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Ridge’s smile dampened, and the atmosphere changed drastically. He struggled with his ancestral history and was doing everything he could to make amends for it, to right the Blackwoods’ wrongs like it was his mission in life when he shouldn’t have felt so beholden to the task. He’d worked himself to the bone to rectify his family’s history when he had done nothing wrong. They weren’t his crimes, but his work demonstrated the character of a great man.
Learning about his mission had been a turning point for me and how I looked at him. He was a fantastic man who, for a short time, I was fortunate to call my own.
“I’m sure that’s part of the reason I was targeted by the hunters,” he said. “They probably want me to help them repeat history. I refuse to do that. I’d never sacrifice shifters or any other paranormal being for my own gain.”
We stopped walking for a second, and I cupped his jaw in the palm of my hand and made him look at me.
His eyes held the torment of his family’s actions, and the responsibility of the lives lost for their greed and poor decisions was buried deep. I wanted to fix it all for him, but knowing that wasn’t possible, I could at least make him not think about it so much. I guided his jaw down till I could meet his lips in a slow, sweet kiss meant to soothe, not arouse.
When we broke apart, he rested his forehead on mine and smiled into my hair. “Thank you, little wolf.”
My wolf preened that I’d lifted some of the sadness from him. Ready to change the subject, I jokingly asked, “Do the Magpies have bad tempers?”
Ridge cocked his head. “Not that I know of. Why do you ask?”
I started walking again so we could be on our way. “I haven’t shown up for the last two shifts at the Moonlight Café and kind of forgot I was working there, with everything going on. I need to know if I should beg them for their forgiveness to keep my job.”
Ridge laced our fingers together as he spoke. “They’ll probably show you mercy, considering you were attacked, stabbed, in the hospital, and then went on a rescue mission within twenty-four hours.”
“Ah, but they don’t know I went on a rescue mission. Only that I went out of town.”
“Please, you’re talking about the Magpies. They know you rescued us.”
We laughed because it was true. I wouldn’t be surprised if those two knew all the secrets of the universe but loved to watch us mere peons struggle with day-to-day living.
“And you know, you don’t have to keep working at the Moonlight Café. I really think you should pursue something artistic.” His fingers skimmed the heather flower tattoo on my wrist. “You’re extremely talented, Tori, and I think you should pursue that.”
My body got all warm and fuzzy at his compliment. I was touched that he’d even remembered how much I loved doing art. Drawing and tattooing were things that called to me, but those hobbies weren’t easy to pursue when on the run. I’d trained myself to tattoo and done my own—the heather flowers on my wrist in memory of my mom, a dreamcatcher on my leg intended to help the nightmares that had started after my first shift, and a larger piece on my side that saddened me now, as it depicted my previous feelings about my wolf.
Amazing, how much this man had changed everything for me.
But it wasn’t easy to make money as a tattoo artist without a reputation, and the only way to get a reputation would have meant staying in one place and advertising. It also didn’t help that my father and brother knew about my love of drawing. It was safer to avoid my hobby so they couldn’t track me through the artistic community.
We were quiet on the drive to the care facility, but Ridge had given me something to think about. These days, I kept getting these moments of excitement until I remembered that staying here in Blackwood Creek wasn’t an option. I couldn’t pursue the artistic lifestyle I wanted, but it was a gracious gesture on Ridge’s part. He didn’t mean to get my hopes up, only for reality to set in and break my heart. He only wanted me to be happy. It showed in everything he did.
The upside of all that thinking was that it eased my nerves about meeting his aunt. When we parked at the care center, the overwhelming scent of shifters surprised me.
“Ridge, is this a care facility for shifters? I’ve never heard of anything like this.”
He winked at me. “There is now. I told you how my Uncle Vincent and Aunt Lucille went missing a couple of years ago, right?” I nodded, remembering the conversation. “Vincent has never been found, but Lucille was discovered wandering near Blackwood Creek.” Ridge stared out the window, not focusing on anything. “Lucille was broken. I thought at first I could look after her. She’d done it for me. I wanted to be there for her the way she was for me after my parents died.”
I reached over and squeezed his hand. “That couldn’t have been easy for you… losing them, not knowing what happened, only to have Lucille return but still not have answers.”
“She was feral, and as it took hold, she became more and more out of control. I couldn’t look after her myself. If I left her alone in the house, she either destroyed everything or got out. When that happened, we had to find her, hoping she hadn’t harmed anyone or shifted in front of some unsuspecting human. I needed help.”
No wonder he was so keen on helping me find balance with my wolf. He’d seen firsthand what it meant for a wolf to be feral and how it affected those around them. Seeing this care home that this wonderful man had built and staffed with shifters and humans who were in the know, all so his aunt would be safe and cared for, only increased my pride in him.
Would I ever cease to be amazed by this man and his selfless nature?
We signed in and went to Lucille’s spacious, high-end room. Ridge must have spent an absolute fortune for her to maintain this style in a care facility.
An older woman, looking anywhere between her late forties and somewhere in her fifties, stood before bay windows that let the sun pour into the room. She was working on a watercolor painting with a woman who looked a few years younger. The other woman kept commenting on Lucille’s artwork, so I figured she was probably a recreational therapist.
The therapist’s head popped up when she noticed we’d entered, and she gave us a pleasant smile. “Lucille, you have guests. I’m going to give you some time to visit.”
“Okay, dear,” Aunt Lucille said. Her voice was hazy, and she didn’t sound completely present.
When the therapist approached us, Ridge asked, “Are you seeing any improvements with the different therapies?”
