Page 112 of Fangs
“Where’s everyone—” Scar started.
I darted past them into the clinic and went straight up the ladder, only to come to an abrupt halt when I saw Sam sleeping in my bed.
Oh, right. I’d forgotten about Sam.
I couldn’t stop grinning like an idiot, so I kicked off my boots and shrugged out of my jacket before crawling in next to Sam. He opened his eyes slowly and then visibly startled at the sight of me climbing into bed with him.
“What—” he started, his voice hoarse with sleep.
I curled into him, hiding my face in his shoulder. His arms slowly wrapped around me. Neither of us spoke as I tried to catch my breath and stop fucking smiling.
“So, is this a thing we do now?” he finally asked, sounding sleepily amused.
“Guess so,” I tried to say casually but started giggling silently.
Sam pulled away and looked at me, but his worried expression faded to relief when he saw I was laughing.
“What’s going on?” We heard Tuck yell from the porch.
“Wolf just got hoodwinked by his miniature,” Kai howled.
Sam raised an eyebrow, a crooked grin crossing his face. We could hear them continuing to tease my brother outside, and eventually, Wolf started harassing them back. Sam and I listened to them insult each other, attempting to stifle our laughter with Trey’s quilt. I expected Wolf to march inside and drag me down the ladder, but the door didn’t open.
“So, what the hell just happened?” Sam asked after the commotion outside quieted.
I groaned and pressed my face into the pillow, my voice coming out muffled. “I healed Nemo. He collapsed 'cause he’s been hurt for the past three fuckin’ months. Internal injuries from… from Madame.”
“Oh shit.”
“He’s fine now,” I added.
“So…why were you running?”
Talking with my face hidden in the pillow was easier. “Nemo wanted to talk to me, and I… panicked.”
“I’m shocked,” Sam deadpanned.
“Shut up,” I mumbled.
“What did he want to talk about?”
“I told him I didn’t blame him for not wanting me to heal him after… after I helped torture him.”
“He said he didn’t want you to heal him?”
Hidden in the pillow, I grimaced. After a few seconds of silence, Sam sat up, ripped the pillow away, and smacked me in the back of the head with it. “So you made assumptionsandran away?”
“No,” I lied stubbornly.
“Fuckin’ hell, Emmy.” He glared at me. “You arealwaysjumpin’ to assumptions and runnin’ away.”
I jabbed a finger into his side.
“Ow!” he yelped dramatically. “I think you just broke my rib.”
“I did not,” I muttered.
“How would you know?”
