Brothersong (Green Creek #4) - T.J. Klune Page 0,21
we?”
“I’m slipping,” I whispered.
“I know.”
“I left you.”
“You did,” he agreed. “And I’ll probably be mad for a long time.”
“Will you yell at me?”
He arched an eyebrow. “Do you want me to?”
“I think so.”
“What a weird thing to want.”
“It means you still love me,” I said as a tear trickled down my cheek. “If you’re angry, you still give a shit.”
“Ah. Then I’ll probably yell at you forever.”
“Say it, please. Say my name again.”
He didn’t.
The seat next to me was empty.
I drove on.
THE FULL MOON came in the middle of the week.
It was my tenth since leaving Green Creek.
And I did what I’d promised him, as I’d done nine times before.
I howled.
I sang.
In the middle of nowhere, far from human eyes, I cried at the moon as loud as I could, a song of brothers that I chose to believe could be heard across the distance. The stars were bright, the moon fat, and I sang for him.
It echoed throughout the valley, and I waited, my wolf brain thinking he’ll hear he’ll hear and come and sing and we’ll run run run.
He didn’t.
I FOUND THE SECOND NOTE IN JUNE, nailed to the door of an abandoned cabin.
I DON’T WANT ANYTHING TO DO WITH YOU.
“Yeah, buddy,” I muttered. “Should have said that before you started growling at anyone who got within ten feet of me.”
I pushed inside the cabin. That scent was there, wild woods, though it was faded. A cot sat up against one wall, a blanket hanging off onto the floor. The remains of what had once been a rabbit lay near the old fireplace. I grimaced at the stench of it. It looked as if it’d been weeks since anyone had been here.
I was about to turn and leave when something caught my eye in the shadows on the far wall.
I walked toward it slowly, the floor creaking beneath my feet.
Gouge marks.
On the wall. Into the wood.
Claws.
But the spread of them was bigger than any wolf should have been able to do. Like they had come from a beast of great size.
I thought this place haunted.
I left as quickly as I’d come.
That night I slept in the truck with the note curled in my hand.
I WAS IN A BAR IN NOWHERE, KANSAS, sitting in a corner booth, a half-empty beer on the table in front of me.
“This place is a dive,” Kelly said. He was coming easier now. There’d be stretches of days when I wouldn’t see him at all, and then he’d be right there next to me as if he’d always been there. This Not-Kelly. “I’ve never been in a dive bar before.”
“You’ve been to the Lighthouse,” I said.
He laughed. “Oh, man, please let me be there the day you tell Bambi she owns a dive bar. Please. I’ll record it and everything.”
I pulled at the label on the bottle, tearing it into strips. “I’d rather keep my balls, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Probably for the best.” Then, “She’ll have had her baby by now. You ever think about that? Rico as a father.” He shook his head. “Will wonders never cease.”
No, I hadn’t thought about that. But here it was now, a terrible gift from Not-Kelly. Across the country, in a tiny mountain town, there was a little human in the world that was tied to me that I’d never met before. I let the bottle go before I broke it. “Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter either way. But it’s the first. For us.”
“And will probably be the only unless they have another. We’ve got the gayest pack in the entire world.”
He chuckled, folding his hands on the table. He grimaced because the surface was sticky. “Speaking of.”
“Don’t.”
“Who are you talking to?”
I looked up.
A woman stood in front of the table. Her head was cocked as she looked down at me. Her fingernails were painted red. Her hair was black and curled around her shoulders. Her cleavage was on full display, and her eyes were wide and lovely. She looked like she was around my age and on the prowl.
“No one,” I muttered.
“Because it looks like you were talking to someone.”
I shook my head. “It’s nothing. Did you need something?”
Her smile was coy. “You look lonesome here all by yourself. Haven’t seen you around before.”
“Because I’m not from here.”
“Just passing through?” She leaned forward, putting her hands on the table. Oh, she was hunting and had decided I was prey. If only she knew.