Claws & Crochet

Part 67

ZOEY

The roar of a motorcycle rumbling down Grandma Minnie's drive has me smiling.

"Is Dad here?" Carver turns to the room, the plate he was half done washing dripping water onto the floor.

"That can't be him. He has a gig in Boulder tonight." Byron moves to the front window, pulling the curtain open and peering out, Donovan at his shoulder.

"Looks like some pretty boy biker guy," my younger brother announces, and I try to stifle my snort as I start screwing the caps back on my paints.

Some of my humor fades when Abram stands from his chair, his looming rugby-build taking up more than his fair share of the cabin's family room. He stares down at me, his face blank, but I know his protective instincts are firing to life, like a series of gears he always keeps well-oiled. "Who is he?"

"He's my . . ." So many different words bombard me, that I struggle to finish my sentence.

Friend? I don't tend to have wild sex with my friends.

Boyfriend? We haven't talked about commitment because that would mean me having to think about the future.

Biker werewolf protector? Well, I don't want to give my brothers any reason to think I'm hallucinating. Or that I need protection.

". . .Warner," I finish with a hopeless shrug.

"Your Warner?" My brother's jaw tenses. "Or does he think you're his?"

"What are you talking about?"

"We stopped in to see Mom before heading out here. She had some interesting things to say about the local biker gang." Abram takes a step toward the door.

Holy shit. Did she tell them about the werewolves?

"What interesting things?" I forget my paints, shoving my chair back to follow my brother.

Abram glares at me. The expression doesn't intimidate me, but it does make me worry about what is about to go down.

"She said these guys aren't like Dad's group. Not just casual riders. She said they make their own rules. That more than half this town is scared of them."

I grimace, not able to refute any of that.

Thanks a lot, Mom.

Abram clearly thinks The Dark Moon Riders are some outlaw motorcycle club that's smuggling guns and dealing drugs.

I want to tell him that they don't follow our rules because they can't. No lawmaker ever took supernatural creatures into account when they were drafting legislation. And yeah, people are scared of them. But not because they terrorize the town. They're scared because the existence of werewolves is disconcerting.

If I was sure my mom had told my brothers about werewolves, then I'd make this argument.

But it seems like she left them in the dark on that important point.

And it's not my secret to share.

"Zoey?" Warner calls from the driveway. I can imagine him staring at the SUV, wondering who my visitors are.

"Mom also said these guys get possessive when it comes to women. Like they think they own you."

What the hell?

"That's not—"

Heavy boots crunch on the gravel outside, and Abram turns away from me to pull open the door. I try to follow right after him, but Carver, Byron, and Donovan somehow get there before me. Their massive bodies clog the entryway. I'm not sure if they're keeping me inside intentionally, or if they're just oblivious.

"Who are you?" Even through the wall of Gunners, I can hear Warner's voice.

"Move you oaf!" I shove at Byron's back, but he barely shifts his weight, waving me off as if I'm distracting him from an entertaining show.

"You're the one who showed up here unannounced."

Great. He's decided to be Abram the Asshole.

My older brother has a history of anger issues, but I thought he was dealing with them.

Apparently, therapy isn't working.

I growl and try to shove Donovan to the side with my shoulder. He smirks down at me before leaning to block even more of the doorway.

"Where's Zoey?" A deep warning note twists into Warner's question.

Trust my brothers to piss off the most easy-going werewolf in all of Pine Falls.

"Busy. Not that it's any of your business." Abram replies, voice cold.

This is quickly turning into an Occurrence.

And I've had enough.

"Stupid, overprotective, moronic, pig-headed brothers," I mutter to myself as I stomp over to a window. The glass has grown wavy with time, and I still need to clean the panes to see out of it properly. But I'm not looking to wave from a window like a damsel in distress. This Rapunzel is getting out of her backwoods tower.

With an angry tug, I swing the window open then throw my leg over the low sill.

"Stop trying to start a fight, Abram!"

All the men—scratch that, boys—whip their heads in my direction in time to see my toe catch on the windowsill, causing me to stumble onto the porch. I'm just able to keep from falling on my face, or my ass, and I make sure to come up glowering.

Warner seems relieved at the sight of me and even manages a tight smile before turning wary eyes back on my brother.

Abram stands on the top step, arms crossed, blockish face wearing a foreboding scowl that he still has turned on Warner. Most people would find the sight intimidating. My brother is huge in a Dwayne-The-Rock-Johnson-kind of way.

But Warner is a werewolf, so yeah. Game set, and match.

Not that Abram knows he's got nothing on Warner.

"Get back inside, Zoey," mutters my brother.

"Get your head out of your ass, Abram!" I'm yelling. My family can always get me to yell. "This is an irrational response, and you three are enabling him." I throw my glare toward the Gunners lingering in the doorway.

"Zoey"—Warner speaks in a careful, almost soft voice as he holds out his hand—"why don't you come on over here."

And I realize that even while he talks to me, Warner keeps his eyes on Abram. As if he's waiting for my brother to make an aggressive move.

Against me.

"Werewolves are territorial. We'll get violent to protect what's ours. Especially if it's someone we care about."

Nerves coarse through me at the memory, and I rush to stand in front of Abram.

"This is my brother, Warner.They're all my brothers."