Something of a Kind - By Miranda Wheeler Page 0,18

be so quick to unnerve. The nagging thought was irresistible.

“Yeah,” he said, tugging on the fabric to expose the tattoo. Twisting his wrist, he scrutinized the work like it was a recent discovery. “In a lot of cultures, the snake represents regeneration and revival. Shedding the skin… It’s supposed to be the end of an existence and the beginning of another, in the middle of your life. It’s not the prettiest thing in the world. I don’t think rebirth is supposed to be, though.”

“It’s beautiful,” Aly whispered. The style was tribal, but not native in an Alaskanindigenous sense. She couldn’t place an origin, only noticing it was more fierce than cartoonish, certainly not grotesque. She didn’t understand what he was thinking. Grinning, she added, “Much more manly than the apron.”

He laughed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Pulling her close, he planted a playful kiss on the head. She bit her lip, unable to disguise her smile.

Okay, try not to die.

He watched her for a moment before becoming lost in thought, his thumb tracing the serpent. After a while, she realized he was considering the afternoon’s events.

“He's a good guy – Tony. He and his wife used to do foster care and stuff before she died. I mean, he drinks, but everyone does. That's Ashland,” Noah said, finally. “He's the most lighthearted drinker in town though, strange… goofy, I guess. Not so depressing and sloppy. When my sister, Sarah, was a toddler, he actually saved her from a rip current. You'd think he'd be a hero or something the way the locals talk. People don't get him, but he's cool.”

“Why don't they like him, then?” Aly mused, tucking a curl behind her ear.

“They're judgmental. What are you going to do?” Releasing a sigh, he bit his lip, shifting his gaze to her again.

Noting that it was rhetorical, Aly stayed silent as he watched her. They shared a snicker when they reached the lean-to, finding the other quads gone. He unlocked a chain from the key-start and ignited the engine.

Taking his hand, Aly was more than happy to join him.

CHAPTER 6 | NOAH

“Should we be worried about Luke and Owen?” Aly asked for the third time.

When they got to the parking lot the guys were nowhere in sight, but neither were the ATVs, Luke’s mom’s jeep, or Owen’s sedan – nicknamed ‘Junker’. Noah laughed it off.

Young and Hunt mocked the elders and the culture with their chest puffed out and their chins in the air, but the moment they got spooked the legends were their first conclusion. He knew they took it as seriously as their parents and ancestors did. Or, if not so religiously, they were certainly skittish enough to freak at the concept.

Noah had never found Lee or any of his comrades particularly convincing. He was much less inclined to join in with their hysterics.

I’m kind of pissed they scared her, though.

Noah had tried to reassure Aly, but he knew it bothered her. When his friends had something in their head deep enough to believe it themselves, their panic switch was so dramatic it became persuasive.

“Aly, I’m more than sure they’re fine. They get hyped up over the legends around here. The funny thing is, most of the stories don't even belong to this area. They drift from town to town.”

“It’s a beautiful culture,” she finally said. An endearing appreciation took the worry from her voice.

She stared at the trees, only glancing at him when they spoke. As he drove her home, he found himself slowing down the closer they got. He wasn’t ready to say goodnight. He was too conscious of her place by his side, of her smooth hand in his palm. Hyperaware of the blood moving through his fingers, he couldn’t help but notice whenever she twitched, or trembled.

As Noah forced himself to watch the road, he scanned for animals in the thick brush. Gaze locked twelve minutes ahead and behind the vehicle, he kept one hand atten o’clock on the wheel.

Aly, in her untouchable silence, was a screaming blind spot after nearly spinning out of control on the trails. Owen had him paranoid he’d get the poor girl killed. He had paid too much attention to her knees pressing against his sides and the palms flat against his ribs. With her fingers clutching his chest, he wondered if she felt the wild beats below his sternum.

As the headlights lit up the sign labeling Thorne Avenue, he shoved away the thought of circling the block or