CHAPTER 2
Frankie
“Ouch!” I yelp as Jess pulls a small branch from my curls. The smell of damp soil and pine fills my nostrils as fallen leaves crunch under our feet.
“Hold still. It’s almost out.” She tugs on my hair once more. “You should’ve left your braid in.”
I glare at her, even though she has a point.
“Sorry, Jess! Not everyone is blessed with stick-straight hair.” I normally put my hair up when I’m in the woods for this exact reason, but I wanted to leave it down.
What if Zarreth and I do that tantric thing tonight?
He loves my hair down. Of course, that’s probably only true when there’s no tree bark in it.
She untangles the final knot and we go back to gathering sticks for the fire.
We’re halfway back to the house when MJ starts frantically barking. I’m actually surprised she followed us out here. Jess’ dog is the biggest baby I’ve ever met. Whoever said pitbulls are scary has clearly never met this one.
Jess tucks the kindling under her arm, bending down to pet her. “What’s wrong, girl? What do you see?”
I squint in the direction she’s barking. My vision might be sharper than the average human, but I still can’t see shit compared to full-blooded demons. “I don’t see anything.”
“It’s probably just a deer,” she says as MJ cowers between her legs, whining. The pitbull looks at her for a second then beelines it toward the house. “But maybe we should skedaddle, just in case.”
“Don’t gotta tell me twice.” The last time she reacted this way was when my stalker found his way into my bedroom. She might not be very brave, but she’s great at telling you when there’s trouble. I follow Jess as we hurry toward my house.
Jess throws her bundle of sticks next to the fire ring. “I’ll get our rations,” she says, making her way inside.
I toss my bundle on top of hers. “And leave me out here with whatever is in those woods?”
“Yeah, you’re a badass now, remember?” She smiles, pointing to the fire ring. “Plus, someone has to get that started.”
Yeah, because Zarreth and his fire abilities aren’t here yet, even though he promised. Where the hell is he? I stack the twigs into a teepee, shoving dried leaves in the center. Maybe I should grab some newspaper. Nah, the wood’s dry enough. I probably don’t need it.
The lighter I pull from my pocket has a cowboy on it. His chaps drop when it tilts. Must be Jess’…or Ronin’s. I flick it a few times, but only get a small spark. “Dammit.”
“Why don’t you just wait for Zarreth?” Ronin’s voice makes me jump.
I spin around to find him holding a bottle of demon brew in each hand.
His blond hair pokes out from under his black stocking cap, giving him that laid-back surfer look he somehow pulls off even as a demon.
His grin is infectious, and his blue eyes have a sparkle in them that would make anyone swoon.
Anyone but me—I mostly want to punch him.
“Um, because she’s an independent woman, duh.” Jess sets a canvas bag on the table, bottles clinking together as she pulls out whiskey, marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate bars. “Can’t have s’more flavored whiskey without having actual s’mores.”
I hold my hand out. “Oh thank God. I need a shot, this lighter is starting to piss me off. It’s not working.”
“Hey! I’ve been looking for John Wayne,” Jess pouts, taking a pull of whiskey directly from the bottle. I trade her the lighter for the alcohol, and take a swig of my own. I shudder as it burns down my throat. The sweet smell does nothing to hide the bitter taste, but it serves its purpose.
“When will Zarreth be here? I’m not watching over you two all night.” Ronin pours himself a glass of demon brew like he’s some kind of gentleman and drops into a camping chair.
Jess crosses her arms and mocks, “When will Zarreth be here? I’m not watching over you two all night.”
Ronin grabs her wrist, pulling her onto his lap. His arm wraps around her head as he rubs a knuckle over it. She squirms. “Stop! You’re gonna wreck my hair.” When she pulls away, one of her braids is messed up.
A real smile pulls at me until Ronin’s question cuts through the moment. “I have no clue where Zarreth is. I was hoping he was with you.”
A flicker of confusion crosses his face before he hides it. “Oh yeah, of course. He was…I wasn’t sure if he decided to go flying before he came over.”
I purse my lips together. Ronin looks guilty as hell. Something is definitely going on, but I try not to focus on it so I don’t ruin everyone’s night. “I’m heading inside to find a lighter that actually works.” I barely finish the sentence when the kindling ignites, fire coming to life.
I turn around and glare at Zarreth. His hands are still smoking. “I had it under control,” I snap as my eyes roam over his body. Damn him and his refusal to wear shirts. I understand why he doesn't, with his wings and all, but still.
His stupid biceps flex when he runs his fingers through his thick hair.
Why do his jeans have to sit so low on his hips?
My eyes follow the deep V leading to his…
Oh my God, what am I doing? I quickly look away, not wanting him to sense how attracted I am to him at this moment.
But, when he takes a deep inhale and his eyes flicker black, I realize it’s too late.
How can I expect him to hold back when he smells how turned on I am every time we’re close to one another?
The cocky grin on his face isn’t helping matters when he strolls over and offers me a hand. “I know you did, little mate. I just thought I’d help.”
“I don’t remember asking for your help.” I step around him and head for the house. I know I’m being a jerk, but I wanted to start the fire the way my brother taught me. I don’t need Zarreth to save the day because his little broken mate can’t do anything for herself.
Jess and Ronin share a look, probably wondering how long it will take before I lose it again. “I’m sorry, guys. I’ll be right back,” I call over my shoulder. I need a few minutes to collect myself so I don’t get emotional and hurt someone.
“Don’t apologize. I’ll have a s’more ready for you when you get back.” Jess’ voice trails after me. “I’ll even burn the marshmallow how you like.”
Guilt gnaws at me for being so short with my friends.
They shouldn't have to navigate a minefield when they’re around me just because I can’t control my emotions.
But they’re getting harder to push down.
The darkness is constantly lurking under my skin, searching for a way out.
Especially tonight. Nate loved sitting around bonfires with a Busch Light in his hand, listening to Waylon Jennings. He should be the one here, not me.
The house feels heavier somehow when I walk through the door and head straight to his bedroom…
I can't believe he’s gone. Sitting on his bed, I rub my thumb over the small tire swing tattoo on my wrist. Whoever said time heals all wounds was a fucking idiot.
Time hasn’t healed shit. I thought it would get easier, but it hasn’t. I’m tired. I’m so tired.
Reaching in my pocket, I grab Nate’s knife, turning it over in my hands.
I know I shouldn't cut myself. I know there are better ways to deal with grief, but what am I supposed to do? Tell a therapist my brother was killed by a demon in a different realm while I was forced to turn humans into hellhound shifters? Even if I lied about what happened, there’s no way I’m strong enough to talk about my feelings and keep the darkness locked away.
Keeping it all in is the safest choice for everyone around me.
Ronin’s face flashes through my mind. He wasn’t trying to piss me off that day, not really. It was just his way of getting me to break, to stop swallowing everything down until it ate me alive. He kept teasing, calling me weak, poking every bruise inside me until I finally just…snapped.
And it worked. I hit him again and again until I was shaking, sobbing into his shirt. And he just held me. I was so lost in my sorrow, lost in memories of Nate, that I didn’t notice I was killing him until I pulled away.
His face had gone white. I saw it. But he smothered the horror under that ridiculous ego of his, wiping blood from his nose and eyes like it was nothing.
“Get that look off your face,” he said. “A puny halfling couldn’t hurt me.”
But the color drained from him as my darkness pulled at his life. Jess would’ve died. Hell, Ronin could’ve died if he wasn’t centuries old.
I promised myself that I’d never fall apart like that again.
They mean too much to me, and I can’t trust myself anymore.
But it hurts. My chest is always tight. My throat is clogged with words I can barely get out.
Food makes me nauseous. And every step feels heavier, like something is dragging me down.
I needed something to drown out the hurt. I couldn’t hold the grief any longer, so I crawled into Nate's room and let our song play on repeat. Three Little Birds by Bob Marley. That’s when I saw the pocketknife sitting on his dresser. The one I gave him for his birthday when we were kids.
Our mom always forgot—too strung out or too busy getting knocked around to remember anything like that.
But Nate and I didn’t care. We had each other.
We’d wrap gifts in old newspaper, digging through the neighbor’s trash for toys their kids tossed.
You wouldn’t believe what people throw away when they’ve never had to worry about their next meal.
It was two days before Nate’s birthday, and all I had was a broken Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle figurine. He would’ve liked it, even with the missing leg, but turning thirteen was special. I wanted to give him something that felt grown up, not another toy.