Page 46 of Twice as Twisted

I sink into my chair and try to talk myself out of the despair threatening to shrivel me into a brittle husk. My stepmother texts me that dinner is on, but I tell her I don’t feel well. I curl up on my bed, put on my headphones to block out the world, and pull upCriminal Mindson my laptop.

A few minutes later my door cracks open, and my stepmom’s face appears, a tentative smile on her lips. My heartflips, and I lift the headphones from one ear, the last valiant hope that he’ll be here leaping up inside me.

“You don’t feel well?” she asks, gripping the edge of my door, the usual blend of guilt and eagerness prominent on her face.

“Is someone here?” I ask.

Her brow furrows in confusion. “Who would be here?”

“Never mind,” I say, replacing my headphone and turning back to the screen.

A minute later, the edge of the bed sinks as she sits.

I sigh and move my headphone aside again. “What?”

She presses the back of her fingers to my forehead, like she’s checking for a fever. “Your brother said you had a boy over earlier.”

“Yeah, so?” I say, turning my head away from her hand.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I never want to talk about it, Aurora.”

“Do you want some company?”

“Does it look like I want company?”

She gives me a wounded look, and I try to remember what I’m supposed to say to her, but I can’t, so I just replace my headphones. She rises like it’s painful, then pauses. I look up in time to see her eyes widen and her mouth moving. Again, I uncover my ear.

“Did you hear that?” she asks.

Whatever she heard, my cat definitely heard it too. His ears are pricked up straight, his eyes round, his posture alert.

“No, what?” I say.

My stepmother stands there, waiting, the tense set of her shoulders giving me pause. “That noise.”

Together, we listen. After a few seconds, a shout sounds from downstairs, followed by a thud.

“Stay here,” she says, hurrying for the door. “I’ll get the gun from the safe.”

“Wait,” I say, tossing aside my laptop.

She turns back, frowning. “What?”

My pulse is pounding erratically, but I know I have to say something. Suddenly I’m sure it’s Baron.

He came.

My heart tumbles with some emotion that shouldn’t be possible considering what we just heard. But it is. It’s possible because he didn’t forget me. He didn’t stand me up.

He came.

I passed.

A moment later, we hear them—heavy footsteps in the hall. They’re not hurried, not sneaky. And then he’s there, all six-feet-something of him, muscles hinted at through his black button-up shirt and dark jeans, jawline like a razor blade, dark eyes alert behind wire-rimmed glasses.

Seeley Boots lets out a sound I’ve never heard him make before, a wildcat snarl, and puffs up to twice his normal size.

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