A Wolf After My Own Heart by MaryJanice Davidson (good books for high schoolers .TXT) 📕

“There have been…misunderstandings.” Gah. Stop being cryptic. “And there’s no such thing as werepossums. I’m pretty sure.” Werecoyotes, yep. Wereroos, check. Werewolverines, yup. Werepossums, wereraccoons, werevoles, nope.

“Yeah, well. Misunderstandings can happen to anybody.”

Oz took a breath and plunged. “How long were you homeless?”

She just looked at him with those blue eyes. She’d left the glasses at home. He wasn’t sure if that meant she was starting to trust him or was just tired of wearing them. Her mouth moved, almost like she was tasting her response. “Thirteen months, seventeen days.”

“After the fire.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why? Did you set the fire?”

“No. But I’ll be happy to track and crack the person who did.”

“Then you’ll have to crack me, Oz.” At his stunned silence, she added, “The tracking part you’ve already got down.”

Chapter 36

“Oh, boy. The look on your face.”

“My face is fine.”

“Yeah, it is,” Lila muttered. “Annoyingly so. Look, I can see you’re about to burst with questions, so here’s the CliffsNotes version. I never knew my dad, but given my mom’s terrible taste, I can only assume he was an asshole. My mom worked shit jobs to support us and in her spare time—and there wasn’t much of it—was a hoarder. You probably didn’t know that someone who doesn’t make much money can also be a hoarder, but I’m here to tell you they can.”

She’s sharing intimate details with me! “Okay.” Calm down. Be cool. Don’t smile.

“It was March and we were living in a little house in North Dakota. Up by the border, y’know? Bottineau. Home of the Winter Park and Tommy the Turtle.”

“Seriously?”

“Very, very cold. The living room had an old fireplace and I decided to get a fire going. I forgot to put the screen back, and there were tons of magazines and newspapers in the living room. Everything went up.”

“Jesus. Were you hurt?”

“Barely. It was way worse for my mom. She just…fell apart. She never recovered. Our relationship is—what’s the word? Strained. Or is it estranged? It’s whatever word fits best when I’m not semi-drunk.”

Semi-drunk? What does she consider all-the-way drunk? She’s got the constitution of…well…me! “She must have been terrified. You both could have been killed.”

“Terrified?” Lila chuckled, and there was no humor in it at all. “She was mad because I burned up all her stuff, Oz. She’s still mad.”

He sat and stared and tried to process. And he would sit still and concentrate for however long it took, because this was a delicate subject and he didn’t want to say the wrong thing except nope, his brain was ignoring the process this weird shit before you open your big mouth command. “Well, your mom’s a worthless idiot who doesn’t know the true value of anything. Oh, shit.” He rubbed his forehead. “I shouldn’t say that about anyone with a mental illness, much less your mother.”

“It’s fine.” And apparently it was; Lila seemed more amused than anything else.

“So you were on your own?”

“Yeah.”

“For thirteen months and seventeen days.”

“Yeah.”

“You couldn’t—I mean, your mom didn’t—”

“She didn’t want to look at me. Like I said—I burned up all her stuff. So I slept on a lot of couches. And parks, when it got nicer. It does get nicer in Bottineau. Y’know, eventually. Then some cousins stepped in. I bounced around for a bit—my rep as a vengeful firebug prob’ly preceded me—and then I was eighteen. I still bounced, but by then it was by choice. And I bounced here. It was all apartments, before. This house, where I am now? It’s the next step. Curs will sell it to me eventually. If I stick it out.”

Oz hardly heard her. “Homeless by fire. Then essentially orphaned. On your own for years, and…”

“Ask, Oz. You know you want to. Why d’you think I decided to suck down half my weight in booze tonight? I knew I was going to show you things.” She waved a hand, indicating the palace. “Tell you things. And I promised myself I’d answer anything you asked. I don’t know why. Don’t ask me why.”

“Are you—do you feel compelled to do that? To share things with me? Like you didn’t have a choice?”

“Huh?”

“Do you believe in love at first sight?”

She laughed and shook her head. “No, Oz. Lust at first sight, sure. But love takes time. I oughta know—I’m pushing thirty and haven’t found it.”

“Yes. Right. I—I agree. But how could you protect yourself with no cover? And no den? Home, I mean. Did anyone ever…when you were on the streets, did some people ask—or make—” He cut himself off and met her impatient gaze.

“What do you think?” she asked with bitter humor. “It’s not like they were interested in conversation.” She thumped his chest again. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“Lila. Of course it matters.”

“No, it doesn’t. It’s done, it’s over. I have a home now. Mine. And nobody chases me away from it. If I leave, if I move on again, it’s because I say so. But I won’t. I planted fucking basil and dill, Oz. So it doesn’t matter if werebears go through my underwear drawer or Magnus fucking Berne—or some other jackass from their shared past—did something to Sally’s folks. I’m staying. So internalize that. Make it a fact in your mind, like two plus two equals four. Get it?”

“Yes, ma’am.” And now a new emotion was penetrating his shock

(oh my God she just wanted to be warm and her mom BLAMED HER)

and dismay

(if anyone forced her I will find them and eat their hearts)

and this new emotion was delight. Which was wrong, probably. Nothing about this should please him. (In fact, hearing her dismiss love at first sight was depressing beyond belief.) But everything about Lila did. He’d wondered—they all had—how she could be so calm. Why she didn’t call the cops that first night. And why she always came back to the Curs(ed) House. Now he had his answer. She remade herself after the fire took everything: material goods and her mother’s fractured, distracted love. She was a woman with