Page 9 of Lost Girl

So who was it?

* * *

Tigerlily stormed rightinto the house the second we got here. I don’t think she meant to slam her bedroom door while she was at it, but she did nonetheless. The fact Pa hasn’t come out to check what all the ruckus is about tells me he’s in one of his deep sleeps. That, or Aiyana is keeping him company.

Either way, my sister seems to have lucked out for now, but if she gets her ass chewed out in the morning, it’ll be no one’s fault but her own. Dad and I have told her close to a million times since she was released that she’s not to leave alone.

She never listens, though, and I’m not covering her ass this time.

Shifting back into my own skin, I tie one of mama’s handwoven blankets around my waist—Pa always leaves them slung over the porch railing for me—and head straight for the shower. Nothing long or drawn out, just enough to wash the night off before I tear up the kitchen.

Twenty minutes later, I’ve got some bacon and sausage sizzling, a few scrambled eggs on the backburner with ham and cheese. There’s sourdough toasting on the griddle, a ripe avocado waiting to be sliced. I almost whip up a waffle, too, knowing my sister might come out following the scent, but I’m too hungry to wait.

She can make her own damn waffles. I mean, she wants to be treated like a big girl, right?

Mouth watering, my stomach rumbles in protest just as I’m sliding the eggs onto a plate. You’d think I never eat with the spread I’m about to feast on. I do, trust me, but the constant shift fucks with my appetite. Doesn’t matter how many times I head out with the pack, I’m always ravenous after.

Shuffling around the kitchen, I grab everything I need and take a seat at the varnished wood countertop, and not ten seconds later, I hear footsteps creeping down the hallway.

Looks like I’m going to have that waffle after all.

Smiling around a forkful of eggs, I wait for my sister to round the corner. But it’s not her, and while I knewshemight be here, it still shocks me to see her.

Her, Aiyana, the woman my father recently started seeing. Don’t get me wrong, I like her, I’m just not used to seeing Pa with anyone. He’s been alone for years, since Ma passed.

This is good for him, though.She’sgood for him. He deserves happiness after all he’s been through.

Aiyana’s as surprised to me, too, bronze cheeks reddening when she finds me mid-chew in the kitchen. “Oh, hi, Tavi. I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

Shooting her a small wave, I wipe up my mouth and reach for my drink. “I should’ve been in bed by now, honestly.”

No, really—I should be. It’s almost two in the morning.

My dad ambles out thereafter, taking in the mess I’ve made with a smirk. “I’m not cleaning up after you this time, just so you know.”

“I’ve got it, old man, don’t worry,” I jibe.

His face falls in disapproval. He absolutely detests when I call him that, despite knowing it comes from a good place. Probably because he looks older than he is. Mama’s death took a severe toll on him, leaving him grayed long before it was his time. He was quite thin for a while, too, more than he ever should’ve been, but I’ve bulked him up again in the last two years or so. Now, he rocks the silver mane with pride, keeping it tied in a neat bun most of the time.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you?” he questions Aiyana, tucking her dark hair behind her ear.

“I’m positive,” she laughs softly. “It’s less than a mile. I’ll be fine. Besides, I’m sure some of the boys are still roaming around.”

“They should be,” I chime in, only to remember this wasn’t my conversation to chime in on in the first place. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“You’re fine, dear.” She waves me off. “Only cements my point to your father here.” Her palm thumps against his chest. “See? They’re out there. I’ll be fine.”

My dad sighs, cupping her face with a gentle hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

Lifting onto the tips of her toes, she places a tender kiss to the very corner of his mouth. “If we’re allowed another day, you can bet on it. Sleep well, my love.”

She’s gone after that, slipping her satchel over her head as she makes her way out the door.

“I could’ve walked her, you know,” I tell my dad as he clicks the locks in place.

Shrugging, he strides over to join me at the counter, sliding into the seta beside me. “She doesn’t like to be fussed over.”

“I can see that.”

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