Page 46 of Jacob Michaels is Trouble

Oma should have been shocked at my statement about Jason, but she didn’t even try to pretend that she was.

“You got the book.” She looked the tome tucked under my arm.

“I got the book.” I nodded. “It’s my family’s book, so I’m taking it.”

Oma squinted at me, searching my face for more information than I was providing verbally. Outwardly, I was trying to project a calm façade, but my mind was racing with one thought.

Save Lucas.

However, I knew that I couldn’t get too rushed when dealing with Oma, especially when I had just killed Jason and was taking the book away from the house. She obviously hadn’t even gone to bed but instead had been staying up, waiting for me to come home. That, in itself, was an indication that the theories swirling around in my head were accurate and not just batshit crazy ideas my paranoia had cooked up.

Why had Oma been dressed and awake when I came home? Had she been doing something in the middle of the night that required her to be fully dressed and prepared? As long as I’d known Oma, anything past midnight was asking too much of the woman. But there she was, blocking me from the front door, fully clothed, looking as spry as I’d ever seen her. I couldn’t help but wonder if she knew that I would be coming home in the middle of the night.

And how would she know that?

“Move.”

“I’m not moving.”

“Oma,” I stared deeply into her eyes from across the expanse of the living room, “there are at least two other werewolves I need to fuck up tonight. My plate is full. So, unless you want to be on the list—”

“Where’s Lucas?” She interrupted. “Wasn’t you supposed to be at his house tonight?”

Fighting back the urge to let a groan of frustration and agony escape my throat, I just stared at Oma. There was nothing to say that I felt comfortable saying to her.

“Shouldn’t you be with him?”

“I should.” I nodded. “So, let me go be with him.”

Oma didn’t move, and her arms seemed to tense up in their folded position under her breast. Instead of fighting further with Oma, I shrugged and turned on my heels, pointing myself in the direction of the kitchen. As I started to stomp away towards the back door, I heard Oma grumble and then heard her footsteps padding against the floorboards to catch up with me. My feet moved faster across the kitchen linoleum as I made my way to the backdoor—the only other exit unless I wanted to go through a window.

“You stop right there!” Oma huffed as my hand connected with the doorknob to the backdoor.

“Goodnight, Oma,” I said simply as I pulled the door open.

The door had moved inward mere inches before it jerked back into place, pulled my hand with it, making my arm feel as though it would be ripped out of its socket. Instead of screaming out at the jerking motion applied to my arm, I swallowed it down and turned towards Oma, rage boiling up within me. Oma was standing in the kitchen doorway, glaring at me as I rounded on her. A stand-off was what she had in mind, I imagined, but I had no time for her questions or diversionary tactics. Lucas needed me.

Jason had something critically important when I had been in his house, speaking with him before he lost his head.

You’re the only one in this town whose powers have nothing to do with him.

I couldn’t trust Oma any more than I could have trusted Jason.

He hadn’t told me why because Jason hadn’t explicitly told me that Oma was not to be trusted. However, I had already figured that out for myself. All I had to do was remember my parents, the house, and their disappearance to know why I couldn’t trust Oma.

“Where does Jason’s pack meet?” I asked Oma, rage tinting my voice as I stared at her from across the kitchen. “They have Lucas, and I’m going to get him back.”

“You’re not getting him back, Robbie.” Oma shook her head. “What’s done is done.”

“I thought Lucas was a friend of yours, Oma?” I asked, not surprised in the least at her remark. “I’d have thought you’d want me to go save him. Hell, I’d have thought you’d want to come along and help out.”

“It’s too late to help anyone, Robbie.” She shook her head, her face pinched up. “I think you know that.”

“Fuck the big city,” I stated blandly. “Things move quickly in Point Worth, huh?”

Oma rolled her eyes.

“Let it go.” She replied. “Put that damn book back, go upstairs, get cleaned up, and go to bed.”