Susan blinks, her eyes clearing. “Finn is a Victim Advocate?”
I nod. Unofficially, the police force loves him. The Rape Crisis Center definitely does. It’s the damnedest thing, but the perpetrators of violent crimes have a way of disappearing if Finn is the one who gets the call.
Our county law enforcement fills out a lot of missing persons paperwork.
I don’t know if it’s less or more paperwork than, say, whatever documents they have to fill out for repeat offenders, but if it’s an unfairly disproportionate amount, they don’t complain.
“Huh,” Susan says.
“I, uh, woke you up to tell you that you should shower now. We’ve got three bathrooms on this floor, but they’re going to fill up fast.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
I make myself stand, fighting against the urge to stay crawling on the floor in a properly abject fashion, an instinct that’s strong in me after an aggressive outburst from an alpha.
Even though Ginny was only trying to protect herself.
I need to talk to Finn. Now.
“I have to go,” I tell Susan. “Wear anything you want from the closet.”
“Will you be back?” Susan asks.
Hesitating, I slide a look to her and meet her eyes briefly, nodding. “I’ll need to change into my suit.”
“Ah, Sunday. Church,” Susan says, relaxing a bit. Her fingers stop worrying the hem of the sweater she borrowed from me. It’s orange, and with her green sweats, she looks like she’s going for a cute pumpkin theme, although she was probably just taking whatever fit her. “I was planning on going home but…” She glances at the door. “Maybe I should stay. That is, if Ginny still wants to.”
“She should,” I tell her, meeting her gaze again and forcing myself to hold it. “She should stay and try to Change. Her control has to be good since she hasn’t burst into a wolf before this, but it’s not healthy for a werewolf to never run as a wolf. We can help.”
Before Susan can reply, the door opens and Ginny slides in, not looking at either of us. With her is her duffel bag. One of Charlotte’s, I can tell by the overall scent. Ginny has changed clothes, and they’re Charlotte’s too.
This poor girl. She’s been living on the generosity of others, not fully belonging as a human. And her wolf, never having been let out… It must feel like she belongs nowhere at all.
“Finn plans on working with you after church,” I tell Ginny.
And just like I find it hard to meet gazes, she finds it hard not to. She looks at me, her eyes faintly tinged with shame. Haunted.
Talk to Finn. NOW.
“I’ve got to go,” I announce, swiftly striding for the door, which Ginny is still in front of.
She jumps out of the way, and I can’t tell if I rushed her or if she’s nervous from being in her own head.
I mutter an apology and leave the two of them to talk.
I shift in the hall, expertly escape my track pants, gathering them in my mouth, and I race down the stairs, out of the house, and lope for Half Moon House to find Finn.
CHAPTER 32
SUSAN
Charlotte sends me a good morning text, and I take her lead, warmed to return the greeting, but we keep our contact minimal.
Ginny, despite having already changed clothes, decides she’ll take advantage of the still-quiet house to take a shower. She grabs her things and heads off. Before I can dig into Deek’s closet for daywear, there’s a knock at the bedroom door. I call, “Come in,” expecting Ginny back from the bathroom because she forgot something. Or Deek, back from wherever he went.
Instead, the door opens, and lady werewolves spill in.
They’re smiling and friendly and all of them in human form. They have garment bags slung over their arms, and someone hands me a plate of home fried hand-dipped sugar donuts as another woman pushes a mug of coffee into my hands, and I almost tell these strangers that I love them, my reaction to the treats and coffee is so strong.
The reason they came to see me was to bring me dresses in case I’d like to join them for church.
It’s incredibly thoughtful of them, and because Ginny is going to be attending and I don’t want to leave her feeling all alone no matter how nice these nice people are, I thank them and accept their offer to join their service.
I end up in a borrowed outfit they call a ‘clergy dress’—except