Page 50 of Wolf Bane (Marked #3)

The click of Reba’s heels on the steps turned my head in her direction. Dapping at her red eyes, she offered me a watery smile. “I am so happy for you two,” she wobbled. “Oh, this was such a beautiful wedding!”

Ethan smiled, bemused, and let Reba envelop him in a crushing embrace.

Seriously, the woman was way stronger than she looked. I’m pretty sure she could arm wrestle Waltrip into submission if she had to. When it was my turn for a hug, I knew to brace myself. “Landry,” she sniffed, “this was so lovely. Thank you for inviting me. I’m so honored!”

“Of course,” I gasped, sucking in a gulp of air when she let me breathe. “I wouldn’t have gotten married without you, Reba. You’re one of my best friends.”

“Oh!” She broke into a fresh round of sobs at that, flinging her arms around my neck.

“Um…”

Ethan, smirking fondly, clapped his hands. “Barbecue at our place. Go home, change clothes, meet back at ours in an hour or two!”

Everyone slowly spread out to their cars in the tiny parking lot, Cullen hanging back with a slightly uncomfortable, pinched expression. “You look like you love weddings,” I noted as we closed the distance between us. “I’ve never seen you more ecstatic.”

“Your joy brings me joy,” he drawled, shifting his attention to Ethan.

“I’m sure you’ll choose not to believe how loath I am to do this, but Ethan, your presence is requested in Chicago in two days’ time.

” He sniffed. “They wanted you up this evening, but I pushed back. Congratulations on your nuptials.”

“Cullen, wait!” I called before he could get too far. “Come over to the house. Seriously. We’d love to have you.”

Ethan nodded. “Mal and Mariska would love it, too.”

Cullen didn’t soften, not really, but the mention of two of his favorite people had him a little less stiff-backed. He tilted his head as if in thought, then sighed. “I have a bit of time before my flight.”

Ethan pulled me to his side as Cullen trotted down the steps and, without a backwards glance, strode to the sleek, black, rental sedan parked in the furthest spot possible from the center while still remaining in the lot.

“Do you think he wanted people to see him going to the fancy car, or is he afraid someone’s going to ding the door? ”

“Both.” Ethan chuckled. “He’s pragmatic like that. Now… do you want to try and race everyone back to the house so we have some time on our own, or make out in the truck like we did in high school and pretend no one knows why we’re late to our own party?”

Heat spread from my chest to my ears then back down again. I was unable to stop my grin as I draped my arms over Ethan’s shoulders and stretched up onto my toes for a kiss. “Why not both? Make out in the car in our driveway?”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Not a bad idea. And less likely to get us arrested for public indecency.”

“Hell of a way to spend our honeymoon,” I agreed, dropping back to my heels and stepping away, letting Ethan lead us to his truck.

Spoiler alert: We didn’t make it back to the house.

About halfway down Creek Run Road, named for the…

Well. Creek. The one that ran beside the road.

Halfway down the road, Ethan pulled off onto an old dirt track that had once led to a farmhouse, long fallen into disrepair and home only to ghosts and mice.

He parked the truck just past the thick, overgrown water oak, shielding us from the few cars that would likely pass while we were there.

“This okay?” he asked quietly, shutting the engine off.

Despite the cooler fall weather outside, sweat prickled my chest, my skin warming under Ethan’s eager gaze.

Nodding, I admitted, “I knew what you were up to the second you turned down Creek Run. No one comes down here unless they’re heading to the McElroy place or they want to make out.”

I didn’t give Ethan time to say anything else, moving to straddle his lap with the steering wheel digging into my lower back in a way that’d be annoying sooner rather than later. But at that very moment I didn’t give a good damn.

Ethan uttered a muffled, pleased sort of sound against my mouth, his fingers curling to squeeze my ass as I settled against him.

“We’re not doing anything in this position,” he murmured, breaking away just enough for some sips of air. “We’re not teenagers anymore.”

“Worth a shot,” I muttered back, diving in to latch on to that spot just below his ear that made him?—

“Oh my God, Landry!”

Yeah. That made him do that.

The major benefit to doing this in our thirties versus our late teens was neither of us was about to have to go home with damp, sticky jeans and make a run for the bathroom before family members noticed. The downside? “Jesus! Leg cramp!”

Ethan chuckled shakily, his discomfort extremely clear as I shifted to sit back on the passenger side, rubbing my thigh as my muscles reminded me I was no longer seventeen.

“Wait till this evening?” he asked, voice whisky-dark, sending a little thrill straight to my nethers.

“I’d rather consummate our marriage right this second,” I complained, “but I think I might’ve torn my hamstring.”

Ethan snorted, started to say something, but froze when both of our phones went off at once. “Digital shivaree,” he said when the initial burst of ringtones stopped. “Tyler fucking with us.”

“Has to be,” I muttered. The phones started up again. Tyler on his, Mal on mine. A flood of texts started, the pinging and ringing chorus filling the cab of Ethan’s truck with dread, erasing any scintilla of arousal. “Shit.”

He nodded, grabbing his phone from the dash and answering. “Hey, what’s going on? We’re about halfway home. Why?”

I opened my texts. Every one of them was some iteration of get back to the house, come back now, emergency, hurry .

Ethan glanced at me, eyes wide. I nodded, reaching for the seat belt. Wedding day be damned, I guess.

* * *

Our street was blocked with firetrucks and cop cars. One ambulance stood at the very end, bay doors open but no activity inside. The EMTs looked to be shooting the shit, which gave me a modicum of relief. If they weren’t in a hurry, no one was hurt.

Though they wouldn’t be in a hurry for a cadaver or two, would they? Not like the dead are going anywhere until we help them along.

A deputy I vaguely recognized strode over to the driver’s side, smiling slightly when he recognized Ethan. “Hey, Chief. Long time no see.”

“What’s going on, Gordy?” he asked tightly. “Is anyone hurt?” He started to unbuckle but Gordy laid a hand on the door. A gentle but firm stay where you are . “That’s our house, Gordy.”

No one was on my side, so I hopped out. Ignoring Gordy’s shouted protest, trusting Ethan to keep him busy, I ran towards the thickest cluster of firefighters and cops, where I could see Tyler pacing and Waltrip looming like the ginger giant he was.

“Hey!” I shouted. “Hey, what—oh, no…” I skidded to a stop.

My house.

It was standing but scorched. Dark sooty marks reached from the ground to the topmost peak of the roof, fingers of fire having left their mark. The front windows were broken but I didn’t know if that was due to the firefighters or whoever had set the place on fire.

“Whoa there, buddy, where?—”

“This is his house,” Tyler snarled, stepping between me and the firefighter. “Back off!”

“Easy,” Justin muttered, shuffling closer. “He just needs to talk to Landry. It’s okay.”

“The carport,” Tyler hissed. “

I stretched to see past the tall firefighter who was currently waving over someone else, someone in a white shirt with gold and black epaulets, to come talk to me, the red letters on the wall of the carport near the side door.

What do we do to mongrels?

The ground was hard and sharp under my legs and ass. I fell without realizing it, the flood of memories—Garrow’s voice, that grating threat, werewolf teehbared teeth in dim streets as I tried to pretend they weren't there, weren't chasing me down slowly.

The taste of blood flooding my mouth, chased by the chlorine-sharpness of the IV flush.

Justin’s sharp shout, his blazing eyes when he leapt, when he took Murchison to the ground.

What do we do to mongrels, Landry?

Ethan, bless him, swept in and started using his Official Tone of Voice.

Reba got me to my feet and hustled me to her car, parked just past the firetrucks, and had me sit down in the AC while Mal grabbed a bottle of soda from his house next door.

Mariska’s little face was pressed against the front window, watching everything, her fluffy little dog next to her.

“It’s like fucking Norman Rockwell had a baby with Stephen King,” I muttered, accepting the soda with a nod.

Mal and Reba exchanged worried, fraught glances. “When we got here, the fire was already out,” Mal offered. “Someone had called 911, I think it was the guy across the street. Daniel Anderson?”

“Dave. Dave Allen.,” I corrected, distracted. “What did he see?”

“Just the fire,” Reba put in. “He was talking to one of the firefighters when we got here. He called it in, saw the flames when he pulled into his driveway.”

I nodded shakily, making a mental note to thank him later.

I was suspended in ice, unable to stop watching while people in uniforms went in and out of my house, as that dog slumped in front of it howl-growled at everyone.

As my friends lingered, uncertain, fluttering between me, then Ethan, then the house.

Even Cullen looked worried, which made me feel even worse.

Finally, Mal called everyone over to his place. Cullen, Ethan, and Tyler swerved towards me, trailed by the man with the epaulets. “Captain Murray,” he introduced himself. “You’re the homeowner?”

I nodded. “Landry Babin. What… How did this happen?”

According to Murray, Jensen called about an hour and a half to two hours ago—right when we were getting married, I thought distractedly—to report a possible fire. He hadn’t seen anything, allegedly. No one saw who spray-painted my garage door, but it was done before the fire was set.