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

his arms dressed in nothing but a towel? he asked himself.

And answered himself: because he hadn’t been thinking with his big head, plain and simple. The flesh was rough, ragged, but she shivered a little—still some nerve function, then. He realized for the first time that he had always seen her in sweaters or long sleeves. Even her sleeping shirt had long sleeves. He’d assumed it was the weather. And he’d always taken her right hand, not the one with the scarred palm and wrist. Pure luck. And when she had reached out for him

(oh GOD I want her to reach out for me)

it was always with her right hand.

“It was dumb. I was dumb. Tried to grab some of Mom’s stuff so she wouldn’t be so mad.” Lila shrugged. “Didn’t work.”

Didn’t work as in “I was unable to grasp the items in question” or didn’t work as in “My mother was not appreciative of my efforts”? He had a horrid feeling he knew which it was.

She was fully prepared to go into Mama’s house for Dev.

“Your mother,” he managed through gritted teeth, “is a worthless twat.”

“Whoa! Well, that’s fair. Y’know what? It doesn’t smell so much like smoke in here now.”

“Said I’d fix it, didn’t I?” How, he had no idea. But he would. Somehow. How do you fight phantom smoke? “I’ll do anything you want. Anytime.”

“Won’t work,” she sighed, lying down and rolling over to her side, pulling her pillow in close and snuggling up to it. “Never does with me. And thass okay, I expect it. I just wanted to let you know what you were up ’gainst.”

He draped the blanket over her. “Good night, Lila.”

“G’night, Oz.”

“I love that you call me by my first name.”

“Gotta raise that bar higher, Oz.”

And before he could come up with a response, she was out.

Chapter 38

She was going to kill, utterly murder the bastard who was playing the bongos in her brain. How did the bongos guy even get in her brain? And where’d he get bongos?

She cracked an eye open and everything was blurry except the water bottle, which glowed and seemed twice its size, like a Dasani oasis in the driest of deserts. Eight seconds later, it was an empty oasis. She lay back and pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes. She could feel her heartbeat in her head, in time with the throbbing in her temples; her pulse was annoyingly loud and strong this morning. She was craving a glass of V8, but the mere thought of it made her stomach threaten a walkout.

Gah, even her soul was hungover.

She had vague memories of the movie palace and Toy Story and Oz being sweet and seeing her…

Oh, fuck. Seeing her ugly arms.

Well, so what? Her burns were nothing to be ashamed of, except for how they were definitely something to be ashamed of. A therapist from her eventful adolescence tried to point out that her scars could be considered badges of honor. She’d laughed so hard the therapist’s fixed smile vanished, never to return. It was downhill from there; she couldn’t respect a therapist she knew was an idiot. A nice idiot, but still.

So, yeah. Oz saw them. Which changed everything, and none of it for the better. Because it wasn’t a vanity issue for her, dammit, it wasn’t. It was the fact that fun, hot, slightly loopy Oz was now going to be sympathetic, hot, boring Oz. And almost as annoying?

“She’s awake now.”

“So let’s go talk to her.”

“Mama might get mad.”

“Why?”

The hissed conversation taking place in the hallway. “Oh my Gaaaaaawd,” she groaned. “Either come in here or take your convo somewhere else, the suspense is killing me.”

She was resigned to inconvenience and constantly sniffing the air to test for fire and a return of the nightmares where she beat at imaginary flames so hard she woke herself up. But furtive whispering outside her bedroom while her temples beat “La Copa de la Vida”? That’s where she clawed the line.

“Uh. Hi?” Sally poked her head in. “Are you okay? You smell kinda bad.”

Lila could imagine. A Shifter disadvantage: the kid could smell all the stale alcohol pouring from her pores. “Matches my mood. What d’you want?”

“D’you want something to eat?”

“God, no. So, yeah.”

Sally tiptoed closer. “Mr. Berne is gonna call you and Mama Mac says there’s bacon left if you want some and are you sick? You smell sick.”

“Not surprised. About any of it.” Her phone chirped at her. “Ah. That’ll be Berne. The prophecy has been fulfilled.” She groped for her phone, almost dropped it, took the call. “Yeah?”

“And a good morning t’you as well, Ms. Kai.”

“Ugh.”

There was a bemused silence (at least, she thought it was bemused), followed by “I wanted tae stop by and see my goddaughter and get any updates. Perhaps an hour from now?”

“You want to come to my house, so you are calling me and asking to come to my house.”

“Aye. Problem?”

“Not at all. How’d you get this number?”

“Ms. Macropi.”

“How’d she get my number?”

“I dinna know, lass, but I trust that was all right.”

“I’ve got no idea. But I’ve gotta admit, Berne, what with how you haven’t broken into my house or subjected me to a pop-in, you’re growing on me.”

“Naturally,” he replied, and disconnected.

Lila flopped back. Berne. Bacon. They meant the same thing: getting out of bed was an inevitable nightmare, like wearing shoes you bought without trying them on first. Getting dressed wasn’t going to be fun, either. If she took it slow and easy, she might not die.

“He’s coming?” Sally asked.

“Yep.”

“What’s it mean?”

“It means that you’ll be his problem now.”

“I’m your problem?”

Shit. “Um. No?” Lila finally picked up on Sally’s anxiety, but her big mouth had already done some damage. The kid had been bounced around like the cutest of ping-pong balls for the last several days. Naturally, anything new made her apprehensive.

“Why’d you even help me?” she burst out. “You don’t even like kids!”

“Argh. Softly, please. And it’s not that I don’t like