Page 33 of House of Wolves

I move in closer, peering into his dirt-encrusted hands. “How do you know?”

He shrugs. “From the way that they look.”

I scrunch my face. “Wow, you’re an excellent teacher.”

He laughs, the rare sound knocking me off-kilter. “Yeah, I don’t know why I thought I could teach you. I actually don’t know anything. It’s just instinctual.” With that, he tosses the mushroom in his bag and walks onward, leaving me in the dust.

“Did you grow up on a mushroom farm?” I ask, rushing up to him, yet again. Thank God, I’m in good shape, or I’d be completely out of breath from chasing him around.

“No.” Nothing else.

“No?”

“I did not grow up on a mushroom farm.” Silence, except the snapping of twigs under-toe.

“Jesus Christ, Brick. It’s literally like talking to a brick wall.”

“What?” His face reads genuine confusion.

“I ask you questions, and you reply with one-word answers. Don’t ask me anything about myself. Have you ever had a conversation in your life?” This is one thing I enjoy about being with him. Yes, he’s horrible at conversation, but let's be honest, most men are. At least I can call him out on his crap.

He sighs. “I’m sorry. I don’t have a lot of conversations that aren’t business-related. I’m not great at socializing.”

“You don’t have any friends?”

He contemplates. “Not really. I moved here three years ago and was thrown into my role.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Not really. I grew up as an only child, so I’m used to it.”

His childhood. This could lead to where things all went wrong. The light shifts as we leave the woods, soft, plush grass before us. A creek sings below the cliff’s edge—a postcard view. Brick walks toward the green lip overlooking the creek, placing his basket down and pulling out a checkered blanket.

I don’t let the topic pass us by. “Where did you grow up?”

“New York City.”

“Wow! I can’t imagine living somewhere without the cover of the woods nearby.” As an adolescent Were, shifting is less voluntary. Living near the woods helps us hide our true selves during the transition period.

He huffs with a forced smile. “Yeah, it was shit. It didn’t help that I had no idea what was happening.”

“Your parents didn’t tell you?” My parents were killed by Hunters when Cameron and I were young, but I still had the privilege of their guidance for a few of my adolescent years. I know many Weres aren’t so lucky.

“It was just my mom. My dad was a one-night stand; she had no idea he was a Were. When I started showing signs, she took me to the doctor. Luckily, living in such a big city made the medical community aware of the paranormal. They set me up with a doctor who specialized in my abilities and gave me resources. I probably wouldn’t be here today if it weren't for them. I think that’s why I joined the National Department of Supernatural the minute I graduated college.”

I’m so distracted by his story that I barely register him setting up two green mats, wooden plates, and unwrapping two cut sandwiches to place atop his presentation. He says these words so easily, almost without thought, as he works on setting up his picnic. It must be accurate, but he could very well be leaving out the details of the Hunters getting to him first and influencing him to work to help them. It would be easier for someone without any Were family. The Hunters could make him feel like he was different, destined to help eradicate the kind that brought him into this world and did nothing to help his upbringing. But even with this consideration, I can’t help but feel for him. This calloused man, so alone in this world from the start, loves foraging mushrooms and setting up intricate picnics complete with a vase flower centerpiece.

He takes a breath, examining his display, straightening the bowl of grapes before turning his gaze to me. Wind sweeps around us, blowing my hair from my shoulders. He sniffs and groans. I used to think my smell repulsed him, but the look on his face right now isn’t pain like before; it’s pure admiration.

A thick silence washes over us, peaceful yet riddled with electricity, exposed wires ready to catch flame to everything around us. I break the quiet before it becomes too much. “Wow, this is quite a set up.”

He blinks rapidly, coming back to reality. “Oh, I almost forgot.” He reaches into the basket and places a handful of his newly retrieved mushrooms on each of our plates.

I scoot closer to my spot, examining the mushroom. “How do I know this isn’t a poisonous mushroom?”

“Like I would purposely poison you?”

“Maybe.” I shrug, dangling a small piece of the oyster mushroom over my lips.

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