Page 19 of Cage Me

“I’m what now?” I must have missed something before because that doesn’t make any sense.

“When I was in Tart?—”

“I’m all packed!” Peter shouts from behind us, choosing now to interrupt. Of course.

My attention goes back to Drake, and I point a finger at him. “We’re going to finish this conversation.”

His hands release me, and he takes a step back. “I certainly hope so.”

Turning around, I stop my brother before he can get too close. “Go help Momma with her bags and then we’ll finish up here.”

He pouts, but does as I ask, thankfully. I don’t want him to see the body face down. He can still love our father if he wants to or choose to remember him however helps moving forward.

Opening the cloaking spell, I pour the pale pink liquid over the grave and throw the bottle in once I’m done. Drake already has the shovel in his hands and begins to cover the corpse as soon as I move out of his way.

My eyes watch as he bends forward, scoops the dirt, and tosses it back where it came from. The muscles in his back ripple from the increased efforts. Sweat drips down his forehead as he moves quicker, but he doesn’t rest for a moment until he comes to an abrupt stop.

His forearm wipes over his face before he turns toward me. “Peter should finish the rest.”

I almost tell him no, but I’m beginning to see that I might not know my baby brother as well as I once did, and I’m not his mother. I don’t get to decide what’s best for him.

“He can if he’d like,” I say, then realize Peter and Mom should have been out here already. “I’m going to go check on them.”

Drake catches my wrist, and I pause. His touch warms my skin beneath his fingers and spreads up my arm, straight to my chest where it starts to pool.

When I look up at him, I catch more of those silver flecks within the darkness. “Don’t leave without me,” he says as a plea instead of a demand, his stare observing every inch of my face.

“I won’t.” And for the first time since meeting him earlier today, I don’t intend to run from him.

Damn it. I hope I don’t regret this.

Just as I start to pull away, I hear the back door open, and Peter’s complaints about how heavy the bags are.

Drake’s appraisal of me is broken, and I go to help with their items. When I take my brother’s suitcase, I nearly drop it, not expecting it to actually be heavy.

“What the hell did you pack, bub?” I demand, gripping the handle tighter.

Mom frowns. “Rocks.”

“Rocks?” I ask and she nods before I look down at Peter. “Why?”

He merely shrugs. “They’re shiny.”

Right. Well, after the day we’ve all had, I’m not going to argue over rocks. “Anything else inside that we need to grab?”

Mom shakes her head. “Nothing of consequence.”

The devastation in her voice slices at my chest. She’s leaving behind the place she’s called home for nearly thirty years. Memories—good and bad—lie within the walls behind us, and I hate that I’ve been selfish in my demands.

My mother truly has sacrificed far more than I ever realized until today.

“Do you need help, Drake?” I hear Peter ask, then fight a smile at Drake’s reply.

The imposing shifter groans as he rubs his palms together. “I do. These hands aren’t what they used to be, and you’re just the young man to take over.”

Peter drops his other bag and runs to pick up the shovel, eager to get right to work. “I promise not to bleed on the handle again.”

“You’ll be just fine, my boy.” Mom’s face softens as she watches on from several feet back, a few stray tears leaking down her cheeks.

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