Page 22 of Wolf

“Who?”

His mouth quirks into a smile and I shiver. He’s so devilishly handsome and I know it’s a sin to covet but I want this very look aimed at me again and again and again.

“The reverend,” he says and my pleasure fades.

“Oh.” Here I am acting like a twitterpated fool and he’s worried about what happened to Miriam. While I’m warm at his concern, I also feel stupid, which is why I shake my head dumbly.

When he drops his hand, I muster a pathetic smile and murmur, “Tell Miriam I miss her and—“

“Gotta go,” he says, and I wonder why he’s so gruff suddenly. “Stay away from the track, you hear me?”

My heart clenches at his words and I swallow back my frustration. Why is he constantly warning me off?

“Yeah,” I say and turn. A few feet into the trees, I glance back to find him watching me. When he nods, I silently sigh and head back to my prison, the noose around my neck, tightening with each step I take in the opposite direction.

At home, I find Mercy back at the table with her head in a book and I close my eyes.

Will I ever be anything more than an Abernathy? Because anymore, the notion crawls under my skin like a cancer.

Chapter 6

Lilli

It’s my birthday. I’m eighteen and as I look at the parishioners around me, all with bright smiles aimed at me because of my dad, I want to puke. They don't know of his deceit, and they worship at the altar of his lies. It's disgusting.

I don't want to celebrate my ascension into adulthood with these people, but I have little choice. I’m stuck.

“You going to eat that?” Rachel asks. Shaking my head, I push my plate her way. Mama monitors everything she eats because, Rachel can't control her impulses when it comes to food. If you ask me, she looks fine, but there’s no changing the thoughts that Mama has rolling through her brain.

By the altar, Mama laughs, the shrill sound sliding down my spine like razors. I know for a fact that she hates Miranda Hughes because she’s not shy about discussing it. Couched in terms of holier-than-thou words, what it comes down to is the simple fact that Miranda is younger, prettier, and not afraid to show it.

As a result, Mama pretends to be her friend and complains about her hair, makeup, and sleazy dresses behind her back.

Daddy stands by the door, waving dramatically as he says something to Sheriff Montrose and shaking my head, I rise and exit out the back of the church before leaning against the pillar. I’m restless. I have been for weeks.

When I close my eyes, I see Wolf with his brilliant gray eyes telling me to stay away.

At night, he enters my dreams, and the sleek, warm muscles of his chest warm my cheeks even now. His strong arms when he pulled me in, create havoc in my soul. I’ve even taken to sleeping with his shirt but the distinct scent of him has faded.

I want to see him. I want to feel, and he most assuredly does that. And after such a small taste, with every day that passes in the prison of my house, I feel myself shrivel a little more.

There’s a big bright world out there, and I’m missing it, while my father lies to us all and we eat it up because that's what he expects us to do.

I’m eighteen. Daddy doesn't control me anymore. I can leave. Be free.

But Mercy…glancing behind me, I see her sitting in a pew, her nose buried in a book. She turned fourteen two weeks ago. She has another four years before she can be free. Can I wait that long? If I do, Daddy will surely have a dozen potential husbands lined up, all in line with his expectation that I become a dutiful wife who pretends to be pious while secretly hating her damn life.

The wind whispers through the trees and I shiver, pulling my sweater close before glancing down at my dress with a grimace. Covered in lace and large red roses, Mama insisted on it but wearing a dress made of fabric that matches old Mrs. Carlisle’s drapes is not the look I aspire to recreate.

Per Mama, though, if I show my knees, I’m bound for hell, so here I am, safe for another day.

When a shadow forms over my shoulder, I stiffen as Daddy says, “Only the lost look for what they don't need.”

If he only knew how much I hate his useless words and hypocritical attitude.

Clenching my hand at my side, I say, “And you’re not lost?”

He chuckles and says, “No, Lillith Anne. I’m not.”

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