossoming between us.
“Anyway.” Declan met my gaze. “You ready to head out?”
* * *
While Declan bent over to vomit in the damp grass, as was common for someone who wasn’t used to teleporting, I stared ahead.
Holy shit.
This place was massive. Calling it a mansion didn’t do it justice.
The house sat atop a hill of rich green grass framed by acres of thick foliage. Six white pillars held up the three-story porch roof. Judging by the old colonial style, it must’ve been from the early twentieth century, maybe even the late nineteenth.
Along the stone stairs laid pots teeming with beautiful flowers, glorious bushes, even some herbs. Quaint wicker furniture sat upon the porch like something from a 1950’s movie.
In the center of the wrap around, freshly paved driveway rested another small garden. A beautiful fountain laid within the center as the focal point. Not a simple, classic one, but a statue. Like the kind I’d seen in museums.
A woman wearing a flowing toga. Her hair was pulled back into a glorious updo, and a small crown sat atop her head. A dozen stars lined it.
At her feet, practically hiding within her gown, were two animals. A deer on her right, and a wolf on her left. The wolf stood slightly forward, posture firm, protective, while still protected by the woman’s presence. The doe’s head peeked forward, but its body was tucked behind her, as if using her as a shield.
Her features were soft, but she held back on the strings of a bow. An arrow was drawn between the strings, water shooting from its tip.
Behind her was a man. His face was shielded by her hair, lips pressed to her neck, hand around her waist, sneaking into a fold in the clay where her gown hung open.
Perhaps the most magnificent statue I’d ever seen. I hardly even noticed Declan hurling beside me, entranced by its beauty.
When he finally straightened up, he apologized and hooked a hand around my waist. He started to say something about heading inside, but I cut him off before he could.
