Page 113 of Wolf's Mark

“Hi. I was in your shop the other day talking with Lucia. I don’t know if you remember me. I just wanted to talk with her for two minutes. No more. Is that possible?”

The poor guy was almost frothing at the mouth, backing away as if I had the plague.

“Wait. Just a couple questions and I’ll leave.”

“No! You can’t see her. You can’t see my little girl.”

He was completely a wreck, anger and sadness driving him to act irrationally. His entire body was shaking and I was fearful he was going to have a stroke.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset her at all,” I told him.

He got in my face before I could back away, shaking his finger. “She’s dead. The wolves killed her. I told her not to talk to you!”

His voice was loud enough people all around us were gawking. I tried to think of something rational or comforting to say. “I’m so sorry.”

He started crying, bawling on the street. I wasn’t equipped for this.

“She was mauled to death in our home. In. Our. Home. I had to behead her to keep her from turning. Do you know what that did to me?”

Whew. A small crowd was forming. “It’s okay, folks. Nothing to see here.”

Her father wasn’t paying any attention. “You need to run before they get you too.”

As he walked away, I stood right where I was, the shock tearing through me.

What was I supposed to do now?

“What in God’s name is wrong with you?” Shelly’s voice held an air of demand. She wiped perspiration from her forehead as she continued staring at me.

I continued my task, dropping new bottles of water and fruit juice into the huge tub of ice. “Why do you keep asking me that?”

“Because you’re acting weird. Well, weirder than usual,” Camille piped in as she placed more chips into the bowl on the picnic table.

“I’m fine. I’m just… processing a few things,” I admitted, which wasn’t a lie. I’d told Jax that I needed space and he’d reluctantly given it to me. I’d barely slept and had a headache, but was trying to put on a pleasant face for my daughter’s birthday.

“You are acting weird. Maybe it’s the heat,” Mattie said. “But I brought wine so that should help.”

Trying to remember this was a celebration had been difficult, but with the girl having her fingers wrapped around four different white wine bottles, beads of water dripping from them, I couldn’t keep from laughing. “You are such a bad influence. What will the other mothers think if we’re drinking?”

“Do you really think I care?” She plopped the bottles on the table, pulling a wine opener from the bodice of her sundress.

I was unusually hot for this time of year. I was sweating like a dog. There was no perspiring like a dainty girl in high humidity.

“Bring on the plasticware,” Camille demanded.

“Hey, Johnny. Don’t pull her hair or I’ll pull yours,” Shelly yelled at her son.

The rest of us shook our heads. “Such a quiet woman,” I told her.

“Hey, my Johnny isn’t an angel like your Britney.”

Mattie snorted and yanked out the first cork. “You babysit her.” She winked at me.

Smiling, I turned my attention to the group of kids. They were jumping and hollering like five- and six-year-olds should be doing. “The party was a great idea.”

“Yeah,” Shelly agreed. “They’ll be exhausted by six tonight. I won’t have to fight the little brat to get him into bed. For a change.”

“I don’t think I ever want to become a mother. Between the two of you, y’all make it sound horrible.”

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