\\\WINNER OF THE 2018 WATTY'S LONGLIST///
With Ethan's permission, I took home the painting. I borrowed Luke's hammer and got to work, hanging the frame on the wall across from my bed. Nails between my teeth, I took a step back, admiring my handiwor...
"So you can turn whenever you want? You're not, like, bound by the light of the full moon?" I stepped on the pavement, closing the door of Ethan's silver Dodge Charger.
"Myth." Ethan closed his own door, joining me on the sidewalk. "And no, I don't eat people, often, I don't wander the cemetery at night, and I definitely don't believe in mates. Any more questions?" Hood up, he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his sweats.
"Must be nice, knowing every little thing about yourself, having friends who are just like you."
"Being a Wolf isn't all sunshine and roses, sweetheart."
"At least you know what you are. Jerk-face." I turned my back on him, rolling my eyes. The scenery was nicer anyway.
Naomi's home was a gated mansion on a green hillside - extra stately in the moonlight. This side of town was by far the nicest, right on the edge of the Gentle Forest. I knew from the mansion's position that her backyard opened right on the woods. We made our way up the steep, paved drive, side-by-side but never touching. I shot a glance at Ethan, wondering if the permanent scowl was because he hated me, hated this place, or both.
"It was her family that owned the Gentle Forest, right?"
Ethan nodded, pushing down the hood of his sweater. "The Nobles were purebloods, descendants of the first werewolf line. Naomi's grandfather, Charles, was the Elder of the Garou. When it was time, he passed the title to his son. When Jack died he became Elder again."
"But Lucas is the Elder now." I stopped walking, forcing Ethan to do the same. "So what happened to Charles?"
Ethan used his thumb to scratch his forehead. "He's dead. A Witch turned him rabid. And killed him."
"Oh." This family was nothing but doom and gloom and horror. "I'm sorry for your loss."
"Don't be. I hated him." Ethan Shimmered to the other side of the gate and kept walking.
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I thought breaking into Naomi's old home would be the olive branch between me and Ethan and me and the past. But there was no justice, just rooms and rooms of antique furniture covered in dusty sheets - and eerie oil paintings of Naomi's family where eyes followed you everywhere.
"This was her bedroom." We were somewhere on the third of fourth floor. Ethan pushed the door open and I followed him inside, marveling at the room's largeness. Like everything else in the mansion, it had been cleared out, the mattress left bare, the curtains stripped from the windows. But there was nothing missing that lessened the luxury, and secrecy, of the Noble mansion.
Ethan took a few steps in the room and didn't move any further.
"You had a thing with Naomi, didn't you?" I ran my fingers innocently down one of the bed's four wooden posts, noting the stiffness in Ethan's broad shoulders and how he refused to look at me. "Did you love her?"
