Chapter 9 #3
I knelt down and scratched Rocket behind his good ear, and he melted to the floor, tongue hanging out.
“He’s perfect,” I said. “Aren’t you boy?
Yes, you are! Such a good boy!” I loved dogs and went on dog-speak autopilot whenever I was around one.
I looked up to see two faces staring down at Rocket and me. Parker broke the temporary silence.
“See?” she threw her hands up. “Validation at last.”
There was a clatter from the kitchen, and a man appeared, ducking under the archway with a grace that shouldn’t have been possible for someone so massive.
Wrecker was big, even by shifter standards—almost as tall as Papa but leaner, with shoulders like a barn door and arms covered in sleeve tattoos, black and blue and a riot of red.
He had tan skin, a scruff of dark beard, and eyes the color of storm clouds.
He wore a sleeveless black hoodie and faded jeans, but he carried himself like the room belonged to him.
He nodded at Papa, then fixed his gaze on me. It wasn’t hostile—just that careful, weighing look that said he didn’t hand out trust lightly.
“Wrecker,” he said, offering a hand.
“Aspen,” I managed, shaking it. His grip was warm and surprisingly gentle.
“Coffee?” Parker asked, already heading for the kitchen.
Papa shot me a wink. “She makes the best pour-over in the state.”
“Sit,” Wrecker said, motioning toward the couch. “We can talk in here.”
I perched on the edge of the cushion, Rocket wedged between my ankles, and folded my hands in my lap. Papa sat next to me, arm draped over the back of the couch. Wrecker took the armchair, posture loose but eyes locked on me.
“So,” he said, “you’ve got a stalker with a triangle thing. Parker and I looked at the text.”
Parker came back with four mugs, each a different color, and handed them out. “Drink. It helps.”
I sipped, and the coffee was dark and rich, sweet enough to make my teeth ache. It felt like a warm hug.
Parker pulled a battered tablet from the coffee table and tapped it awake. “Tell me everything,” she said, eyes meeting mine. “Start from when you first saw him.”
I closed my eyes, thinking. “He came in right before close. He wore a green jacket—army style, I think—his hair was brown, nothing special. He never really looked at the pastry case; he just pointed at the scones. When I asked if he wanted the scone, he just nodded at me.”
“Eyes?” she asked.
“Empty. Brown. Almost black.”
Parker nodded, scribbling notes with her fingertip. “Height, build?”
“A little over six feet, I think? Not muscled, more… stringy.”
“Hands?” she asked. “Anything weird? Rings, gloves, scars?”
I frowned, trying to picture it. “He wore gloves. I think. Not the work kind—more like… driving gloves? Black leather.”
Papa squeezed my shoulder. “You’re doing great. Anything else?”
I shook my head, frustrated. “It’s like I can’t remember the details. Sorry. That’s all.”
Parker smiled, a flash of approval. “Tell me about the symbol.”
I inhaled, pushing away the nerves. “It was a triangle, but I don’t remember if it pointed up or down. There might have been a line through it, or dots? I don’t know why I can’t remember.” My hands trembled, so I hid them in the sleeves of my dress.
Wrecker’s eyes softened a little. “It’s okay. Knowing it could mean danger makes details go fuzzy. We’ll get it.”
Papa reached across and took my hand in his. “Try to draw it,” he said, voice soothing. “Sometimes that helps.”
Parker handed me a notepad and a pen. I stared at the blank page, heart thudding, then sketched a triangle. My hand shook, so I scratched it out, drew it again, over and over until the paper was a mess of ink and smeared lines.
I started to feel stupid, heat creeping up my neck. “I’m sorry. It’s not coming.”
Papa leaned in close, his breath warm on my ear. “Take your time. No rush.”
I swallowed, tried again. This time, I drew a triangle with a horizontal stripe halfway up. Then one with a dot in the center. I remembered the bag; the ink had bled a little, so maybe it had been a filled-in dot. Or maybe two? I circled both options.
Parker took the page, scanned it with her tablet, and started typing.
“Okay,” she said, “I’ll run this through every database I’ve got. Symbolic, occult, military, witch, even corporate. We’ll get a hit.”
Papa grinned at me, proud. “See? Not so hard.”
I tried to smile, but my insides still buzzed with anxiety. I wanted so badly to be useful, to not waste anyone’s time.
Rocket nudged my hand, tongue lolling, and I scratched his head. He sighed, content, and the little surge of joy I got from it cut through the panic.
Wrecker took a sip of coffee, then spoke. “You ever see this guy before yesterday?”
I shook my head. “No. Never.”
He nodded, like that was the answer he’d expected.
Papa shot him a look. “What are you thinking?”
Wrecker shrugged. “If she’d seen him before, I’d say we had a local problem. But this feels… planted. Like someone sent him.”
“Could be,” Parker said. “I’ll run facial recognition too, see if there’s a match.”
She turned to me, expression gentle. “You did good, Aspen.”
I bit my lip, blinking fast. “Thanks.”
Papa squeezed my hand, then stood. “Can we have a minute?” he asked, but it wasn’t really a question. Wrecker nodded, and Parker waved us off.
We stepped out onto the back deck, which overlooked a little yard and a fringe of woods beyond. The air was sharp and cold, but the sun was out, and the deck boards were warm under my feet.
Papa leaned against the railing, then looked at me, really looked at me, the way he always did when he had something important to say.
“You alright?” he asked, soft.
I nodded and then shook my head. “I feel like an idiot. I can’t even remember a stupid drawing.”
He stepped close, so close I could feel the heat from his chest, and cupped my face in his hands.
“You are not an idiot,” he said. “You’re the bravest person I know.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “You must not know many people.”
He didn’t smile. “I know exactly enough. And I know I want you. All of you.”
He bent down, and I thought he was going to kiss my forehead, but instead his mouth found mine, gentle at first, then growing in heat and pressure until my knees nearly gave out. His hands were big and rough, but he touched me like I was something precious.
I opened for him, let him in, and for the first time I understood why people got drunk on kissing.
His tongue swept over mine, slow and thorough, and my body woke up in ways I didn’t know it could.
My fingers curled into his shirt, needing something to hold on to.
I tasted coffee and the deep, dark hunger I’d seen in his eyes.
He broke away, breath ragged, and pressed his forehead to mine.
“I don’t care what you think about yourself,” he said. “You are it for me, Aspen Waters.”
I blinked, stunned. “You mean that?”
He kissed me again, softer this time, like a promise. “Every word.”
I let myself believe him, just for a second, and the ache in my chest turned to something warm and bright.
“Come on,” he said, tugging me back toward the house. “We’ve got a mystery to solve.”
Inside, Wrecker watched the door, but his eyes crinkled when he saw us.
“Come on, he grinned. Let’s go back to the tech room.
” There Parker sat at her desk, typing furiously, screens filling with images of triangles and esoteric symbols.
I glanced around at the screens lit up with numbers and symbols I had no hope of understanding.
I looked down and saw Rocket begging to be picked up. With the little mutt in my arms and Papa at my side, I didn’t feel like an intruder or a liability. I felt like part of a team. Part of a family, even. We’d find the answer together. Whatever it was, I wouldn’t have to face it alone.