Page 7 of UNAwere

A howl sounds through the trees, and we both look up.

I let out a soft growl.

Oh no, Maeve says. I think we’re late.

It’s fine, I tell her. Warner’s bodyguard can wait.

We get up and head back to the house.

I’m crawling out of the forest on all fours when we reach the house. My human hands dig into the soil, and I let out a soft groan as I struggle out of my Were form.

Maeve slips hers off beside me and casually heads up into the yard. She reaches the fence where we hung our clothes and shrugs them on, glancing around until she sees me still on the ground.

Rolling her eyes, she gets my clothes off the fence and hands them over. I thank her and put them back on, chest heaving, eyes watering.

‘You need to Turn more often,’ she tells me again.

I wave her off.

‘Warner’s guard is here!’

Drew is at the back door, waving at us to hurry.

Maeve offers me a hand and helps me to my feet, and I thank her again. Before I can move away, she pulls me into her arms and holds me tightly around the middle. I wrap my arms around her shoulders, pressing my face against her hair.

‘Please don’t go,’ she whispers.

My heart breaks open.

‘I have to.’

‘Then please tell me we’ll see each other again.’

‘We will, Maevey. I promise.’

I pull from her and give her a smile, wiping the tears from her cheeks with the sleeve of my shirt. And then she steps away, and I watch her go inside with Drew. I skirt around the house, taking the side entrance through the laundry.

As soon as I come in, I hear Nolan’s voice in the dining room.

‘She shouldn’t be too much longer,’ he’s saying. ‘I’m sorry if this makes your job a little harder.’

‘It’s fine.’ The voice that responds to him is gruff, in a tone that tells me it’s definitely not fine that I’ve made Warner’s best guard not only pick me up in a car, but wait while I mucked around in the forest with my sister.

I head upstairs, making sure they don’t creak underfoot, and creep into the bathroom. I have a quick shower, throwing my hair up in a bun on top of my head. When I’m clean, I change into a pair of jeans and a knitted sweater. It’s cold outside, and it’s only going to get colder heading north.

When I’m done, I move back downstairs and grab my bags. On the edge of the kitchen, I can see through the archway into the lounge room and catch sight of Nolan’s familiar form sitting in his armchair.

Maeve is with him, sitting on its arm, staring at someone I can’t see. Her eyes are shining, and her face is pinched, and I wonder what they’ve been talking about. Or if they’ve been talking at all. There’s an odd silence – a weight in the air that wasn’t there earlier.

‘Sorry,’ I say breathlessly, rounding the corner. ‘I just thought you’d probably appreciate not sharing a car with me while I stink, so had a quick shower.’

The eyes glowering down at me are startlingly dark, almost black. Framed by thick brows and a crooked, wide-bridged nose. The man they’re attached to is tall and broad. His arms are crossed over a chest that rivals the width of a wine barrel. He’s taut, as if on the edge of pouncing out of the window behind him. His mouth twists slightly, nostrils flaring, and the grip he has on his arms tightens.

‘I’m Sybbie,’ I say. ‘You probably know that already, though.’ I extend a hand to him. ‘Actually, you probably have my entire profile on a little tablet or something, right? Or is Primrose more of a sacred text type of pack? Ooh, is my profile in a dusty old leather-bound book? That would be really cool. Anyway, if it says I like sultanas, I don’t anymore. One day I couldn’t stand them, and I’m not sure why, but their shrivelled little bodies just gave me the biggest ick.’

My hand is still extended between us, and this man is staring at me like I just punched his grandmother in the face. His eyes are wide. Wild. I feel my heart skitter a little, and I realise this is the first time I’ve ever met someone from the Primrose pack. Maybe they are as feral as everyone’s been saying. Maybe they don’t shake hands like we do.

Jeepers. I’m not going to have to sniff his butt, am I?