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“Ialwaystake responsibility for my actions. But you could be a bit more gracious about it.” I didn’t want to leave the glass on the ground. Luckily, the flower vendor brought over a dustpan and broom and a hose. I started to take them from her, but Bree arrived first and knelt beside the broken glass.
The wolf shifter still continued to watch me.
“Well, are you going to say something or burn a hole in me?” I said, irritated. I wasn’t sure why, but everybody around us was staring as though they were waiting for the other shoe to drop. “I’m not going to get in a fight with you.”
“I thought we were already arguing,” he said, a sarcastic grin spreading across his face.
“Oh, shut the fuck up.”
He snorted, then turned to the flower man and motioned to the hydrangea bouquets. The vendor silently handed one to him. The wolf shifter turned back to me and then suddenly reached out, stuffing the bouquet in my arms, along with a twenty-dollar bill.
“You have reparations. Go buy yourself some more honey. Maybe it will sweeten your disposition. And I’mbusy, so if you’ll excuse me…” He turned and strode away, leaving me once again, speechless.
Bree waited until he’d gone, then turned to me. “I hope you realize that’s not the best person to mix it up with.”
“Why? Who does he think he is?” I asked, still irritated.
“That’s Faron Collinsworth, the King of the Olympic Wolf Pack.” She laughed. “You just embarrassed one of the major power players in Starlight Hollow.”
As I watched him go, all I could think was, “Oh, crap. What the hell was I thinking?” And yet, his image lingered in my mind. He was annoying as fuck, yes…but there was something about him.
“No.” I shook my head.
“What?” asked Bree.
“Nothing,” I said, refusing to let thoughts of Faron Collinsworth linger.
CHAPTERFIVE
I hungthe garlic charm over the top of my bed and fell asleep the minute my head hit the pillow. But around twoa.m., I woke up abruptly, as though someone had shaken me out of my sleep. I propped myself up on my elbows, listening.
The sounds of the night filtered through the screened but open window. Straining my ears, I tried to pinpoint what had startled me awake, but I couldn’t tell if there had been a sound or if it was just a feeling or a dream that had catapulted me out of sleep.
Pushing back the blanket, I slipped on my robe over my nightgown and slid my feet into a pair of moccasins. Flashlight in hand, I headed through the living room, unlocked the door, and stepped out into the night.
Without the glare of city lights, the stars were shimmering overhead. I caught my breath at the beauty of the vast expanse before turning my attention to figuring out what had caught my attention. Once again, I reached out, trying to sense where the disruption had come from. Whatever it was, was hiding inside the treeline, off the path leading to May’s farm.
I paused, sussing out the energy. I couldn’t sense a negative attachment to it. More…a certain amount of confusion, fear, and hunger.
I frowned, hoping it wasn’t a cougar. While Bree was my best friend, a puma shifter and an actual puma were entirely different. I had no desire to end up on a big kitty-cat’s menu, and wild animals seldom gave off negative or evil vibes. But most of the mountain lions—also known as pumas and cougars around here—wouldn’t attack unless you made yourself look like prey.
As I neared the treeline, I turned on the flashlight and burst out in a loud, off-key version of “We Will Rock You.” Noise would drive off most of the bigger predators. But I heard no sound of bushes rustling, or anything scrambling out of the way. And the feelings I had tuned into were still there, the fear growing stronger.
I set foot on the trail. Two yards in and I made a sharp left, cautiously stepping off the path and into the dense undergrowth. I brushed a spider’s web out of the way, testing each step as I went. The woods in western Washington were often shin-deep in the detritus of years past, the compost thick with leaves, fir and cedar needles, and rotting bark that made up the rich loam of the forest. It was easy to turn an ankle or trip over a root, especially in the dark.
Whatever it was, I was closing in on it. The sensation of fear and confusion echoed in my head, like on a radar, the blip growing larger with each step I took.
I hadn’t had time to fully explore the forest yet—I hadn’t been here long enough, and I’d been so busy planting in flowers and getting my workshop set up. I paused at one point, swinging my flashlight right and left, examining my surroundings.
Up ahead, a nurse log blocked the way. Nurse logs were fallen timber—usually the huge firs that made up a good share of the forests around here. As they decayed, they became home to mushrooms and moss, to insects and small creatures that burrowed inside the massive trunks. Whatever I was sensing was right in front of me, somewhere in the log.
I approached the tree and knelt to examine it. To the right, an opening led into a hollow. I cautiously leaned in and pointed the beam of light into the hole. There, I saw something I’d never seen before. It was an egg—as large as an ostrich egg and a pale cranberry color. The egg was nestled in a thick pile of compacted leaves.
Frowning, I set the light down and gingerly reached into the hole, taking hold of the egg with both hands. The shell was warm—almost as warm as my own body. Curious, I brought out the egg and held it up.
“I’ve never seen anything like you,” I said.
Ping… It was as though my words had touched whatever was inside the egg. I thought about putting it back, but everything in my instincts screamed “No!” and I had learned the hard way to pay attention to them. I shed my robe and after wrapping it around the egg, I stood. Carefully cradling it in my left arm, I picked up the flashlight and retraced my steps.
