Page 52 of My Boyfriend Marks Trees
“But you do kill.”
“I hunt, yes, rabbits and other small creatures. It is, after all, in our nature. But we don’t go after humans unless they’re trying to harm us.”
Slightly reassuring. But still… “I can’t believe my boyfriend pees on trees.” Charlotte tried to wrap her head around the fact the man she’d touched, the man she was falling for, had a hairy side.
Grams slapped her hand on the table. “While we’re yapping, time is passing. Athena, go fetch Gramps. He’s out in the barn with the horses. We’ll meet you in the shelter.”
“On it.” Athena threw on some boots and a plaid jacket by the door before heading out.
Grams spoke gently. “This changes nothing. Ares is still the same man you fell in love with.”
“I don’t love him,” a quick retort, but not entirely true. Charlotte had been falling for him. Hard. Only to discover that, once more, she hadn’t spotted the monster inside the man.
“Don’t you lie to me, girl. You’re head over heels for him and him with you. He’s a good man. His whole family is. Do you think I’d let my grandson be with Athena if they weren’t? Just because you met one bad werewolf doesn’t mean they’re all shitheads.”
Conversation ceased as Greta appeared, holding several apples. “Found them!” she chirped.
“Fantastic. Put them on the counter. We’re going to have an adventure,” Grams stated softly. “In my special room under the house.”
“With Mama?” Greta glanced at Charlotte.
“Yes, with your mama. Shall we go check it out?”
Grams rose and held out her hand. Greta took it, and things were fine as they went down into the cellar. Remained fine until Greta realized what Grams meant by special room.
“There’s no windows,” Greta remarked, peeking inside the shelter.
“To keep us safe,” Gram murmured.
Greta glanced at the door, thick metal, with bars that would slide across to keep it shut. Her daughter’s face shifted to her stubborn look, and she shook her head. “No. No special room. Won’t go back.” Greta bolted away from the bunker and up the stairs.
“Greta, come back!” Only her child didn’t reply, and it hit Charlotte that Greta thought they’d be imprisoned again.
Grams grumbled. “We’d better go find her.”
“Sorry. I didn’t realize the bunker would trigger her memories of when her father had us captive. We spoke about it a little when we escaped, but given her age, it seemed easier to just let her forget.”
“Kids never forget anything. Like elephants they are,” Grams muttered.
They reached the kitchen. No Greta.
“I’ll search this floor; you check upstairs,” Grams suggested.
Charlotte started with the room Greta had used. Looked in the closet, under the bed, all the while calling her.
No reply. No sign of her daughter.
She checked her room next, then the one Derek and Athena shared, all the while aware they wasted time.
She’d just about given up, ready to join Grams in her search downstairs, when she peeked in the bathroom. Not many places to hide, but the shower curtain was drawn over the tub.
Charlotte crouched before pulling it back, the rings holding the plastic sheet rattling.
Greta sat huddled in the tub, hugging her knees. “Not going. No wanna be locked in a room.”
“Oh, munchkin, the bunker in the basement is different. It’s to protect us.”
“From the bad man?” Greta asked in a little voice. She’d never called Barry dad, no matter how many times he told her he was her father.