“I didn’t know she had any family.” We’ve spent the best part of all our summers terrorising the old bat. We’d know if she had backup.
“Apparently you’re not the only one around here.” She laughs, but there’s something bitter in her voice.
A protective instinct surges through me, fast and unexpected.
I wonder what, or who, she’s talking about. Maybe she’s met the twins already? Surely they would have said something though.
“Well, I’m visiting next door, so consider it my responsibility to ensure you get home safely,” I state firmly.
I offer her my arm, half habit, half instinct, trying not to crowd her. The moment her fingers brush my forearm, something inside me tightens. It’s fleeting, her scent still masked, but my alpha instincts sharpen.
However, my protective demeanour shifts as she winces.
“What’s wrong?” I ask with a touch of concern in my tone as I turn to face her.
“Nothing. I just jostled my wrist.” I recall the idiots earlier and realise that she’s trying to downplay the pain.
The one that bastard grabbed. My jaw clenches. It’s been hours, and she’s still in pain? Fuck. I should have done more. I should have ripped his damn hand off.
“The one that the scumbag grabbed?” I demand, my blood simmering at the thought of someone hurting her to such an extent. Hours have passed, and she’s still in pain – a pain that should never have been inflicted upon her. The anger builds within me, and I regret not taking more drastic action against him earlier, no matter the consequences.
“Nailed it. Yes.” She manages a weak chuckle, but her pain is evident, and it only fuels my anger further.
How could she endure such pain all night, carrying heavy plates without a moment’s respite? I feel like such a jerk for getting her to show us to our table when we could have waited and she should have had it checked out, or iced at the very least.
I release her arm but stop short in front of her without thinking. I won’t let this slide. As I tower over her, my height emphasising my protective stance, I can’t help but feel a mix of anger and concern. I need to see the extent of the damage he caused.
“Show me,” I demand, sharper than I mean to, and the edge in my voice surprises even me.
“It’s fine,” she tries to brush it off, but I won’t be deterred.
“Lani,” I say, softer this time. “Just let me see. Please?”
She hesitates, but my unwavering gaze convinces her to comply. “It’s dark. You won’t see anything,” she protests.
“I don’t care. Show me,” I assert, my concern and protectiveness taking precedence over everything else.
With a resigned sigh, she finally reveals her injured wrist. Even in the dim light, I can see the bruising, the way her fingers tremble slightly. A growl rumbles in my throat before I can stop it, something sharp and ugly flaring in my chest.
“This is unacceptable,” I say through gritted teeth. “You shouldn’t have to suffer like this.”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine,” I say, immediately regretting how harsh it comes out.
She blinks at me, startled. I need to rein it in. I’m pushing too hard.
Cringing, I take a deep breath and force myself to calm down. I’m not mad at her, I’m madforher. But I shouldn’t be taking out my own frustrations – anger, guilt, regret – on her. “Sorry. I just meant that it looks sore, and I think it’s sprained. It’s not okay. That should never have happened to you.”
She bites her lip but doesn’t argue. What is there to say? My anger towards the perpetrator intensifies, but I try to focus on the present.
It’s too quiet. Her scent is still muted, but I can’t help but wonder what she actually smells like without whatever she’s using. Probably something light. Clean. Forgettable.
“Let’s get you some ice and check if there’s anything more we can do,” I say, shifting my focus to a more constructive channel.
This time I place my hand on the small of her back, keeping her tucked in close, my scent curling around her without me meaning it to. Even without touching her skin, the warmth of her presence settles into me, deeper than it should. I guide her up the hill to her grandmother’s house, but all the while, my heart and my head are warring.
There’s something in my chest that keeps nudging at me to stay alert. To pay attention. It’s the same instinct that’s kept me out of trouble my whole life – and gotten me into it just as often.