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Chapter 1 - Liam
Minute cries erupted from the right side of the greenhouse. For the seventh time in the same twenty minutes, I groaned while descending the ladder, listening to the ladder do much the same groaning in response to my shifting weight. Thick boots with steel toes guarded my feet as I stepped across the newly swept concrete floor.
The soles of my boots creaked as I walked—or that could have been the whispering palms trying to figure out who was disturbing their midday nap.Again.
“For the seventh time,” I grumbled. I adjusted the straps of my rubber apron that sat flush against my black t-shirt and greasy jeans. “Kids, you arekillingme today.”
I scratched the back of my head while staring at the daisies that had once again started weeping at the slightest sound in the greenhouse. It wasn’t their fault they were sensitive. They were planted at the front, near the door, to alert Fred and Kylie of anyone who dared stalk in here at an uncommon hour.
Sleeping daisies were good as an alert system because magic didn’t work on them. If someone happened to silence the bell on the door, then the daisies were the backup alarm.
Though why they didn’t just set up a regular electronic alarm system like anyone else was just beyond my understanding. Goddess knew Fred had enough gadgets spanning back to the eighties.
“Is it the soil? Is it too wet?” I plucked the glove from my left hand and dipped the tips of my fingers delicately between the fragile green stalks. One of the petals nuzzled my thumb.
Now, it wasn’t like me to melt under any circumstances. A guy like me was used to the combat zone. Black ops was exciting, almosttooexciting sometimes, and I was dead exhausted fromit all. But I’d be damned if I didn’t admit I was going insane without someone shooting at me every other day.
Cuddling wasn’t really my thing. But these sleeping daisies were apparently in need of a good snuggle. I sighed as I rested my palm against the bed of soil. Multicolored petals swooped in to get to my hand, nuzzling and cooing and making those weeping sounds that just made me think of war zones overseas where the sound of babies crying haunted the skies between gunfire.
I blinked away the memories. That wasn’t my life anymore. I had more than enough excitement acting as interim father to these plants, even if it wasn’t particularly dangerous. Part of me wondered if this was good practice for having my own kid one day.
The crying slowed, and eventually, the sleeping daisies went right back to sleep.
And just like that, the memories weren’t bothering me anymore. I watched the slumbering petals affectionately, admiring their softness and fragility in such a vulnerable state. Yeah, I wouldn’t mind being a father. Maybe I’d be damn good at it. I would sure as hell be a great protector with my skills.
Three months of practice informed my next move. I was careful as I removed my hand from the flower bed, breathing through every inch as Fred had taught me. As soon as I felt satisfied that the daisies were fine, I went back to the other side of the greenhouse, cringing at the way the ladder wheezed under every step.
The least my buddy could do was spring for some new equipment. But no, this stuff was fine by his standards. Fine because it was still usable. Even if it did make a ton of noise while it was being used. One of the biggest contributors to the daisies losing so much sleep was equipment that just worked too loud.
Though now I was faced with a new dilemma. How the hell was I supposed to install a new glass panel quietly?
At least no one had me in their crosshairs.
After putting my glove back on, I returned to my task, picking out the leftover shards of glass stuck in the open panel from its most recent break. Kids around here were too active for winter. What happened to people holing up inside with their families when the cold swept in?
I squinted against the midday sun, the chilly wind whipping through the panel and nearly blasting me off the ladder. Reflexes kicked in beautifully. I grabbed the panel’s edges, minding the glass that fell to the concrete below. Crisp air like this would make for a good run later. I thought of texting Fred about it, but got distracted.
Three women in their mid-twenties with varying hair lengths of differing shades walked about twenty yards out from the greenhouse. Their position indicated their path, rounding the community center to walk the path that carved between the two buildings, which would bring them closer to me.
This structure was newer. Yet it acted like it was ancient.
The women whispered. My ears tingled as I proceeded with my task, pretending not to notice them. That was just instinct at this point. Notice without noticing.
Look alive. But play dead.
One of the women giggled. I happened to raise my eyebrows in her direction, locking sights with a particularly gorgeous honey of average height, with curves hidden under a purple peacoat. Blonde hair drifted back from her face with every step like waves of wheat. She blushed, bit her lip, looked away, and then looked back.
I knew the drill. One of them—or maybe all of them—was about to say something to me. That was a thing around here, stalking the new guy. I’d figured after three months ofme stomping around the place doing repairs and shit that the shifters would have gotten used to me being around. I thought maybe I’d lose my luster.
But not with these women. They were probably the same ones who sat eagerly perched in the front row at those mate announcement meetings. Couldn’t they just pass out a flier or something? Make a phone call? It seemed like a waste of everyone’s time to show up every single week to the same song and dance.
The blonde waved. I winked. Giggles burst from her as she picked up her pace and lowered her head, ducking away with her two friends between a set of trees. A few seconds later, they were gone, though thecrunchof their boots on dead leaves resonated between the buildings.
Three months out of black ops, and my training still stuck like the day I’d learned it.
The bell on the front doordinged, followed by the dreadful and crushing sound of the tiniest cry. My shoulders flopped as I bent forward to drape myself over the ladder. Maybe if I just pretended to be dead then I wouldn’t have to walk for the eighth time back over to the sleeping daisies and put them back to sleep.
“Again,” I muttered. “Welcome to the greenhouse. Don’t touch anything.”
