So it was, in part, a relief to see she still had strong ties to her brother. Jackson would be the only thing keeping her grounded . . . provided Jackson could be as strong for her as she was for him right now.
Shaking his head, Aaron paused to take in his surroundings. He was still becoming familiar with the entirety of the woods around him. Pittance Lake was about five miles east from where he stood; Amberlyth Trail approximately two miles southwest. Those were the only so-called landmarks. The rest of the woods were simply a mass of trees, from deodar to maple to the occasional old sequoia, termite-infested logs, brush, and various flora, weeds, ferns, ivy (poison and non), and the rich wildlife he had come to relish hunting. He had never stopped for long in any town in the Northwest part of the United States, and Aaron was quite fond of what he saw.
Not as pleased as the old days, where even Tokyo had more red foxes than people. But as satisfied as he could be in the modern world.
And, he reflected, the modern world was where he needed to turn his attention—after a nice hunt. He could smell a fawn in the distance, and Holden’s stew was hardly going to be filling enough for his enormous appetite.
Holden was about to add the celery to the slow-simmering stew when Aaron breezed in through the dining room’s sliding glass door. His glorious alpha reeked of pine and blood. Aaron sniffed hesitantly, shot Holden an impassive look, and then approached the refrigerator as though it had been his intent all along.
Waiting until every bit of greenery had plopped into the slowly thickening brew, Holden said as lightly as he could, “I take it you already ate?”
Aaron poured a glass of water from the filtered canister and candidly ignored his question. “Has Nathan left the study?”
Holden stirred with a wooden spoon, shaking his head. “I think he has a visitor, though.”
Exasperation flickered in the man’s black eyes. “Thank you,” he said crisply before stalking out of the room. Deliberately heavy footsteps thundered down the stairs, a door swung open hard, and Aaron’s succinct voice carried. “Out.”
Chopping a small red onion had begun in earnest by the time Roxi flounced into the kitchen. Her mouth and brow puckered as though Aaron’s command was equivalent to sucking a ripe lemon dry. She knocked juices and soda cans in the fridge loudly, found nothing, before glaring at Holden. “I’m going outside,” she sneered.
He turned, the four-inch blade dangling loosely from his fingers. “Fine. Miss dinner, for all I care.”
She literally turned her nose up. “Your food’s crap anyway.”
“You’re right. You don’t need to stuff yourself with more of that,” he shot back.
The glass door slammed behind her, but not before Holden caught how bright her cheeks flamed. Feeling a bit more relaxed, he focused on his work.
Aaron had assigned the task to him as though it was a chore, but what Holden kept tight-lipped was that making meals brought a lot of nostalgia for him. He could recall his mother lifting him up to height with the wood stove, showing him how to be patient when making meals. Back then, food didn’t keep as well for long periods of time, but it had been considered what the current culture would christen “bachelor cooking.” Soups, stews, roasts, even jerky—so long as it could keep, it would help, come cold seasons when his father’s harvests were scarce.
Of course, his father had not been delighted to discover his son was becoming more a housewife than a man. As soon as he was four, Holden was put to the fields tilling, planting, yanking weeds, and squashing what pests he could. Even at the end of the day, soiled and yearning for a lukewarm bath, Holden had taken to the kitchen as soon as he could get away with it.
The last spread his mother had taught him was lard. They could only afford to raise pigs and a couple of chickens, but his mother’s lard could occasionally bring a boost of income at the local market. Holden had been excited to think he was a part of that.
Days later, just before he turned five, the wolves attacked his mother. Slaughtered her, torn out her liver like she had been nothing more than common cattle, strewn her entrails about in their selfish desire to consume—
Nauseated, Holden flung the onions in with the rest of the stew. He scraped the pan-grilled rabbit bits in as quickly as possible, lowered the head, and stepped outside for some air.
He’d never forgiven Aaron for allowing his mother to die.
As though on cue, Nathan thrust his head outside. “I’m hungry,” he insisted.
Holden turned to look, fixing the smaller boy with all the apathy he could muster. “Fifteen minutes.”
Aaron pressed a hand tenderly on Nathan’s head, urging the boy back inside. “Set the table,” he said. Whatever had happened in the study, both seemed much more at ease now. Never a witness to all the miracles his leader could spin, Holden wondered what in the world they had talked about to reach this new level of Zen.
With an exaggerated grumble, Nathan complied.
Stepping onto the pine porch, Aaron leveled with him. “Nathan is no more forthcoming than before. But for now he has good reason to contemplate upon his decisions.”
It took a few blinks before Holden remembered what he was talking about. “Oh. Goody.”
Almost wearily, Aaron said, “What now?”
“Nothing.”
“I am in no mood for this. What. Now?”
Through his teeth, Holden said, “Nothing. Aside from the fact the only reason I’m here is because of your terrible decisions, absolutely nothing is wrong.”
Aaron shut his eyes. He inhaled, exhaled, and opened them again, a new chill settling into his frame. “The past is the past. Your family is and has been quite dead for over a hundred years now. If you have any pride, you will take your own advice and recall that, apparently, it gets easier with time.”
Resentment colored his face as quickly as the blood. He hadn’t realized Aaron had been paying attention to his conversation with Rachael—but, of course, Aaron was obsessed. Why wouldn’t he have eavesdropped?
Coolly, Aaron finished, “And now, you are going to finish cooking, feed your current family, and get ready for your upcoming field trip. I hear you have managed to partner up with Ms. Adair. Make yourself useful for once and keep her at your side.”
Because, Holden thought as he pressed his hand to the scars on his abdomen, if he failed, Aaron would ensure he regretted it.
Chapter Nine
If only her nerves were rattled simply because today was the big day, Rachael could have been excited from the moment she set foot on one of the bus. That was before Coleen fixed her with a frigid stare from the back, leaned over, and whispered something to the boy next to her. He guffawed.
Wishing she could be numb, Rachael chose an empty seat near the front.
Coleen’s return had ground the peace of her absence into a finely powdered dust that scattered to the wind with only a puff from her overly painted lips. Vera had gone back to trading hushed whispers only when Coleen was not immediately in the room, Holden had suddenly become overly cautious bordering standoffish, and rumors were overflowing all over again. Worse, they were all getting back to Jackson, who was only getting more incensed by the day. If this kept up, Jackson was going to resort to something that would get him an immediate and final expulsion.
She hated the thought. Not for her sake. Not when the rest of their lives were already spiraling into hell from the depths of their own home.
The vinyl sank beside her as Holden took his seat, unceremoniously dumping his backpack on the ground between their legs. He only had to take one look at her face to understand—he was astoundingly good at that—and say loudly, “There sure are some two-faced bitches on this bus, huh?”
“Mr. Cavanaugh, language!”
After an insincere apology, Rachael noticed a few people nearby were trying to hide smiles. She felt some of the tension leak out of her muscles. Most of the school seemed intimidated by Coleen, but it was nice to know there were still those willing to grin beh
ind her back.
“Thanks,” she said quietly.
Holden shrugged, propping a knee up on the seat in front of him. “She’s not worth your time. Seriously. You’ll learn to let it roll off. Like water on a duck, right?”
“Ducks are a little different,” she replied. “They immerse themselves in the water. I don’t.”
“Yeah, but she does. That’s why it doesn’t bother her to be such a b— a brat.” She gave him a small, grateful smile. Holden returned the favor, and then abruptly changed the subject. “So why did you want to go to these woods so bad, anyway?”
The bus rumbled to a start around them, making Rachael’s teeth chatter slightly. “I just like hiking,” she said, avoiding his eyes. “And all our field trips are to like, aquariums and museums and I think even a baseball game, once. Call it my civic duty to giving Keeton’s proud young students a real chance at enjoying nature.”
Holden searched her face. “Uh huh. So what’s the real reason?”
At this point, the chatter on the bus was overwhelming their conversation. Someone tried to start a paper-ball fight before one of the parents, introduced briefly as Mr. Knox, cut it short.
Dismayed, Rachael shook her head. “How can you tell when I do that?”
“Honestly? Nathan does the same thing.” Before she had time to feel insulted, he added hurriedly, “Nothing against you. He’s too smart for his own good is all.”
“Huh.” Rachael leaned against the window, absently playing with a lock of her frustratingly fine hair. “At least he’s a cute kid.”
Something on Holden’s expression said he disagreed. But if he wanted to voice it, he held his tongue. “You’re just trying to distract me,” he accused, giving her a jab in the side.
Rachael winced. She stared at him for a moment, realizing it was the first time she had let him touch her since their momentary bonding experience in her back yard—and laughed louder than she anticipated.
“A little,” she admitted. She straightened up, forcing her hands into her lap so she had something to stare at as she tried to explain amongst the cacophony. “Well . . . there was this place, when I was little, that Mama would take Jackie and me to play.”
“In the woods,” he hazarded a guess.
“Mmhm.” Even as she said it, Rachael could picture the mischief in Jackson’s eyes, long before the only adventures he sought were strictly tied to technology. He used to chase her around the broad trunk of the sequoia, roaring and shouting that he was a lion and he was going to eat her.
Shaking her head, she said, “Since Mama got sick, she couldn’t take me anymore. And Jackie likes his video games better now.”
Slinking down in his seat, Holden chewed his lower lip. Slowly, he said, “And your dad . . .”
“Is busy taking care of my mom,” she glumly agreed.
His gold-speckled eyes flicked in her direction. “So this place, it holds a lot of memories.”
Oh, yes. Memories of hiking with her mother, who had always loved flowers and birds and bugs. Trekking down Amberlyth Trail, pressing the prettiest blooms in thick, heavy books, and occasionally using the sweltering warmth as an excuse to find Pittance Lake and stick their aching feet in the sweet, cool water. When Jackson decided he was too old for the “baby bear” games, Rachael and her mother made it a habit to spend weekends camping under the stars. All until deep grooves scooped out her mom’s eyes, hollowed her flesh, and stuffed her belly to bursting with an irreversible illness.
As she stared at her hands, a crumpled paper ball landed in her lap. Holden reached over and snatched it away, shoving it in his bag. Rachael still caught sight of the crudely written words in blaring bold black marker.
WHORE
A smaller ball bounced off the window and fell to her feet. Gingerly, Rachael picked it up and showed it to Holden, her trembling hand the only outward indication of her anxiety.
die
As though it were a clump of venereal diseases, Holden took the ball and dropped it back to the floor. The bus lurched over a speed bump and the offending paper rolled out of sight.
Meeting her eyes, Holden stated, “There’s more to life than what some pathetic little girl does to you in high school.”
Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, since Holden was trying to be helpful, Rachael instead replied, “I think I would have figured that out eventually.”
“Eventually,” he agreed.
Rachael sank back into her seat.
After a paper airplane hit someone—thankfully not her or Holden—Mrs. Whitley threatened to keep any more offenders on the bus for the duration of the field trip.
Once the groans and grumbles subsided, Holden asked what she wanted to take pictures of. The small talk carried them through the majority of the ride. In between, Rachael was surprised to learn Holden enjoyed cooking.
“Oh, yeah,” he said matter-of-factly. “Back before all the lawsuits, they’d actually have you cook in class for Home Ec. I’d bring some of Mom’s easy recipes for extra credit.”
Intrigued, she asked, “When did they ban that?”
Holden seemed distracted as the bus slowed to a stop in Douglas Park. His blue-green eyes were focused on the woods, his neck tense in stark contrast with his calm voice. “I don’t know, ten years ago?”
Before Rachael could point out that would have placed him in elementary school, Mrs. Whitley called for attention. Everyone had to step off the bus in a single file line; stick with your partner; wait for roll call; a chaperone would call your name to give you a camera. . . .
They waited in the unseasonably warm and bright autumn weather until every student (but for Coleen’s original partner, Ben, who Rachael assumed threw the last airplane) was outside and accounted for. Then they began to call out last names. Rachael was second.
She allowed Holden to fiddle with the camera’s minute settings. By the time he had a snapshot of her—“I had to test it,” he insisted when she attempted to rebuke him—their group was ready to go.
An older woman by the name of Ms. Gutierrez was their chaperone. They started down the trail in their group of seven. Not three minutes had passed before Ms. Gutierrez had to remind them to photograph nature-related things, not each other. Shortly after that she began confiscating personal phones.
Almost immediately Holden found poison ivy. “Don’t touch,” he warned. Rachael rolled her eyes, but allowed him to take the picture.
Just minutes later Rachael pointed. “A deer,” she whispered excitedly. It was a good distance away, but Holden assured her he could get a decent picture. The bulb flashed, and the deer fled.
“Did you get it?” she asked anxiously.
“Yep.”
Soon enough the second group caught up with them, including Coleen, Mr. Knox, and a girl Rachael dimly knew as Angelina.
Before Rachael fully realized it, the excitement reached her. Other students were approaching her, asking her to take photos of them with their partner and the plant of their choice. She took one of two girls named Miranda and Jain hugging a giant Douglas fir, one of Carson and Matt pretending to dive into a thicket of blackberry bushes (moments before Matt shoved Carson in; Rachael couldn’t help but laugh and capture it on film with the rest of them), and three photos of different girls offering Holden flowers before Holden caught on and requested she stop enabling them.
Everybody’s having fun, she thought. Pleasure sent tingles to her hands. It was as if nobody cared what drama had cooked between Coleen and Holden, or that Rachael had been the recent subject of many a lewd rumor.
Several of her peers even thanked her.
“This was an awesome idea, Rachael.” Jain beamed at her under a mop of fiery curls.
Startled, she said, “Thanks.”
“Hey, Rachael, what’s this thing?”
“A baby maple tree, I think . . .”
“Rachael, come take a picture with me!”
“You want some of my water, Rache?”
“Is t
his thing safe to eat?”
Dreamlike, Rachael tried to keep up with them. Their enthusiasm was equally contagious and draining, and it had been so long since she had entertained more than one person at a time. By the time Holden pulled her aside, she had to sit down just to catch her breath.
Grinning and looking more boyish than ever, Holden said, “Having fun?”
Rachael gave him a tired nod. “I’m surprised they liked it.”
“I told you,” he said smugly. “No one cares about Coleen’s rumors. And high schoolers like taking pictures.”
She smiled. “More than talking about the kittens we gave birth to, yeah.” The rumors hadn’t become that ridiculous, but pretty close.
Leaning over, he said in hushed tones, “Plus, Coleen’s been trying not to get her boots dirty. She’s the only one pouting and it’s freaking hilarious.”
Rachael tried not to be obvious trying to get a glimpse. Indeed, Coleen was standing in the middle of the trail, ignoring everyone around her . . . and, interestingly enough, everyone around her was happy to return the favor. Nobody asked to include her in a photo, or offer a sip of their soda, or even to hold their camera for a moment. She just stood, arms folded, glowering at her dirt-scuffed boots.
“I think her mom made those,” Rachael murmured.
Holden scoffed. “Please. They were all the rage in Britain last summer. And they’re knock-offs.”
Their brief interlude was interrupted as Carson shouted for Holden to take a picture now that he and Matt had busted their camera lens. Excusing himself, Holden hopped off to oblige, and Rachael had her first real moment of peace.
In that instant she realized her time was opportune. The third group was trailing behind several feet, and the teams in front of her were busy watching Ms. Gutierrez and Mr. Knox break up a shouting match between two of her classmates. Even Coleen’s hateful glare was fixed elsewhere.
Rachael slipped off the trail and away from her peers with stunning ease.
She felt a pang of guilt for not telling Holden. All the same, if anybody asked, she could simply say she had a desperate need to use the restroom. She didn’t intend to be gone more than a few minutes; the sequoia was just a few yards away, past the tangle of blackberry bushes and overgrown ferns. Better yet, she had a personal camera in her bag in case the opportunity had risen.
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