Chapter 21
GRIFFITH
The day after I let Clem know exactly how much I want her, I have the urge to visit my parents. Not sure why, and I’m betting the self-preservation part of my mind is what keeps me from digging too deep into the reasoning.
Ivan and Maya Fangworn live deep in the Of the Claw territory, though not on one of the coveted lake properties.
They prefer to be surrounded by woods, to the point that the driveway to their cabin almost feels overgrown.
A few tree branches whack the side of my truck as I bump my way down it, and I pray to The Clawed One that none break my windshield.
As I park in front of the house, I keep an eye out for any animals they might have left wandering free. Mom goes through phases of wanting to keep chickens for their abundance of eggs, then gets so annoyed with their constant noises that she hunts them in her wolf form.
I learned early in life not to get attached to any of the birds.
There’s smoke rising from the chimney, even as all the windows are propped open. Whoever is home has to be able to hear me as I clomp up the front porch, but no one comes out to greet me.
“Mom? Dad?” I knock on the door, which causes it to sweep open. A real horror movie situation if my parents weren’t notorious for never using locks or even closing doors all the way.
“Griffith.” My mom sits at the kitchen table, working on a puzzle that looks like it’s got to be over a thousand pieces. She doesn’t bother to meet my eyes. “What brings you out here?”
Suddenly, I’m a little kid again, standing in this house, waiting for one of my parents to look my way, to acknowledge me and say something that makes me feel like I belong.
Decades later, and I’m still waiting.
I breathe deep, blink my eyes, and refocus on the current moment.
Maya still hasn’t glanced my way, a puzzle piece in one hand as the other pushes a set of reading glasses up the bridge of her nose.
When did she start wearing those?
“Nothing in particular. Just thought I was due for a visit.” I shove my hands in my pockets and bite back the reminder that it’s been weeks since we last saw each other, and that encounter was only because we happened to be at the grocery store at the same time. “Is Dad around?”
She waves toward the window that looks out on the woods at the back of their property. “He’s hunting down dinner.”
She means that literally. Most of the Folk Haven pack—and as far as I can tell, the relatively new Lake Galen pack—live very humanlike existences.
We keep our human forms for the majority of the time—go to work every day, go home in the evenings, sleep in beds, and buy what we need from stores.
Interspersed through that, we’ll shift for a run a few times throughout the month or meet up with pack members to wrestle out any built-up, instinctive aggression.
But then there are wolves like my parents.
The ones who turn wolf every day and prefer contact with their own kind to humans. They consider their two-legged forms secondary in many ways and tend to keep away from town unless they need to purchase something they can’t hunt or build themselves. They live simpler lives, wilder ones.
And I don’t think there’s anything wrong with this life they’ve chosen. Only that I never felt like I belonged in it.
Growing up with wild wolf parents left me feeling lonely.
They expected me to take care of myself, starting at a young age—even before I turned thirteen and shifted for the first time.
For a while, I thought I wanted a sibling because at least then I would have someone to spend my days with when Mom and Dad left me behind.
But when I asked my mother if she planned to have any more babies, her response was painfully revealing.
“We did our duty to the pack with you. We are done.”
Since that moment, I knew what I was to them. An obligation. They thought the pack expected couples to have offspring in order to continue the creation of werewolves. I was a box checked.
Still, as much as they’ve disregarded me, I find myself continuing to return to this house. Maybe they passed down that same sense of duty, only it’s one I feel toward my parents.
“How are you two doing?”
I pull out the chair across from my mom and settle into the simple seat. She made the piece; she and my dad have created most of the sturdy furniture in their home.
“We’re doing how we’re always doing.” She places a puzzle piece in its proper spot, then picks up another.
She doesn’t ask how I am. I can’t recall a time when she has.
There’s the sound of creaking wood, and then the back door swings open, revealing my dad.
He’s naked and covered in blood.
“Griffith?” When he spots me, his brow curves in confusion. He makes no move to cover himself or wipe the gore from his face. “Why are you here?”
Not hello. Not good to see you. No welcome at all.
My chest hurts from all the suppressed emotions I have caged inside me. The longing I have to simply be wanted by these two people.
In this moment, I realize how similar my situation is to Clem’s. Both of us with parents who couldn’t care about our existences. The only difference is, hers physically left her while mine are right here, not caring.
With a heavy sigh, I rub my chest to stave off the phantom hurt.
“I guess I’m here to tell you that I’m in love,” I say. “And if she wants me back, I’m going to ask her to be my mate.”
Finally—finally—Mom looks up. Only to say, “Which wolf?”
Of course. It all comes back to wolves. Not like we’re in a town full of different mythics and humans.
“She’s a mermaid.”
My dad grimaces, and that simple facial expression is the final fucking branch on my back. I shove up from my seat and face the two of them.
“I get that I’m so low on your list of priorities that you normally forget that I fucking exist, so fine.
I’m done.” I’m breathing hard, my inner wolf snarling at the people who have never felt like my pack.
“You don’t want me? I’ll make my own family.
With mermaids. And monsters. And whatever other fucking kind of mythics because all I care about is if they care about me. ”
As I storm out of the house, there are no calls for me to stop. To wait. To give them a chance to apologize.
They’re quiet, and they let me go.
A repeat of my childhood that still tears up my insides. I climb into my truck, slam the door shut, and pull in deep breaths as I try to calm myself.
And despite all the scrubbing of the upholstery I did, I can still smell remnants of Shrimp’s wet coat.
I choke on a laugh as thoughts of the big brute soothe the ragged edges of my internal wounds. With him, my mind tracks to Clementine, the woman who never lets me feel unnoticed, even if she’s throwing snarky barbs my way.
As much as I tried to convince myself I hated her, I think I was more resentful that she at least had Carl, a brother who obviously loved her, and as far as I could tell, she was tossing him to the side.
But she was just a hurt kid, lashing out.
She never actually turned her ire on Carl. Clem always appreciated her family.
Now she’s grown—still a brat, but in the best way—and I want to be her family.
Gods, I want her to stay.
The drive home from my misguided visit isn’t enough to calm the agitation remaining from my realization that the love of my parents is a lost cause.
When I park in my driveway and spy a stretch of dark windows, I can’t make myself go inside.
If Clem or Carl were here, I’d go in without hesitation.
But if I’m going to be alone right now, I can’t stand to be in an empty house.
I need to run.
Out of my truck, I strip my clothes off and toss them in the driver’s seat. If Carl swings by, he’ll know where I went.
Into the woods.
Taking on my wolf form is like stretching a too-tight muscle. Painful for a moment, then sweet relief. I huff and shake my coat, reveling in the flow of wind through my fur. Then I lift my nose to the air and try to cleanse myself with a deep breath of the wild.
Because my sense of smell is so strong in this form, among the damp earth, sharp pine, decaying leaves, and musk of small animals, I also pick out the hint of vanilla and hibiscus that drives me to distraction.
Clem has left a trail of herself in my driveway from the brief walk from front door to car.
As much as I want to turn to the road, sprint into town, and hunt her down just so I can bury my face in her neck, I force my paws toward the trees and set off at a lope.
Soon though, I’m sprinting, claws digging into dirt and roots as I propel myself deep into the Chattahoochee Forest, toward the mountains.
The run is more cleansing for my soul than any bath. Taking on my wolf form doesn’t fix the darker parts of my life, but it does allow my brain to rest while my instincts grip the wheel and take over steering. The world becomes simpler for a short time.
Eventually, I do return home, take on two legs, and grab my clothes.
The anger and hurt are muted now, and I keep my thoughts on what actually matters.
Convincing the woman I love to stay.