Page 45 of Bloodbane

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Scars of the Past

{ R U B Y }

I hold the door open as Cooper reaches the top step.

“You can put it on the table.”

Cooper grunts, peering sideways around the boxes piled three-high in his arms to find the table before shuffling toward it. He lowers the bottom-most box onto the wooden surface with another loud grunt. “That shit is heavier than it looks. You can come help me with the rest.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it.”

Cooper swivels on the spot at Ash’s voice. His eyes widen as his mouth drops open, staring at the redhead like Christmas has come early… or like he’s about to.

Ash holds out her hand. “Keys.”

Cooper’s jaw works mutely until my well-aimed elbow to the ribs loosens his tongue.

“ Ow, fuck. I, uh, no, it’s not locked, but they’re heavy, it’s okay, I can—” Cooper stares at the now-empty doorway. “Oh my god.” He spins back to me, eyebrows still arched high. “Who the hell is that? Why have you been holding out on me?”

“That’s Ash. She’s a friend, and trust me, very much not your type,” I reply quietly, though I’m sure Ash can hear every word.

“What the fuck are you talking about? She couldn’t be more my type if I had her custom-built online.”

“Down, boy,” I tease, separating the boxes and mentally cataloging the supplies Coop had brought from my garage. “Thanks for this. I owe you one.”

“Another one, you mean,” Cooper says, distracted, eyes still locked on the doorway. “Why do you need all this stuff at ass o’clock in the morning anyway?”

“Oh, you know,” I hedge. “Late night project. Can’t sleep.”

“Hey, whoa, let me help you with those!”

Cooper reaches out to Ash as she comes striding toward the table, carrying four stacked boxes that tower over her head, two rifles tucked under her arm, and a large retriever by her side.

She side-steps the offered help and deposits the load onto the table.. “This is the last of it. Didn’t even break a sweat.” She winks at me before heading into the family room, the dog hot on her heels and Cooper not far behind.

“He’s taken a real shine to you,” Cooper declares. “You must be something special. He usually takes a little while to warm up to new friends.”

Setting about unstacking boxes and sorting the contents, I can’t help but smile at my unintentional yet unavoidable eavesdropping. I almost feel sorry for Coop: he’s a terrible flirt.

Ash hums noncommittally as she re-enters the kitchen. “Is that what we are? New friends?”

“That’s a start, but I won’t lie and say I’m not hoping for an upgrade later.”

“Name?”

“Cooper Jones.”

“The dog.”

“Oh.”

The utterly dejected tone is almost my undoing. Battling to keep my laughter in check, I shoot Cooper my best ‘ tough luck, pal ’ look.

Cooper sighs. “Lucky.”

Ash bends to run a hand over Lucky’s head, stopping to scratch behind his ears before straightening. Enticed, Lucky rears up on his back legs and plants his large front paws on Ash’s chest. His tail cuts a line of frantic energy through the air.

“No! Bad Lucky! Down, boy!” Cooper stage-whispers the command, but Lucky ignores it, straining forward to lick Ash’s face. “Aw, c’mon, man. You’re making us look bad.”

Ash’s soft growl has Lucky dropping to the ground. He sinks to his belly, whining as he drops his head to his paws.

“I—shit, wow. How did you do that? He never listens to me.”

Ash catches my eye and gives me a knowing look, the corner of her lips pulling up. “I’m very in touch with the animal within. Dogs tend to respond well to it.”

“Not just dogs,” Cooper mutters under his breath, shifting to adjust himself discreetly.

The decision to clear one of my I-O-U’s off the board comes easy. There’s nothing for it—it’s up to me to save Cooper from himself before he follows Lucky’s lead, flopping to the floor and rolling over, begging the shifter for belly rubs. I slap one of the boxes, feigning an apologetic smile when Coop jumps and swivels in my direction. “Is this everything from the station? All the ammo we had?”

Cooper blinks blankly for a moment as if just remembering why he’s here in the first place. He nods.

“Yeah. Why did you want all of that anyway? You didn’t say,” he drawls on a long yawn. “Is there some kind of zombie outbreak? I’m so down for that—I have a list of people I’ve been waiting to take out in the name of mercy.”

The realization that I haven’t factored how to explain any of this to Cooper hits me hard. I don’t want to lie outright, so I do the only thing I can: deflect. “You should probably head home and get some sleep, you look exhausted. We can have a D and M after your well-earned R and R.”

“I could hardly keep my eyes open on the drive out here.” Cooper turns back to Ash. “Got a spare couch I can steal? Might do me good to crash for a few hours before I head back. Safety first and all that.”

“Of course. But by the looks of it, Ruby will be making a lot of noise. Again, ” Ash offers with an angelic smile. “So it’s probably best if you bunk in a spare room.”

“I don’t want to be any trouble…”

“No trouble. Due to recent events, we’ve found ourselves with a lot of spares.”

Ash spins on the spot gracefully before leading Cooper down the hallway branching off from the family room, their fading banter punctuated by the sharp clicking of Lucky’s nails on the wooden floor as he pads after them.

Coop staying isn’t ideal, but he’s right: it would be reckless to put him in danger now—by forcing him to drive tired—in an effort to keep him out of harm’s way later. For the moment, he’s safe. And I plan on keeping it that way.

Forcibly dragging my focus back to the task at hand, I continue separating ammunition on the table. If I can’t fight with teeth and claws, I’ll do it with gunpowder. My hands work efficiently, laying out tools and other random mechanical pieces from my list. The simple, repetitive task soothes my mind, serving as a distraction and providing purpose. When the last box is empty and on the kitchen floor, I step back to take stock.

There are enough supplies to make four lethal traps or eight designed to maim. I don’t hesitate. I divvy up the pieces into four piles. There’s no knowing how many shifters Arlo and Evander have left in their twisted, blended-family pack. I can’t afford to show weakness; I have to go for the throat… or wherever the soft spot on a lycan is.

With that one errant thought, my bravado seesaw comes crashing down. How can I hope to survive the coming fight if I don’t even know my enemy’s weaknesses— my weaknesses?

Sagging onto a hard seat, I stare at the organized mess spread out before me. I’m so woefully unprepared, it would be comical if it weren’t absolutely terrifying.

The kitchen light glints mockingly off the silver casings. Maybe I am kidding myself and this will all blow up in my face—quite literally—but I have to at least try. If it works, there will be four fewer wolves to deal with, four fewer wolves to hurt Grayson or Thayne or Ash or the twins. And if it doesn’t work, then it might at least serve as a distraction tomorrow, just as it is now— giving me something to do with my hands besides dropping my face into them and crying.

The horrors of yesterday are seared into the back of my eyelids, and every time they close, Thayne is lying broken in the snow, his shredded body hemorrhaging blood, and Grayson, so close to ash, so weak he needed to be carried inside.

I can’t banish the memory from my mind. Panic claws at my throat. My heart pumps terror through my veins at a dizzying speed that leaves no room for anything else. It’s my fault, all of it, and whatever comes next will be on me, too. I can’t lose them, not when I’ve just found them. Scars of the past have always stopped me from even thinking about the future…

Until now.

Just when I am finally allowing myself to imagine putting down roots instead of cutting and running, my past has hunted me down and is threatening to rip my future from my hands… from my heart.

My slick palms drag over my jeans as I pull in a stuttered breath through my nose. I can’t think like that, not now. No more running. No more hiding. My spine finds new steel as I pick up the first bullet in one hand and my pliers in the other.

Evander Draven had not been able to break me then and I’ll be damned if I’m going to fall apart now. I am not a scared little girl anymore. I’m not defenseless and I’m not alone. And I sure as hell am not giving up without a fight.