shorter commute to work at all. Mary-Lou was glad, both for the protection and the company the two women provided her elderly parents. Given her new responsibilities as an alpha of their rag-tag pack, she welcomed any help thrown her way.
Speaking of. Sasha and Cara were steadily driving her positively, utterly insane.
A month ago, Mary-Lou and Jonas moved into a two-bedroom apartment in a small neighborhood west of the city. The building was well situated: It sat halfway between the Cabin and Mary-Lou’s old home, making trips in either direction relatively short. It was also only two-stories high, which meant that when Sasha and Cara took the apartment directly below theirs, the house officially became pack territory. An event that would have been more joyous, had it not also meant that the two stubborn Shifters were now to share close living quarters. Jonas was most displeased by the entire situation; Mary-Lou had found his protectiveness of Cara adorable, up until he suggested she move in with them and leave the downstairs apartment to Sasha alone.
Sasha had been less than pleased. The resulting argument was composed of howls and hisses, and ended with both men nursing their egos when Cara and Mary-Lou had reminded them to whom, exactly, the decision belonged.
Cara did not want to move. Mary-Lou did not want Cara a wall away. End of story.
They had fallen into a rhythm of sorts – a daily routine that almost passed for ordinary, if one did not try to fit the intensive combat training and occasional late-night visitor of unknown origins into the definition: Shifters of all ages and walks of life, interested in seeing and speaking to Mary-Lou in person. It would have been flattering, if not for the sheer terror their wide-eyed wonder inspired in the human woman. They looked at her like she held heaven in the palm of her hand; Mary-Lou wondered what they would think, if she were to tell them exactly how ordinary, how clueless she truly was.
At least training was going alright. Mary-Lou was quite proud of her progress in hand-to-hand, even if she was still the runt of the group and could really only spar with Cara. Still, pretty good for a frail human.
Thus, days were spent together, as a pack. Nights, however, were for Jonas and Mary-Lou alone. Living in close quarters with one’s family and friends may be instinctual for Shifters, but so was the desire to keep one’s mate close and secluded from others. Mary-Lou was often torn between annoyance and a guilty, primal sort of delight whenever that particular quirk made an appearance.
Several months into their living arrangement, Mary-Lou was more than glad for the privacy of their apartment.
Mary-Lou did not wish to hide from her pack. She did not cover her pale skin, her dark circles with cosmetics; neither did she lie when first Cara, then Sasha, pulled her aside to ask what was wrong. If she stopped visiting her parents, Irma and Jonathon, as the nightmares grew more vivid and heartbreaking – well, that was her business and hers alone.
Mary-Lou did not wish for them to hear her screams, did not want her loved ones to see her tortured by pain that was not her own – by events confined to the recesses of her mind. She had to find a cure. She hoped there was a cure.
Please, don’t let me be insane , Mary-Lou thought as she watched the small, blue Honda that was to bear her salvation park in front of their building. Please, anything but that.
Jonas introduced the healer as Rowfer: A man so weighted down by age he walked bent nearly in half, his back a painful curve of old bones and worn skin. Jonas helped Rowfer up the front stairs and to the first floor apartment, gentle and patient as the old man groused about city traffic, the eggs he had for breakfast, and his goddamn knees. Mary-Lou smiled at the sight, Jonas’ kindness momentarily distracting her mind from the sharp, cold anxiety eating at her thoughts.
Mary-Lou stood to greet Rowfer as he made
Speaking of. Sasha and Cara were steadily driving her positively, utterly insane.
A month ago, Mary-Lou and Jonas moved into a two-bedroom apartment in a small neighborhood west of the city. The building was well situated: It sat halfway between the Cabin and Mary-Lou’s old home, making trips in either direction relatively short. It was also only two-stories high, which meant that when Sasha and Cara took the apartment directly below theirs, the house officially became pack territory. An event that would have been more joyous, had it not also meant that the two stubborn Shifters were now to share close living quarters. Jonas was most displeased by the entire situation; Mary-Lou had found his protectiveness of Cara adorable, up until he suggested she move in with them and leave the downstairs apartment to Sasha alone.
Sasha had been less than pleased. The resulting argument was composed of howls and hisses, and ended with both men nursing their egos when Cara and Mary-Lou had reminded them to whom, exactly, the decision belonged.
Cara did not want to move. Mary-Lou did not want Cara a wall away. End of story.
They had fallen into a rhythm of sorts – a daily routine that almost passed for ordinary, if one did not try to fit the intensive combat training and occasional late-night visitor of unknown origins into the definition: Shifters of all ages and walks of life, interested in seeing and speaking to Mary-Lou in person. It would have been flattering, if not for the sheer terror their wide-eyed wonder inspired in the human woman. They looked at her like she held heaven in the palm of her hand; Mary-Lou wondered what they would think, if she were to tell them exactly how ordinary, how clueless she truly was.
At least training was going alright. Mary-Lou was quite proud of her progress in hand-to-hand, even if she was still the runt of the group and could really only spar with Cara. Still, pretty good for a frail human.
Thus, days were spent together, as a pack. Nights, however, were for Jonas and Mary-Lou alone. Living in close quarters with one’s family and friends may be instinctual for Shifters, but so was the desire to keep one’s mate close and secluded from others. Mary-Lou was often torn between annoyance and a guilty, primal sort of delight whenever that particular quirk made an appearance.
Several months into their living arrangement, Mary-Lou was more than glad for the privacy of their apartment.
Mary-Lou did not wish to hide from her pack. She did not cover her pale skin, her dark circles with cosmetics; neither did she lie when first Cara, then Sasha, pulled her aside to ask what was wrong. If she stopped visiting her parents, Irma and Jonathon, as the nightmares grew more vivid and heartbreaking – well, that was her business and hers alone.
Mary-Lou did not wish for them to hear her screams, did not want her loved ones to see her tortured by pain that was not her own – by events confined to the recesses of her mind. She had to find a cure. She hoped there was a cure.
Please, don’t let me be insane , Mary-Lou thought as she watched the small, blue Honda that was to bear her salvation park in front of their building. Please, anything but that.
Jonas introduced the healer as Rowfer: A man so weighted down by age he walked bent nearly in half, his back a painful curve of old bones and worn skin. Jonas helped Rowfer up the front stairs and to the first floor apartment, gentle and patient as the old man groused about city traffic, the eggs he had for breakfast, and his goddamn knees. Mary-Lou smiled at the sight, Jonas’ kindness momentarily distracting her mind from the sharp, cold anxiety eating at her thoughts.
Mary-Lou stood to greet Rowfer as he made
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