26. Dagan
Dagan
Clara and Bram are going to the library today to dig into the history of this ghost they saw. Jack went out to check out a local home goods store. Victor stomped off to bed.
Footsteps creak down the stairs, pulling my attention from the shipwreck footage Victor and I have been editing for the series. I expect Bram, ready for his outing with Clara.
But no one’s there.
From the couch, I can see the whole stairwell. Empty.
Then it hits me. Baked bread. Thick and warm. An alpha.
I rise, bracing for the challenge. But the room is empty. A soft breeze stirs from nowhere. Times like this, I wish I could hear better. There’s a faint voice, too quiet for my ruined ears.
Something taps my shoulder. I whirl, baring teeth.
Nothing.
When I turn back, I catch a glimpse in the mirror over the fireplace—and freeze.
My heart slams into my throat. An alpha, pale with sharp eyes and a newsboy cap, stands to my left. My head whips to the side. No one. The scar on my throat tightens, itches.
Back in the mirror, he grins at me. Wicked. Too real. I raise my hand and wave. Like a dumbass. Because what the fuck else do you do?
He waves back. And then he signs.
“Fuck your brother.”
I snort. Yeah, that’s probably fair. But I sober quick, lifting my hands. “ Don’t touch my brother. ”
The ghost shrugs and then fades away, slow as smoke.
Well. Fuck me if I ever thought I’d sign with a ghost.