Page 9 of Alder Woodacre and the Acorns of Affection (Amaranthine Interludes #3)
Three days later, Joe had to admit that something was just a bit off with the farm, and he was very much afraid it was his fault.
Mostly because the wolves kept seeking him out.
They were all concerned looks, quiet touches, and sympathetic smiles.
They’d also taken to sniffing in a worried way.
It was kind of scary how much wolves could tell from scents.
By the evening of the fourth day, Tami finally noticed.
She came to hang out at the house after work and curled up beside Joe in their old spot on the family room couch, her head resting against his shoulder.
His hand was in both of hers, but … the closeness wasn’t working the way it used to.
His twin wasn’t the source of his calm anymore.
And his problem was becoming everyone’s problem.
Six days in, Push and Bush loaded down all of Joe’s pockets with acorns, and Roonta wondered aloud if she should send for Jiminy. Joe doubted it was because she wanted him to bring her grandson for a visit. Did he really need a reaver’s intervention?
That same evening, Joe eased under the covers next to Kip, but a part of him—the part Kip had needed to apologize to—didn’t feel so safe anymore.
Hours later, when he left his closely-warded bedroom for a drink of water, he could hear the wolves singing mournfully in the oak glen.
On the eighth day, which was kind of a big day, Joe fidgeted on the front step until Ash strolled along the snow-packed trail out of the orchard, his partially extended wings creating an impressive silhouette against all the white.
Joe felt the need to apologize. “He never sleeps this long.”
“It’s fine. This just means he needed it.”
“But … work …? The kids.”
Ash waved that off. “I can handle the cleaning, and both Fossa and Torrey have been chipping in at recess. You know, part of the reason Kip put off crashing again this month was so we can stagger the staff’s sleep cycles in a better way.
Viv’s carrying twins. She’s happy, of course, but pretty tuckered out. So we needed a different rotation.”
“Oh. I didn’t know.”
“It’s nothing to worry about.” Ash gestured at the drive, where a few others had begun to gather. “More importantly, may I help you welcome your guests?”
“They’re not really mine .”
“George left the farm to you. That makes you headman of this enclave.” As they walked together, Ash remarked, “It’s a good thing Argent’s people are staying on for several weeks. Kip would be kicking himself if he slept through all the excitement.”
As they came even with Kurloo, the wolf clansman announced, “Their vehicle just turned onto our road.”
“Right on time.” Ash eased a wing behind Joe. “I’m pretty excited. I don’t often get to meet other crossers.”
A luxury minibus with darkened windows rolled to a stop, and Faisel emerged first, opening the side door and offering his hand to a boy with horns peeping through long, dark hair and …
were those wings tucked against his back?
As he stepped down, his gaze swept the welcome party and locked onto Joe.
He approached slowly enough that Joe could add up more details.
Like how red his eyes were, and that the dark hair was actually purple.
And that his wings weren’t the feathery sort.
Scales? Oh, they had to be dragon scales.
Stopping before him, the boy tucked hair behind his ear and waited almost shyly.
Joe was trying to decide if the artful shimmer surrounding his eyes was natural when he suddenly recalled that he was supposed to speak first. To be the one to officially welcome them. “Umm … hi.”
The boy blossomed into the sweetest smile. “Are you Joe Reaverson?”
“That’s me. Welcome …?”
“May I touch?”
Belatedly, Joe offered his palms.
The boy’s claws looked as if they’d been dipped in lavender glitter. His hands were warm, almost hot. “My name is Kyrie Hajime-Mettlebright.”
Joe blinked. Hajime was Mom’s maiden name.
Kyrie gently adjusted his hold on Joe’s hands, cradling them as he went up on tiptoe. “We are cousins, I think. On our mothers’ side.”
Argent had never mentioned a connection. But it felt right. He could tell. It was such a nice surprise. “Oh,” he managed, trying to think what else to say.
“You are not opposed to the claim?”
Joe shook his head.
Edging even closer, Kyrie whispered, “You are very beautiful.”
Which didn’t fit him at all. Flannel and corduroy. Faded overalls and worn work boots.
“May I touch?” the boy repeated. “You feel like home.”
Joe adjusted his posture, and then Kyrie was hugging him. Which was another surprise, and just as nice. Joe carefully slid his arms under darkly purple wings and around his crosser cousin, relaxing into a welcome sense of calm.
Because Kyrie made him feel safe.