(FREE TO READ) Bad Moon

chapter 11; tea

Jaylin couldn't take in the beauty of the Sigvard manor. Not tonight.

Sadie was asleep on the couch beside him, had been for some time now. Jaylin assumed that the fright had simply knocked the energy right out of her. He himself was still alive with jitters, his fingers tapping against the porcelain glass of his mug, tips touching the heat just long enough to feel the burn. To remind himself that this wasn't a dream.

Quentin stood in the kitchen, rolling dough and boiling a pot of something that smelled sticky and sweet, like roasted marshmallows. Alex was at the sink beside him, washing the blood he'd gotten on his arms when he carried the injured white wolf out of the trunk of Quentin's luxury car. He'd taken it somewhere. Jaylin didn't know where. At the moment, he didn't care to find out. Somewhere was fine with him.

"Quentin," he heard Alex whisper. Jaylin only caught a glimpse of him through the kitchen window—the only direct passage from the den to the kitchen, without having to trek through the Sigvard's outrageously over-decorated dining room. "Muffins aren't going to make him feel any better and you're making too many."

"They're not for him." Quentin shook the flour from his hands. "They're for me."

"I get you're nervous, but try a fucking Xanax. You can't just bake this problem away."

"Alex."

"Sorry, alright? You're not the only one who's freaked out. What do you plan to do with her? How the hell are you going to keep her down there?"

"Just until cleanup comes for her. I had no option, Alex. There's more of them, there has to be. We're running out of time."

"I know that." Alexander's voice deepened. "I know that. I know. We're in over our heads. Anna—"

"She would have wanted this," Quentin said.

Alex was taking off his shirt now, a smear of blood on the chest of it. He tossed it into the sink beside Quentin, who grimaced at the back-splash.

"Does this look like a laundromat, Alex?"

"Oh, just bake your cupcakes, Martha Stewart."

Jaylin's eyes snagged on the scar that rode down Alexander's bare chest. Not precisely carved with a medical scalpel, but deep and diagonal and rough around the edges like he'd been slashed with something serrated. He yanked a fresh shirt down over it and Jaylin dragged his gaze back to the cup of tea in his lap. He tried, but it was impossible not to eavesdrop.

"Go say something."

"What am I supposed to say?"

"Anything," Alex groaned. "Show him the book."

"I'm not showing him the book."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to give him nightmares, Alex."

"But he needs to know. He needs to, Quentin. Right now."

"So what? I just introduce myself? Conveniently leave out the part about Felix? How about the part where we drugged his friend?"

Jaylin froze. He looked over to Sadie who had curled up at the edge of the couch, head rested on the arm, entirely comatose.

There was a shatter as his mug hit the ground and Jaylin made for the door, sneakers scuffing against waxed floor. Drugs. They'd drugged Sadie. But how could he get her out of this place? He'd run out into the woods or flag down a passing car once he hit the main roads. Maybe he'd just scream for help and pray someone came to his aid. What was he thinking bringing her here?