Scarlett: (GxG)

Chapter 35

Zoey

The morning sun beat down on the asphalt of the small side street. From the looks of everything I was willing to bet no one had even glanced down here since last night. That was a good thing especially because if you knew where to look you'd find evidence of what I'd done, not that I had much choice in any of it.

Standing back, I watched Scarlett crouch where I told her to and touch the side of the church. Her fingers felt along a dark stain that was closer to the ground and easily missed.

"You're not going to do what the movies do right?" I asked, rocking back on the heels of my tennis shoes. "Taste it and then nod and say it's blood, when it's quite obviously that."

It was easy to see that Scarlett found none of this funny and for once my humor did little to help at all.

Even after she'd come home late, bothered, and seeming to need my body against hers, the woman had easily switched back to the no nonsense wolf I knew she could be. All it took was me admitting to her what had happened while she was away. I didn't want to deal with her anger and at the same time lying didn't seem like an option. Someone out there wanted to do harm, and apparently chopping my head off was part of it.

"You could have died," she said in a flat tone, not looking at me.

That was the second time she'd said as much this  morning.

I pushed my glasses further up my nose and glanced out toward the road. Of course I'd left out the part where I'd turned one of the wolves into bloody pieces, but I'd told her enough.

Scarlett stood, chin raised. The way she smelled the air reminded me of Lee doing something similar last night.

"And you got rid of the bodies?"

"Mmhm... burned them."

A brow rose.

"All by yourself?"

"My brother helped me," I admitted.

She took in a deep breath, smelling the air again.

"Which one? The one that hates you or the one that tolerates you?"

I started to laugh and then realized she was serious. All it had taken was one dinner with them and she'd already pegged them for what they were.

"The one that hates me."

Hiding my face behind a paper coffee cup I took a small sip.

"Their scent is musty. Almost stale..." she muttered to herself. "You didn't notice anything specific about either of them?"

"No. I mean one wore a grungy trench coat. And he was able to partially shift his hand before I cut his fingers off."

That got the smallest half smile from her.

"Partial shifting is impressive for a rogue. Not everyone can do it."

"Can you?" I asked as she sauntered back toward me.

Today she wore a black tank top that showed off her muscled arms. With my own arms filled with black ink, I found myself often looking at her unblemished skin there. It led my gaze down to her wrist where a black skull stared ominously at me.

"Yeah."

When she came close enough I handed her back her coffee.

"You're not going out of my sight again."

I frowned up at her.

"I'm fine. I knew the dangers and when it happened I took care of it."

"Right. And you did that for a sandwich?"