Page 80 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

Back in my room I locked the door and pulled my laptop out. I scanned the last two days of John’s camera feeds at speed, only stopping when something moved. His routine matched everything I had already mapped. No new visitors. No deviations. Nothing that raised a flag.

I stared at the screen for another second, then closed the laptop.

It didn’t mean I relaxed.

The next evening Jackson appeared at my door with a suspiciously large package tucked under his arm. When he pulled it free, I had to stop and stare.

An oversized yarn ball. Practically the size of a basketball.

I lifted an eyebrow. “Really?”

A faint smirk tugged at his mouth. “Figured your cat might like it.”

She did. Instantly. I felt her surge forward, intensely curious and already charmed by the ridiculous thing.

“You bought my cat a yarn ball,” I said dryly.

“I did.”

“One big enough to tackle.”

His eyes darkened with quiet amusement. “Size matters.”

I crossed my arms, fighting a smile. “She’s already half in love with you. You don’t need to bribe her.”

“I’m not bribing her.” He held my gaze, voice low. “I just wanted to bring something for the most beautiful mountain lion I’ve ever seen.”

The words landed low and warm. Inside me, my cat purred.

I let out a soft breath and shook my head. “Come on. Let’s go before someone sees you carrying that thing.”

We walked into the forest hand in hand, the ridiculous yarn ball tucked under Jackson’s arm. My cat was practically vibrating with anticipation, but even through her excitement she caught it first. The stiffness in his shoulders. The rigid set of his jaw.

Something’s wrong, she pressed, clear and insistent.

I didn’t ask. If he wanted to talk, he would.

When we were deep enough into the trees, I shifted first. My cat dropped onto four paws, shook out her coat, and stretched long through her spine. Jackson crouched and held out a hand. She went to him immediately, no hesitation. He ran his palm along her back and she pressed into the contact, rubbing her scent along his arm and shoulder with slow, deliberate pleasure.

He picked up the yarn ball and held it out. Her eyes locked onto it at once. The moment he rolled it forward she pounced hard, batting it through the leaves in a scatter of dirt and pine needles. His laugh followed her, warm and low.

He shifted a moment later. The big wolf stood where the man had been, watching her play with open interest before he circled once and dropped his front legs in a clear invitation to chase. She cuffed him lightly on the ear with one paw and bolted into the trees.

He came after her. She let him catch her, and they tumbled through the leaves until she was on her back with his teeth gentle at her throat and her hind paws braced against his belly. She twisted out from under him and ran again, and he chased again, the rhythm easy and familiar.

They ran until their sides heaved and the first edge of tiredness set in. Together they made their way back toward the clearing where their clothes waited. As the trees thinned they slowed, and the shift came easily, steam rising from bare skin in the cold air.

I got dressed quickly while Jackson did the same beside me. He pulled his shirt over his head, pushed his hair back, then crossed the few steps between us without a word. His arms came around me, drawing me against his chest. He was still warm from the run, all heat and steady breaths, and I listened to his heartbeat gradually settle beneath my ear as the last of the wild energy drained away.

After a long moment, he bent to retrieve the yarn ball, brushed the leaves and dirt from it, and tucked it under his arm. Then we started back through the dark trees. I glanced at him as we walked. His shoulders were looser now, most of the earlier tension gone.

“You seem better,” I said. “You were tense earlier.”

He exhaled slowly. “I needed the run. My wolf did too.”

“What happened?”

He hesitated, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “My father summoned me this afternoon.”