When the Wolves Cry (Twin Flames Duet #1)

CHAPTER THREE

TALA

Malicious hands are inching closer, trying to grab me by my feet and pull me back into the abyss where they control me. It’s easier to give up, give in, let them fucking take me, than it is to fight to stay in the light. The light that’s burning out, sending smoke as a warning that it’s time to light another candle.

I don’t know if I have any more though.

And I’m too tired to search.

I’m sitting in the moonlight that’s casting over the end of my bed, fur blankets encircling my hips and fluffing around my bent legs. Usually, a sense of calm settles over me and I feel recharged, as if the blue hues fuel my tenacity.

I don’t right now. I’ve been too numb.

I strike the wheel of my lighter, watching the flame stretch and sway. It’s close enough to my face to feel the warmth radiating from it, but not close enough to make me feel something that would help my fight with the cruel darkness.

Without blinking, I lower the flame to my inner thigh. It burns and sizzles, but I like it. I like feeling something warm when coldness is plaguing my body. I do it again, a little lower, scorching over stretch marks Liam used to taunt me for.

I go even lower, burning over an old scar from the same lighter. It’s more sensitive from the scar tissue. It faintly makes my left eye twitch, so I hold it there, letting the blazing pain sear my flesh .?

A heavy knock comes from downstairs, and I flinch, burning the top of my thumb. “Ow, fuck, son of a bitch,” I hiss, shaking my hand out and chucking the lighter across the room.

It’s late. Who would be knocking on my door?

Maybe Nadia or Maverick forgot something here. They both spent the day with me.

I lazily get up and walk out of my bedroom. It’s the first official night tha t? Liam’ s? not here to throw a fit about me walking too loud. I keep my steps light through the hall, the fresh burns rubbing against my other thigh and stinging with each step down the zebra print runner on my stairs.

With everything turning to ash and blowing away in the wind, it’s comforting to have the home built from my grandparents’ love. I still have no clue why they gave it to me. They already had it semi-furnished with eclectic and ornate things they knew I’d like.

Bees buzz under my skin as I take the last step, peering through the sheer curtains that flow from the ceiling and do nothing to provide privacy.

It’s too dark outside and my lamps are reflecting off the glass, warping any visual I might have of the uninvited guest.

Four seconds in. Four seconds out.

I box breathe, tiptoeing to the front door. My shaky hand wraps around the handle, and I inch it open, peeking through the crack like a slasher wouldn’t be able to stab me in the eye through it.

No one’s there. At least not on my porch.

I open the door widely and step out, the chilly breezing tightening my nipples and prompting me to fold my arms under my chest.

Wanting to see if there’s a car here, I continue taking nimble steps across the porch and kick something that rustles. I yelp in response, skittering back and glaring down at the black bag hiding in the shadows.

I crane my neck forward, squinting and trying to decode the random gift left at three a.m. Squatting down, I grab the handle and head towards the stairs. I wouldn’t be able to see anyone hiding in the fucking woods, but I scan around the illuminated driveway.

Seeing no one.

I can’t shake the feeling of being watched. My skin is getting peeled back, exposing my bones. It’s vibrating my nerves in a hot caress that’s insatiable. Addicting even.

I’m also exhausted. I could be hallucinating this entire thing. And I’ve seen too many horror movies to fall into the trap of wandering closer. I whip around and run back in the house, slamming the door closed and locking it. I hold the bag open, moving the black tissue paper out of the way—and my body locks up.

In the bottom sits an amber jar with a black lid. Hesitantly, I reach in and claw around the jar, lifting it out and inspecting the neat handwriting on the taped note.

I throw the bag down and unscrew the lid, snapping my teeth together… gaping at the four cleaned off wisdom teeth in the jar. “Who…” I drone perplexingly, ripping the note off to turn it over.

No name. Go figure.

I sigh and bend over to pick the bag up. I turn all my lamps off and head to bed. The darkness wants me to succumb to it and I don’t have the energy to refuse.

Nadia’s caramel hand shakes the jar around, the teeth clanking within .?

Nadi a? Adair. My best friend since kindergarten. She’s my other half, my soulmate. And I iced her out. All to avoid a promised fight.

She swats her honey brown hair over her shoulder with a shrug, beaming her hazel eyes at me. “So? I find it charming. If your stalker wanted you dead, you’d be…” She gasps, slamming the jar down to her lap, the teeth rattling against the glass. “I’m sorry, babe. Too soon. But seriously, fuck Liam. I hope whoever left his teeth killed him.”

It’s not that I don’t agree with her. It’s just concerning they know where I live and obviously know abou t? Howling Haven.

Why else call me “little wolf?”

The dryer sings its song, letting me know it’s done serving me. I groan, hauling my ass off my emerald green couch. “It’s okay, Nads. I’m still kind of in a dream state with it.” I walk around the couch and into the kitchen, hooking left into the laundry room. “Will you help me put my bedding on?” I holler, just enough for her to hear me.

I squat down and wrestle my bedding into a ball, pulling out the toasty fluff and kicking the door closed. I don’t know if she’s just ignoring me because she hates doing laundry, or if she didn’t hear me.

I walk back into the living room, not needing to peek over the mound in my arms to see Maverick’s tall ass bracing the back of the couch and talking to her.

He cuts their conversation short, flashing me a pretty smile and taking the steps towards me. Grabbing my sheets from me, he says, “I’ll help you, killer. And don’t worry about those teeth. I guess you have a guard dog that you don’t have to feed or walk now. He shouldn’t bother you too much. He doesn’t focus on anything other than work.”

Wow. That was convincing.

I frown, following him through the cased opening of the living room. “Have you heard anything about the fire?” I ask, trying to keep up with his long legs up the stairs.

“No, I haven’t. I’m sorry,” he says placidly, already sauntering down the hall. “I talked to your dad though, made sure he was doing okay. I didn’t know men showed up there and tried buying the wolves.”

I breathe heavily, racing after him and into my bedroom. “Yeah, about a week ago. He finally broke down and got microchips implanted in them because of it.”

He tosses the ball onto my naked bed, hiking his brows up in surprise. “Damn. Did he say who it was?”

Nadia’s chunky sneakers thunder down the hall, running up behind me, her little arms coming around my waist. She squeezes, resting her head on my back with noises of contentment.

I lean into her love, watching Maverick take it upon himself to start fitting the black sheet to my mattress. “No, he just said the guys that showed up were really fucking weird,” I say wearily.

He shoves the influx of animal print and fur out of his way, stretching the sheet to the other side of my bed. “Hmm,” he hums in thought. “Keep me updated with that and let me know if you want to start doing some bar training.”

I have my cosmetology license. But I ended up losing my passion for it and started writing an autobiography.

People often ask me, “What was it like being raised with the wolves?”

? So, I decided to write my story while my dad’s been graciously paying my way. Liam never helped with shit. His money went towards video games and nights out with his friends.

And his stupid fucking polo shirts and khakis.

I’m burning that shit tonight.