Page 22 of Property of Fang
“Hadn’t decided.”
Her hair flickers into her face with the soft breeze, and she tucks it behind an ear that’s adorned with a long line of silver rings. The woman gives off pixie vibes, but only if the pixie ran away from home to join a rock ’n roll band and hooked up with a tattoo artist. She’s edgy, yet adorably cute, which is a weird fucking combination.
“Warm enough?” I ask.
She adjusts the woolen blanket over her legs. “Yeah.”
“Cool.”
The awkward silence resumes.
I glance toward the horizon. The sun barely shifts the hues of the night sky, which means we’ve got time before anyone else wakes up. “You not tired?”
She glares at me from beneath her brow. “I don’t feel okay with leaving myself that vulnerable, yet.”
“You don’t trust us?”
“Would you?” She lifts her chin and holds my stare.
Guess the girl has a point. Sure, we took them out of the Devil’s Breed’s hands, but apart from our words, there’s no evidence of true freedom for them yet. “What would make you feel safer?”
Freckles shrugs. “Not sure.” She stares over the porch rail to the field beyond. “Do you guys farm this place?”
“Nope.” I move around her, yet stay standing before the vacant chair. “Local Amish do.” A soft snort emanates from my left. “What?”
“Weird combination.”
“It works, though.” I study her while she avoids making eye contact. For a woman who feels unsafe, she sure looks relaxed. Legs tucked on the seat before her, she leans onto one arm of the chair, fingers fidgeting in her lap. Her lids are heavy, conveying how tired she actually is, yet she seems content to sit here and look around. “Had you been there long? In that house?”
She flicks her gaze my way. “What does it matter to you?”
“Just making conversation,” I grumble, folding my arms and choosing to stare at the fields as well.
Our companionable silence settles in again. Enough time passes that my feet start to ache and the first warm hues of sunrise touch the treetops by the river.
Freckles yawns.
“Sure you don’t want to get some sleep?” I tease.
“Like I said,” she says, stifling a second yawn. “I’m tired, just not okay with being unconscious around strangers.”
I twist my neck to look down at her. “Your pals seem okay sleeping in the parlor.”
“Because they didn’t want to be stuck in a room all together again,” she snips. “Weird how small spaces and closed doors might be traumatizing for them, huh?”
I ignore her sarcasm and take a deep breath before I say, “Not for you, though?”
She sighs, studying her hands wrung in the edge of the blanket. “I dunno. I need the privacy, I guess.”
“You could share the room upstairs with your redhead friend.”
“She’s not my friend.”
Right.I glance to the sky and then back to Freckles. Truth be told, I’m starting to feel the pull of sleep again, too. We can’t sit here all day, and once everyone wakes up it’ll be impossible for her to get enough quiet to settle down. Marty will want to talk to her when he arrives with his officers, and God only knows how long it’ll be before she’s back home wherever she belongs.
Something about the woman has me on edge, a gut feeling she could be dangerous. Probably fueled by the fact that the little fighter ran the first second she got. But still. “Come on.” I jerk my head to gesture for her to get out of the chair. “I’ve got somewhere you can feel safer for a while.”
She holds my gaze, brow pinching as she appears to delve behind my eyes for the truth in my words. Guess she finds what she needs, because Freckles moves the blanket aside and slowly rises off the seat, stretching her legs out. “Lead the way, then, Nibbles.”
