His tone of voice made me snarl, “If you think you have a say in my life, Dad, then you’re sorely mistaken.”
Dad did not like hearing that, because he resorted to his favorite method of dealing with me: yelling. “Everyone thinks you’re a nutcase!” he practically screamed at me. “You know what it’s like reading your deranged column in that sham of a magazine, knowing all of our family and friends laugh about you—about us—behind our backs, and even in our face?!”
I couldn’t help it; I barked out a humorless laugh. “I thought we were over it by now, but it seems you can’t let it go,” I said, feeling bitter. “Let me make some things clear: The magazine is not a sham, and my column is notderanged. I have a platform to share the truth about this world, and that’s exactly what I’m doing!”
“This is what I’m talking about!” Dad sniped. “There is no ‘truth’ about this world, Drew! It’s all in your head, and you refuse to snap out of it!”
My body started shaking with fury. “Oh, so I imagined the shadow monster who kidnapped Willow and Julianna, then,” I spat, so angry I wanted to hit something.
“And as we tell you over and over again, your trauma made you see something that’s not there, Drew!” Dad yelled. “So snap out of your stupid delusions and start working as a legit writer at a legit company!”
We both knew this wasn’t what it really was about. My parents only cared about their reputation in high society. I was like a thorn in their side. They were always asked about me, and they were ashamed to tell everyone what I was up to.
Once upon a time, it used to hurt, thinking that my parents thought me a kook and were embarrassed by me. Now, I just wanted them to stop caring altogether.
Seething, I said, “If you ever offer me a job again, I’m going to block your numbers, so don’t call me unless you have something to say worth listening to.”
And like with Mom, I hung up, only this time, I was far angrier, and sadder too.
Because this fight with my parents repeated itself every few months. And it seemed they still weren’t willing to respect my decisions or my occupation. They never actually said it, but they, too, believed I was a madwoman for my beliefs—or rather, my convictions.
And they poisoned Thayer, my older brother, against me too.
A wet nose nudged at my hand, and I whipped my head to the side. The wolf stood next to me, so big he reached the counter, and butted at my fisted hand, his bright eyes somewhat soft. Sympathetic, even.
Him trying to cheer me up made my lips wobble and tears rise to my eyes. I reached for his head and hugged his soft, warm neck. “Thank you,” I whispered, tightening my hold on him.
The wolf, of course, didn’t reply. But he leaned deeper against me, as if he was hugging me back.
And while I stubbornly refused to let my tears fall, because my parents were not worth such sentiment from me, his warmth comforted me nonetheless.
Chapter 5
The Shadow Mark
Living with a wounded wolf for a pet felt surprisingly, domestically normal.
Over the last three days, the wolf and I had developed a routine. We woke up in the morning, I made myself coffee and brought him a bowl of water, then I checked on his wound, the sigil, which refused to disappear and would probably scar. But at least the wound was gradually healing, and he was no longer bleeding whenever he moved around.
That meant that while I was working on my laptop, the wolf was roaming about the apartment. It felt like such a small space for a huge, magnificent being like him, but the wolf didn’t seem to be bothered by the disproportion. He sniffed every nook and cranny, and he seemed especially fond of my bedroom, where he sometimes lay down on top of the bed, even when I wasn’t there, or on piles of both washed and unwashed laundry.
As for the wolf’s needs ... Well, he seemed to visit the bathroom when I wasn’t looking, and so far, I didn’t need to take him out for walks or anything like that. So my theory that he wasn’t exactly only a wolf was strengthened. But since I didn’t want to break our somewhattemporary blissful life, I didn’t mention it and pretended he didn’t have needs to begin with.
We also went to sleep together every night on my bed. I slept much better while snuggled up to him, and the wolf seemed to simply enjoy my presence, which made me feel ten feet tall every time I thought about it.
Thank God my landlord wasn’t the type to make surprise visits, or I would’ve been in trouble.
If it had been up to me, I would’ve stayed holed up in my apartment for a few more days, but unfortunately, my refrigerator was starting to look depressingly empty, and I needed to restock. Since ordering groceries online was much more expensive than physically going to the store, I was forced to choose the latter.
So on the fourth day after I found him bleeding outside my building’s back door, I told the wolf, “I’m going out for a bit. Be good, okay?”
The wolf headbutted my hand as if to sayOf course, and the fondness I felt for him was so overwhelming, I found myself reaching for him and hugging him tightly.
“I don’t want to leave,” I murmured into his fur. “I want to stay here and cuddle with you all day.”
And not just because he was important to me. I was hoping that if we got closer, he would finally show his true colors and tell me who, or what, he was.
He leaned his body against me as if to agree, but then he butted his snout against my side, forcing me to lean back. He gave a small lick to the palms of my hands that made me almost smile before he turned his back to me and padded to my bedroom, as if telling me to get the whole going out thing over with.