Enigma

Chapter 43

The door opened seconds later.

The orphanage director looked exactly as Lillian remembered, perhaps with more lines on his face and more gray in his hair. But he still had the same narrow, mean face with slitted gray eyes and thin, his arched eyebrows and pursed lips constantly etched in a scowl.

Tall and broad-shouldered, he'd always looked as big as a mountain to Lillian. Memories of him screams, insults and beatings came to mind. It had been so long ago, yet his face still elicited the same reaction of wanting to cower in a corner.

Lillian's wolf surged forward. Thoughts assaulted her head, of how easy it would be to shift and let her wolf take him apart.

"Mr. Dawson, I presume?" Arthur said.

The old man flitted his eyes over them, then his eyes settled on Lillian and narrowed even further.

"What the hell are you doing here?" His voice still had the rasp she remembered. Lillian's shoulders tensed without conscious thought. Her body's usual reaction to his voice. Noah shifted beside her, and she felt an ember of anger coming to life in him.

Lillian forced her lips to move. "We'd like a word with you," she said, her voice steady and even.

The old man grunted. "I have nothing to say to you. Go away."

He pushed the door closed, but it was wrenched away from his grip and pulled wide open by an invisible hand. Dawson scrambled back. Arthur stepped inside, pushing the wide-eyed man in. "I think you do."

Mr. Dawson sputtered. He looked younger than his mid-fifties, tall, broad-shouldered with a belly that had gotten bigger since the last time Lillian saw him. But he was not as tall nor as wide as Arthur and Noah. They all went inside, and Lillian closed the door. Mr. Dawson took steps backwards, his eyes flickering from one man to the other.

"I don't know who you people are. But you better leave before I call the police," he said, a waver in his voice that made a sick satisfaction expand in Lillian's chest.

Mr. Dawson reached inside the pocket of his worn jeans to take out his phone. The phone left his hand and shot away to slam against the wall of the living room behind him. Dawson's gray eyes widened.

"Why don't you sit, Dawson?" Arthur said.

Dawson opened his mouth. Arthur shook his head. "That wasn't a request. Sit."

Dawson's throat bobbed, he folded his big frame in the worn black leather couch, his knee bumping against the low glass table in front of it.

Lillian glanced around. The living room was something she expected of a bachelor's pad. Bare except for the couch, the coffee table and the gray carpet underneath. A couple of generic pictures hung on the wall. A TV stood on a black stand. Bottles of beer filled the coffee table, and the smell of dust, alcohol and cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air, itching Lillian's nose.

Noah strolled through the living room, his pace leisurely. Arthur and Elle leaned against the wall. Dawson's eyes fixed on Lillian and a sneer came over his features. "I always knew you were a freak. I guess you found your kind."

"What does that mean?" Noah asked. Dawson jumped. Noah was directly behind him, the wolf pushing forward in his amber eyes.

Dawson's body was so stiff Lillian had the absurd thought that if she touched him, he would shatter. She didn't mind the thought too much.

"It means what it means," Dawson said. "Why are you here?"

"Why don't you start by answering the question," Noah said, a distinctive growl in his voice. He put a clawed hand on Dawson' shoulder.