Page 81 of Caelum

Didn’t it?

TWENTY-THREE

DRE

As Nestor strummed his guitar, I sank back into the sofa and let his tunes soothe me.

I was riled up, angry, and I wasn’t even sure why.

We were heading out in a few hours, just waiting on the plane to arrive, and I was ready for it. Ready for everything the motherfuckers could throw my way, so why was I so on edge?

So antsy?

I studied Stefan, who had a piece of soap in his hands and a small penknife.

As I watched him whittle it down, leaving shavings on his lap, I murmured, “Why are we all on edge?”

Eren, who was face deep in one of Stefan’s stashes, replied, “On edge?”

I rolled my eyes when he retreated from the cupboard with a pack of cookies, Gatorade, and some candy.

We weren’t supposed to eat that shit, but Stefan had some sent in from the mainland every now and then. He said it made him feel less deprived but really, the dude was a hoarder who wouldn’t admit to it.

He had everything in those cupboards: protein bars, shakes, that shit that he somehow got from the US army just in case there was zero access to food for whatever reason. But I got it. We all had our demons, and Stefan’s was hunger.

He’d been starved as a kid, and when he’d had to live out on the streets, food had come at a premium. I had a feeling he’d sold his bodyfor food, but I’d never ask him. Never shame him so badly by bringing it up.

And, honestly, I didn’t want to know because if I did, I’d want to go and kill the motherfuckers who’d fucked a thirteen-year-old rather than just give him some money to grab something to eat.

The world was full of sick bastards, and they weren’t all Ghouls either.

Most of us had sad pasts, but some were worse than others. Stefan’s was one of them, Eren’s too. I’d seen his scars. He usually covered them up with cycling shorts under his baggier training gear, but I’d seen them. Knew there’d been a time when he self-harmed.

Cutting a look at what was literally a few pounds of sugar in his hands, I stated, “You sure you should be eating that shit? You sleep like crap as it is.”

He narrowed his eyes on me. “You my mom?”

I snorted. “If I were I’d have slapped you around the head a few times already today. You think I wouldn’t find out you’d shown her my garden?” The place was booby-trapped, and he’d fallen straight into it.

That had him grunting. “I should have known you had that place wired up.”

“Not having any bastard sneak in there and ruin my plants,” I grumbled. “Why did you show it to her anyway?”

He shrugged. “She wanted a walk.”

“Then take her to the goddamn beach.”

Stefan sighed, and it was louder than the scrape of his knife into the soap. “She won’t leave the building’s perimeter.”

I rolled my eyes again—that woman. I didn’t say shit, though, because they’d harp on at me about it. I was already getting crap from them, and I didn’t want to spend the next few hours of waiting for the plane with them trying to convince me how her shit was made of gold.

She was Pack. I got it. But I didn’t have to like her, and she’d have to do more than blink at me with big, admittedly pretty, honey-colored eyes to earn my loyalty.

“We need to work on that,” Nestor said absentmindedly as he plucked the strings of his instrument. The damn thing was like another limb. The way he played it could make even my eyes water.

My bro had talent. Major talent.

Just a few notes could make the hair at the back of my neck stand on edge… Like it was now. The soulful sounds weren’t easing my mood though. If anything, they weren’t fast enough, hard and heavy enough, to appease the rapid beat of my blood through my veins.

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