Chapter 22
Grim
I stir the pot of rice and beans; the smell of cumin and garlic fills the small kitchen.
It’s not much, but it’s already looking pretty good to me.
I raided the pantry and managed to find an array of goods, including some canned black beans, white rice, a can of diced tomatoes, and some corn.
There was a selection of dried spices to choose from.
Wren is at the stove, frying up slices of Spam in a pan. The canned meat sizzles and pops, filling the air with a salty, savory aroma that makes my stomach growl. She flips the slices carefully with a spatula, getting them crispy on both sides.
“I never thought of doing that with Spam,” I tell her. “I’ve only ever had it straight from the can. That smells amazing.”
“My grandmother always made it this way. We loved it as kids. I haven’t had it in a long time,” she says, watching the meat brown. “Actually, my dad used to make it for breakfast sometimes when we went camping. I had forgotten about that.”
She’s wearing a housekeeper’s uniform we found in one of the storage closets.
It’s a simple gray dress that hits just below her knees.
Her waist is accentuated by a belt made from the same fabric as the dress.
It has buttons going all the way down the front.
It should not look sexy, but it does. She looks fucking amazing.
“What?” she asks, catching me looking at her.
“I was thinking you should have worn that apron.” There was a white apron that came as part of the uniform.
She laughs. “Yeah, right.”
“To keep the fat from ruining your dress.”
She shakes her head.
I force my eyes back to the pot.
We both showered and changed after we broke into the Academy. The hot water felt like heaven. There were toiletries available, too. All of the basics.
I’m wearing a leather uniform. It feels strange to be in this thing again after leaving flight school six and a half months ago. I thought I would be flooded with bad memories, but I’m not.
“Here,” Wren says, transferring the crispy Spam slices to a plate. “These are done.”
I grab a can of corn from the counter and dump it into the pot, giving everything another stir. The beans are starting to break down, thickening the sauce. Between the rice and beans and the fried Spam, it actually smells pretty good, considering what we had to work with.
“So,” I say, keeping my voice casual, “tell me more about what you want to do when you return to the Mainland.”
Wren’s hand stills on the counter. Her face falls.
“I don’t know if there will be a return to the Mainland,” she whispers. “Everything is so messed up now. What if—?”
“Hey.” I set down the wooden spoon and turn to face her. “Let’s pretend, just for a little while, that life is normal. I want to know about your life back there. About your plans. Your dreams.”
She looks up at me, her eyes uncertain. But then she takes a breath and nods. “Okay. I…I already told you that I want to buy a house. A real house with a yard.”
“For Ball and Breaker,” I say, and despite everything, I find myself smiling.
She laughs, the sound startled out of her. “Yes! For Ball and Breaker. Exactly right.”
I smile, and it feels really good.
Wren’s smile fades a bit as she looks down at her hands.
“What?” I ask. “There’s more, isn’t there?”
She shrugs. “It’s silly.”
“Tell me anyway.”
She bites her lip, then meets my eyes. “I want to open a retirement home. I want to give the elderly the care they deserve. So aside from the usual care, I’d organize fun activities for them.
Bring in animals like dogs, maybe even a miniature horse or two.
Create a place where they feel valued and loved. ”
Something warm spreads through my chest.
“That’s amazing, Wren. Really. It’s not silly at all. I think you would be very good at something like that.” I think about all the care she shows the patients, especially the elderly. How she sets them at ease and gets them smiling.
She looks surprised. “You think so?”
“I know so.” I turn back to the pot, stirring to give myself something to do with my hands.
“I must say that working with the elderly is the thing I enjoy most about working at the Vaccination Center. They have so much knowledge to share, so many stories. It would be incredibly rewarding to do what you’re describing. ”
“You really mean that?” she says softly.
“I do.”
She’s quiet for a moment, and I can feel her watching me.
“You spoke about your family earlier,” she says. “Do you have siblings?”
“No. Just me.” I glance at her. “What about you?”
“I have a brother. Hawk.”
I can’t help but smile…again. I haven’t smiled this much since… I leave that thought behind and focus on Wren. “Hawk. That’s different for a human.”
Wren laughs. “My parents are serious birders. Like, really serious. They spend every weekend out in nature with their binoculars and field guides. It’s part of why we went camping so much as kids. It’s why they named me Wren and my brother Hawk because of their love for anything feathered.”
This time, I actually laugh out loud. I can’t help it. The image of two humans so obsessed with birds that they name their children after them is somehow both ridiculous and endearing.
“What?” Wren asks, but she’s grinning.
“Nothing. I just think it’s great. Your parents sound…interesting.”
“They are.” Her smile softens. “I miss them so much.”
We’re silent for a few moments. Wren’s eyes are hazy.
“What about you?” she asks, changing the subject. “Did your mother give you the name Grim? I can’t imagine anyone calling a baby that. Unless it’s a shifter thing.”
I shake my head. “Grim isn’t my given name. A friend at school called me that once, and it stuck. Before I knew it, everyone was calling me Grim.” I pause. “Everyone except my mother. She still uses my real name.”
“What is your real name?” she asks.
Worry eats at me suddenly. Sharp and insistent. Wren must see something on my face because she narrows her eyes, looking concerned.
“What is it?” she asks, her voice gentle.
I stare down at the pot, stirring even though it doesn’t need it.
“I’m worried about my mother hearing the news and all the lies they’re spouting.
I don’t want her worrying about me.” I set down the spoon.
“She’s in a care facility. She doesn’t watch television much.
She also refuses to use the cellphone I gave her.
She’s very forgetful and seriously old. I’m hoping she is oblivious.
I’d love to call her, let her know I’m okay.
The phones here are still working, but.. .”
“They’d probably trace the call,” Wren finishes.
“Yeah. I’m sure they’re monitoring our loved ones. That’s what I would do.”
“You’re probably right to be cautious.”
I nod, pushing down the knot of anxiety in my gut. “I’ll figure something out. For now…” I turn off the burner. “Supper is ready.”
I grab two bowls from the cabinet and ladle generous portions into each. The rice and beans look simple but hearty, steam rising from the bowls in little wisps. I add a couple of slices of the crispy Spam to each bowl.
“Sit over there,” I tell Wren, gesturing to the small table in the corner of the kitchen.
She does, watching as I set her bowl in front of her and another one opposite her. Knives and forks are already on the table, where I put them earlier.
“Found this in the pantry,” I say, producing a bottle of red. “Want some?”
“God, yes,” she pushes out. “Pour me a big glass, will you?”
I smile. “Coming right up.”
I pour us each a glass and sit across from her. For a moment, we just look at each other.
I lift my glass. “To life,” I say. Then, softer, “And to Sally.”
We clink glasses, and Wren’s eyes fill with tears. She blinks, trying to hold them back.
“We have to take a sip now,” I tell her gently. “Or the toast won’t count.”
She nods and brings the glass to her lips. I watch her throat work as she swallows, then I take my own sip.
“Eat, Wren,” I say. “While it’s still hot.”
She’s still trying not to cry, and I want to kick myself.
Then she nods and plasters on a smile, taking another sip of wine before she picks up her fork. “I’m so hungry.”
I set down my glass and grab my fork, taking a big bite of the rice and beans with a piece of the Spam. I hum appreciatively, making it sound like it’s the best thing I’ve eaten in years.
“Try it,” I urge her, since she’s still just holding her fork.
She takes a bite, chews, then nods. “It’s delicious. It’s one of the best things I’ve ever eaten.”
“That’s because you’re so hungry.”
“Probably,” she says around her food.
We eat in silence for a few moments. I’m about to take another bite when I notice she’s staring at me.
“What is it?” I ask.
“What are your hopes for the future?” She sets down her fork. “I told you mine. You have to tell me yours. I mean, you don’t have to, but,” she smiles, “it would be nice if you did.”
So fucking sweet.
I shrug. “I genuinely don’t know anymore.” It’s the best I have for her.
“Because of what happened today?”
I shake my head. “Nope. I didn’t know before that either. Not really.”
“But you had plans before? You thought you had a clear idea?”
I nod slowly. “I wanted to become a frontline fighter. To take a human rider and defend the island. That’s been my dream since I was a little boy.”
“Not anymore?”
I shake my head.
“Not since your rider left?”
I nod. “There’s more to it, but—”
“You don’t want to talk about it?” Wren says.
“No.” I wish I could tell her more. I wish I could explain that I no longer want to defend Draig against Mistveil because Mistveil isn’t our enemy.
That everything I believed was a lie. But I can’t.
Not yet. Not until I know I can trust her.
Even then… I want her to be safe, and that means the less she knows, the better.
“Right now,” I say instead, “I want to expose what happened today. Bring justice to those who were murdered in cold blood. For Sally. For the anti-vaxxers. For all of them.”
Wren gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. “What about Ethan?” Her eyes fill with tears again. “I can’t believe I forgot all about him. Do you think they…that they…?”
“They might not have found him,” I tell her, even though I’m sure they did. Even though I’m certain he’s dead too.
“We need to go back,” Wren says, and there’s steel in her voice now. Determination shining in her eyes. “Back to the clinic, Grim. Maybe they didn’t find my cellphone. It might still be there. We have to do something. It’s the only evidence we have against them.”
I nod. I’ve been thinking the same thing. “First, we fuel up and rest. We’ll head out tomorrow morning.”
“I’m going with you,” she tells me, her chin lifting.
“Okay,” I say. I’ll argue about this with her tomorrow. Now is not the time.
She looks surprised that I’m not fighting her on it, but she doesn’t push. Instead, she takes a big bite of food, closing her eyes and making a groaning sound of enjoyment; her eyes flutter closed, and she licks her lips. The sounds she’s making, the sight of her, shoot straight to my cock.
Fuck.
My dick starts to harden, and I shift in my seat, trying to adjust without being obvious about it. I have to look away and try to think about other things.
It’s official. I’m a complete asshole.
I want to have sex with someone who just experienced a trauma. Someone I’m supposed to protect and defend. And the things I want to do to her… If she knew, she wouldn’t be sitting here with me. She definitely wouldn’t like me so much anymore. She’d run.
I force myself to take another bite of food, keeping my eyes on my bowl instead of on her.
I refuse to hurt her. No way. If I slept with her, I would do just that. Wren is not someone who fucks around. She’s the kind of female you take home to meet your mother. She’s the kind of female you keep. The kind who deserves to be worshipped.
She’s not for me.
I can’t forget that. Not even for one second.