Page 8 of Flock This

“You called out to me.”

“Pretty sure I didn’t.” I took a step after he did, following him, drawn to him like I always was. We had some bond between us, a string nothing could break, and it never failed to pull tight until I struggled to breathe.

Even after five years, I was no closer to knowing a damn thing about this man—not even his name. I’d met him the night he changed me, then never saw him in real life again.

Hell, when I tried to tell anyone about him, they usually thought I was crazy, that he was some figment of my fractured mind.

He tucked his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, appearing both completely comfortable and yet entirely out of place. It was like a lion left at doggy day care. I knew it shouldn’t be there, but the lion didn’t mind one bit.

“Of course you did. Something happened, didn’t it?”

“Something always happens.”

His smile stretched wider across his face, amusement dancing in his eyes. It meant he knew I was blaming him for it. “And you think that’s my fault?”

“Yeah, it is. Ever since you, I’m always in trouble.”

“You were in trouble before or have you forgotten how we met?”

His words made me walk slower as I remembered our first meeting, back when I’d made what was easily my worst decision ever.

Saving his life.

And what did I have to show for it? A crow form and a lot more enemies than I’d ever had before. It didn’t seem as though it had worked out in my favor at all, yet this asshole acted like we were BFFs.

The man slowed then turned to face me since I’d fallen behind. Five years and he appeared exactly the same. Each time I’d talk to him like this, when I’d appear like a specter around him, no matter the time that passed, he never changed. The red hair, the smirk, the mischief that danced in those sea-colored eyes.

I still had no idea who or what he really was—only that he’d created me, that he’d caught me on the moment of death and pulled me back, changing me into this.

Then he’d left, only to appear in my dreams usually once a week or so. “Why’d you leave?” I found myself asking him the question I’d always kept to myself before.

He blinked slowly, a rare moment of surprise, before he let out a chuckle. “This is why I adore you, Grey. You never fail to surprise me. No matter what I expect you to do, you always do something else.”

“Why would that question surprise you? Wouldn’t anyone want to know why the person who made them abandoned them right after?” I hated that I sounded like a child asking why my deadbeat dad had run off, but what I hated even more was that I felt that way.

“You wanting to know doesn’t surprise me—you actually asking does. Are you telling me you missed me? Did you wish I was around more? Do you want me to come watch your ballet recital?”

I shook my head, reminded again that talking with him was useless. He never told me anything, never managed to be honest. He turned everything into a joke with me the butt of it.

So I turned on my heels and went the opposite way. I’d remain here for a short time longer, then wake up in my own bed. That was how this always worked. In fact, I wasn’t sure which one of us crossed that distance.

“You call and I answer.” His voice came from just beside me, and it reminded me just how fast he was. He matched my steps as though I weren’t almost running. At my look, he went on. “When you’re distressed, I feel it, like a whisper in my ear. When you sleep, you reach out to me, and I grasp your hand and pull your mind to me.”

“And if I didn’t reach?”

“I could still summon you, but it wouldn’t be as pleasant.”

“And you care about that?”

“I meant pleasant for me.” He smiled brightly, his straight white teeth annoyingly perfect. This shadow of mine was nothing if not a frustrating enigma.

I rubbed my temples. I could annoy anyone. It was a talent I’d had long before I’d ever met this man, but since becoming whatever I was now, I’d gotten even better. Somehow, though, I couldn’t get beneath his skin.

“Talking to you is like anal sex. Uncomfortable at best, painful at worst, and it isn’t productive at all.”

He snorted, amused. Nothing ever bothered him. “So what happened? Something must have for you to call to me.”

“Murder, mayhem, I was naked at a werewolf’s house.”

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