Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
When building our hidden lodge headquarters, Scott graciously gave us each a budget to decorate our rooms to our own tastes.
It took a couple of months, but I finally thrifted enough to be satisfied with it.
My kitchen sits to the left as I enter, hand-painted tiles line the floor, each one different with soft creams, rusted gold, and moss greenery arranged in timeworn, repeating floral and geometric patterns.
The small rectangular space sits with dark wood and iron.
Lantern bulbs glow softly against the stone walls and open shelves line the walls above, crowded with copper pots.
An island separates the kitchen and the living room.
My couch sits low and wide, slouched beneath the weight of quilts and pillows, its cushions softened by years of use.
Deep green fabric pools around it, matching the mossy tones in the kitchen tile.
With us being underground, we unfortunately don’t have windows.
So, I took it upon myself and made my own using old antique window frames from Craigslist and printed out images of places I’ve dreamed of living one day and beautiful scenery of our sanctuaries.
Smack dab in the middle of the wall is a picture I took right here in Lamar Valley, Wyoming.
Howler’s Mountain. Other than that, we often relocate the wolves we rescue to different places their indigenous to around the United States, Alaska being the farthest we’ve been, and boy was that a trip.
It’s represented behind one of the frames, too, in fact.
I never thought this would be my life. Especially in my thirties.
What started as a defense class with Cici to take my mind off of an empty nest, ended up being an offer to a different life that I couldn’t pass up.
I almost didn’t think Cici would follow, but she packed her bags beside mine anyway.
Scott often recruits that way, connected to different MMA—mixed martial arts— outfits across the globe.
Any retiring or failed law enforcement. Veterans such as Jett.
Scott travels around and studies who he thinks has the “macho” as he stated.
I said he collects heathens, but he wasn’t a fan of that.
Nonetheless, we were the lucky pick of the litter.
Though Cici still claims to this day that our instructor paid Scott to take us off his hands for how many times we interrupted class.
Cici lasted all of thirty seconds on our first day here.
She looked around the training room, at the blood, bruises, and chaos before turning to Talia with a single raised brow.
“Respectfully, this is a waste of my talents.” Cici deadpanned.
Talia laughed. By the next morning, Cici was sitting behind a bank of monitors instead.
A sigh escapes me and my arms tighten around my waist as fragile smile tugs at my lips from the memories.
I grab the remote and click on a YouTube video of a fire crackling, checking the time in the corner—I’ve got a couple of hours before Nyx comes by.
But my nostalgic smile is short-lived as I snort, remembering his earlier comment about my baths.
The hell with him, I’m a grown woman. I step around the coffee table, creaking open my bedroom door.
A phthalo-green shadow washes over me, my heavy bed sits in the center, carved and solid.
The gray quilts are pulled smoothly, plump pillows sitting atop them.
A black iron chandelier hangs low, lining up with the plants spilling from shelves and beams overhead, softening the darkness of the painted shiplap surrounding me.
I step to my dresser, fiddling around the junk to find the mini remote for the lights in the drawer, but I stop short at the sight of a small package.
My hand hovers over the Narcan. Devin. I shiver and slam the drawer shut before the memories start to flood in.
My room now faintly glows with the string lights I rigged up around the ceiling leading to the bathroom.
I reach for my awaiting oversized Fleetwood Mac tee and place it on across my comforter.
My mama bear slippers are already in their designated spot beside the bathroom door.
I light the firewood scented candle, placing it next to the claw-foot tub calling my name.
Then I pour in the bath salts smelling of strong jasmine amber and turn the water to a skin-melting degree.
Just the way I like it. Shedding my clothes, I pause in the mirror, pulling my hair insecurely over my pale breasts. My hooded eyes skim the lightened tiger stripes on my lower belly. I suck in, angling myself from side to side and stiffly search for any progress.
My stomach has toned over the past three years, but I still have that little permanent pouch.
Luckily for me, our suits shield me fairly, the bullet proof vests almost cover the area completely.
Having babies made my hips wider giving me the shape I lacked before but also cursing me with these hideous hip dips.
I wouldn’t change it for anything though.
I snatch a makeup wipe and start removing the black under-liner and mascara.
The bright blue rounding my pupils now dulling to a storm-cloud gray color.
Makeup can truly be magic. I step to my black plush mat and toe the water.
Perfect. I dip in, dragging my insecurities in with me, and submerge.
I groan as the water hits my sore areas.
I breathe deeply, letting the steam soothe me as I watch the digital clock in the corner.
Ten minutes fly by, and I hoist myself up and tip-toe over to the shower.
My fingers shrivel as I massage the shampoo into my scalp.
I tilt my head back, allowing the water to rinse over me.
I grab the shaving cream, spreading it in all the places that haven’t seen sunlight in a decade.
Since my ex, I never bothered hopping back in the saddle.
Don’t get me wrong, the thought has definitely crossed my mind with opportunities over time, but I don’t know if it’s my fear of men, or the thought of just giving myself away that has me ghosting any good thing that comes my way.
I do keep myself maintained though, if only for my own peace of mind and the sake of the girls when we hop into the sauna. I finish my routine and step out, a little dizzy from all the steam. So much so that I think I’ve imagined a figure staring at me in the doorway…
“I’m not looking I swear!” Nyx calls.
I slap my mouth in horror and drop to the floor shrieking, “Nyx what are you doing in my room? How did you even get in here!”
Slipping against the slick tile, I scoot and kick the door closed, attempting to cover my exposed body.
“I know I’m a little early, but Bear wanted to go out for a bit to Billy’s, and well, your passcode to the door being the last four digits of your phone number isn’t that hard to figure out.”
My towel. Where is my towel? “And you think a woman not answering the door gives you free access to enter?”
He pauses, thinking. “I thought you dozed off again. My bad.”
His boots shift on the other side of the door. “Angry Bones, your towel is out here on the bed—do you need it?”
Tugging at my sopping wet hair, my eyes dart around the foggy room. “J-just crack the door and stick your hand in with it.” I jump to my feet and grab the bathmat, holding it against my naked body.
The door cracks open and he slips in the towel.
I keep watch on the mirror, only to see a blind Nyx, his other hand wrapped tightly around his eyes.
Oh, now he wants to be a gentleman. I snatch the towel and wrap myself up, slamming the door shut when his hand disappears.
“Go wait on the couch and close my bedroom door behind you.”
My breath evaporates as my ears strain to listen to the fading steps after he clicks the door shut.
I slide down the back of it, bringing my knees to my chest. Did he see me?
I mean, how long was he standing there? He’s never done anything like this before.
Heat creeps up my neck to my cheeks; I’m blaming it on the steaming bathroom.
I squeeze my eyes shut, swallowing the whys and what ifs and quickly leap to my bed. throwing my tee over my head and scrunch my hair into my towel. I fix my posture and lift my chin high as I swing the door open, ready to spew the fire built up in my chest.
But I don’t find him on the couch like I instructed. Instead, Nyx is standing lazily propped against my bookcase, skimming through my collections. I quickly search for the little black book, breathing as I see it still high out of reach.
“You know Flossie, I never took you for a romance kind of woman, let alone this faerie filth you’ve got here. ‘His pointed fae ears graze the nape of my neck as he brings his canines down to my…’”
I snatch the remote from the coffee table and hurl it at his head. Nyx ducks just in time as it shatters above his head on the wall. “Easy now! What did that remote ever do to you?”
My fists clench at my sides “And I never took you for the kind of man that has to journal for anger management. Get. Out.”
Stomping forward to jerk the book from his hand, I gently place it back where it belongs.
“Now come on, Florence, I was just teasing. You didn’t expect me to come in here and stare at that pathetic excuse for a fire, did you? It pops every five seconds! I counted.”
He massages the back of his neck and strides over to the couch, bunching his jeans up at the thighs to plop down.
My eyes blaze as I track every movement, fists still tightly curled by my side.
He cocks his head to the side and jerks a thumb to the cushion next to him, “Come on, Angry Bones, I’ll leave your precious smut alone. ”
I survey him warily, standing firmly in place.
“Okay, Florence I’m sorry.” His gaze drops below my chin. “Geez, calm down, that vein in your neck is freaking me out.”