Claws & Crochet

Part 68

ZOEY

Warner gives me a terse nod but doesn't lose any of the tension in his face or body. "They're trying to keep you locked up." He continues to use that overly calm voice. Someone might believe he wasn't upset.

But I can see his eyes.

The normal enchanting amber color bleeds into black.

Not good. Angry werewolf is not good.

Problem is, I can't think of a way to defuse the situation.

If I step toward Warner, I can guarantee Abram will approach, too. He may even grab me. Warner wouldn't like that.

But if I move back toward my brothers, the wolf will think I don't have a choice. That they're trying to keep me contained.

And if I decide to say "Screw you!" and sprint into the woods, leaving them all behind, who knows what kind of chaos would erupt?

It's while my mind cycles through all these impossible options, that I notice Warner's eyes flicker to the side slightly, as if he hears something.

A moment later, the crunch of tires disrupts the tension.

A sunshine yellow pick-up truck appears, barreling down the driveway. When it comes to an abrupt stop, I swear I hear a squawk.

The driver's side door flings open, revealing a grinning woman.

Courtney has arrived.

"Looks like I'm crashing a party! Sweet!"

Today she has on a pair of torn jeans, a simple black sweater, and compared to the bejeweled footwear I've seen her sport, a relatively tame pair of purple cowboy boots. For the most part, she looks like a normal, beautiful woman.

That is, if I ignore the chicken she's cradling.

"What are you doing here?" Warner asks. He doesn't sound overjoyed at her appearance, but I'm relieved to hear resignation in his voice rather than the barely restrained anger.

"I came to give Zoey a housewarming present." She holds up the chicken like we're in the opening scene of the lion king. The bird writhes in indignation.

"She doesn't need a housewarming present," Abram's scowl is practically audible. "She's not staying."

Whatever distraction Courtney's sudden appearance provided evaporates. Warner's eyes seep into black again as he glares over my shoulder.

"Zoey doesn't need you making decisions for her," he growls. This is a side of Warner I haven't seen before.

My domineering brother steps around me, practically flexing his muscles in an intimidation move. "And I'm supposed to let you do that?"

Warner scoffs. "As if I need you to let me do anything."

Courtney bounds up the steps to stand beside me, wearing a delighted smile. "If I'd known your place was so interesting, I would've come over weeks ago."

I don't have the mental capacity to respond, my brain too focused on how to defuse this situation. Things only get worse when Byron, Carver, and Donovan step forward, leaving behind their spectator roles in order to back Abram up.

Four against one. Warner will still win.

I care about all five of them. I don't want anyone getting hurt.

The thought pisses me off because they're all being so immature.

Abram steps up in Warner's space. "You better be happy I'm letting you leave here with your face intact."