Page 7 of Flock This

I inhaled deeply, then did as he’d asked. That same icy sensation rushed through me, like each cell in my body froze for one heartbeat before sparking back to life reformed. I’d never seen myself change, but I’d heard it looked as if ice covered me in a wave, twisting and transforming me until only my other form remained.

It sounded hella-beautiful, but it felt awful. I was left panting, seated on the counter, my legs crossed and my body leaning forward as I tried to catch my breath. It almost seemed my lungs remained slightly iced, sluggishly trying to expand and contract like they were meant to.

Something warm slid over my shoulders, and I lifted my head to find Galen tossing a throw blanket around me. I could have thanked him if my mouth had been working rather than chattering. Instead, I gripped the edges of the blanket and held them around me tightly.

Galen touched my knee, the action causing me to jump. He made a soft sound, something guttural and strangely reassuring. At least, I knew it was meant to sooth me, but it didn’t work.

Instead, my crow rebelled at the very idea of him calming me. What was it if not a type of control, after all?

He snorted. “I forget, you don’t like that. I just want to see your feet. There’re bloody bird prints all over.” Even though he said the words as though they were a request, he grasped my ankles and pulled them from the cover of the blanket. It left me seated on the counter with my legs out straight. He wet a paper towel and used it to clean my feet, which still had dried red on them. “None of this is yours,” he said, then frowned. “I knew I smelled vampire blood, but you don’t seem to have any wounds.” Even though he didn’t ask, the meaning was clear.

He wanted to know what the hell had happened to drive me here in the middle of the night, covered in vampire blood.

I stared at him in the dim room, again thrown by how little he looked like what he was. He appeared like any nerdy mid-twenties guy, someone far more at home in front of a computer instead of running a pack of dangerous werewolves.

The world was never what we expected it to be. I sighed, then told him the story, the words coming slowly, seeming far too fantastical even as I said it.

Through it all, Galen said nothing. He crossed his arms and had that same inscrutable expression on his face, only the deepening of the lines in his forehead showing he’d heard me at all.

At the end of it, Galen said nothing. Then again, what was there to say? Sorry you’re being framed for murder—good luck with that!

I set my hand on the counter and shifted to get down, to apologize for having come here. What had I been thinking? Bringing these sorts of problems to Galen’s door? Fuck knew he had enough of his own issues without adding mine.

Except, before I could slide off, before my feet hit the ground, I found Galen’s body blocking my way. In fact, if someone caught us just then, they’d probably assume we were lovers. I sat on the counter, and he stood between my spread thighs, his face mere inches from mine.

“Don’t run.” His voice came out soft but serious, the darkness of the room making us feel even closer than before.

“This isn’t your problem.”

“You’ll be safe here tonight, at least. Sleep in the guest room, and we’ll talk about the rest tomorrow.”

I pressed my lips together, wanting to turn him down, to tell him no, but something about his offer felt like a lifesaver in the middle of a turbulent sea. So I took hold of it and nodded. “Okay, just for tonight.” When I slid off the counter, he used a hand on my waist to help, the touch searing me even through the blanket.

Out of one dangerous situation and right into another.

My life or my dignity—I’d lose at least one before long.

* * * *

“Hello, Little Crow.”

I knew that voice. It was as familiar as my own, as though it were somehow a part of me. Teasing. Coaxing. Cold and hot at the same time. It was also the only person who called me Little Crow.

And just hearing it told me I was sleeping. It was the only time he ever appeared to me, ever since five years ago when he’d changed me.

I looked around, finding myself in a crowded and bustling street with people speaking a language I couldn’t identify. They didn’t notice me—they never did.

Because I wasn’t there, not really.

And standing to my left was the man to blame for…well…everything.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” he said, a smirk on his lips. He had red hair, like fire, and was tall enough I had to tip my head back to meet his gaze, his eyes a bright and striking blue.

“Where are you now?” I asked.

He frowned, then peered to his side as though he wasn’t sure. “Somewhere in India.”

“So why are you bothering me?”

---