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She would either talk to us or she wouldn’t. And we were about to find out which.
As Galen predicted, my aunt called back once it was a more reasonable hour and she’d had her morning coffee. She was expecting us and to my surprise, sounded happy that we were paying her a visit.
I doubted she would feel the same way when we left.
The four lane highway dwindled to two and then down to a single lane dirt road with sunflower fields on either side. A strip of grass covered the hump in the center of the road worn down over time by tractor tires.
A white washed two story farmhouse with rust riddled tin roof and lopsided front porch loomed in the distance. The old black metal mailbox at the end of the drive leaned to one side of the wooden post it was fastened to and its door hung open on one hinge.
The homestead looked like I felt - a little weathered and a little worn, but still holding on for dear life.
Aunt Sylvia waited on the porch wrapped in a faded and pilled terry cloth blue bathrobe, the belt cinched tight around her narrow waist, waiving as we pulled up and parked on a patch of gravel raked out along the side of the house.
She pressed one hand to her mouth and the other over her heart, and watched me climb the splintered wooden porch steps with misty eyes.
“Let me get a good look at you.” She held me at arms length, her fingers encircling my wrists. “You remind me so much of your mother. You have her eyes.”
Just a few weeks before I would have preened at the compliment. It had been so long since my mother passed, my memories of the way she looked began to fade away by the time I reached my teens.
But faced with the possibility of a demon clan lineage, it was hard to take that comparison as a compliment.
“Now, who’s this handsome man you’ve brought with you?” Aunt Sylvia released my wrists and turned her attention to Galen. “I thought you broke it off the engagement.”
“I did. Well, he did.” My face warmed and no doubt turned a light shade of red as I pointed at Galen. “I mean, he didn’t. This isn’t my ex.”
“I’m Galen, alpha of the Long Claw pack.” He climbed the porch steps and introduced himself, saving me from my embarrassment.
“You’re a little more than that.” She motioned for him to come closer. “Let me get a look at you too.”
She raked her gaze over his body, from head to toe and sized him up.
“Awful young to be an alpha. Long claw pack you say? What happened to the old alpha, Max?”
“My father recently passed.” Galen did his best to hide the pain in his voice but I heard it and I assumed my aunt did too.
She knew Max. Perhaps she’d have a story to tell about him as well as my mother and Galen could find solace on our journey too.
“You could do worse than a Long Claw.” Aunt Sylvia winked at me and wrapped her arm around my shoulders, steering me toward the front door.” Another alpha, huh?”
“It doesn’t matter if Galen is an alpha or not. I didn’t plan it that way.” Unsure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, I hedged my answer. “It just sort of happened.”
“Of course, you didn’t, dear. These things are never planned. They’re destined.”
My aunt ushered me into her living room, sat me down on a worn out black leather sofa and motioned for Galen to join me. She plopped down into a matching recliner. The tanning on the arms had faded away to a light gray and there was a patchwork quilt draped over the back of the chair.
“So, fate brought you two together.” She watched as I wiggled free of my jacket and folded it in my lap; her gaze fixed on my arm. “Just not in the way I expected. That’s not the mark of a fated mate on your forearm, but something else entirely.”
“You know what it is?” I’d planned to ease my way into the conversation about demon eyes and the mark one left on my arm, but I’d been careless when I took off my coat.
“Oh yes, I know more about demon marks than I care to admit and if your mother were alive today, so would you.” Aunt Sylvia planted the soles of her feet against the floorboard and pushed to get the recliner rocking.
“Her mother? You’re sure it wasn’t something to do with her father?” Galen must have seen the surprise in my eyes at his question because he reached over and rested his hand on my knee. “ Your father was killed by his own pack. It seemed like a valid question.”
“Because it is a valid question.” I said, reassuring him despite needing a little reassurance of myself.
The validity of his question didn’t make the circumstances of my father’s death hurt any less. Though ties to a demon would have been a better reason for permanent exile than following orders.
“No, it was definitely your mother.” Aunt Sylvia eased back into the chair, pulled the wooden lever on the side to raise the footrest and stretched out her legs.
