Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“I can handle it,” Frankie assured him. But when she joined him, she put her sleeve to her nose, grimacing at the scents of mold, mothballs, stale air, and mildew. Her wolf curled her upper lip in distaste. “I don’t think anyone’s been up here in a while.” Rays of moonlight speared through the single window, illuminating the dust motes in the air.
“My wolf doesn’t like the tight space.”
“Neither does mine.”
Trick stepped forward but then paused as a loose floorboard almost gave beneath his feet. “Let’s not stay up here too long.”
“Works for me.” The dusty floorboards creaked as they walked, passing trunks, sheet-covered furniture, an old record player, children’s toys, and sealed, labeled boxes. The sight of the cradle in the corner tugged a smile out of her.
She stubbed her toe on something and hissed. “Motherfucker.” Looking down, she realized she’d almost knocked over a painting propped up against a large chest.
Crouching down, Trick took a good look at it. “This could be one of Christopher’s. He liked to paint landscapes.”
“Maybe this chest could have his old stuff in it, then,” mused Frankie.
“Maybe.” Trick moved the painting out of her way. “Want to do the honors yourself?”
“Yes.” Crouching beside him, she flicked open the metal hinge and shoved up the heavy lid, wincing at the loud creak. The chest shook, and dust clouded the air. She turned her face away, covering her nose. “Damn.”
“Hey, looks like you were right.”
Frankie turned back to the chest. At the top was a framed portrait of a teenage Christopher. She looked at it for a moment and then carefully placed it on the floor. She flipped through the other items—there were clothes, books, baseball cards, sports medals, and . . . “Nice.” She lifted the chain. At first the pendants looked like military dog tags. But then she realized that one of the tags was thicker than the other. “I think it’s a locket.”
“Open it.”
Using her nail, she pried it open. There was a photo on either side—one of Caroline and one of Frankie as a toddler. Swallowing hard, she closed the locket and looked at the thinner dog tag. Engraved on it was “To the best mate a woman could wish for. Happy birthday, Chris.”
When she went to return it to the chest, Trick gently shackled her wrist and said, “You should take the locket.”
Her brow creased. “But—”
“Your parents would want you to have that, just as you would if the situation were reversed. This meant something to them, just as you do. Clara said you were welcome to take something as a keepsake.”
“Yeah, but this is jewelry. It looks expensive.”
“When people come to pack Iris’s things, they’ll take all this stuff too. A lot of it will be thrown away or donated to charity. Lydia would probably see this and keep it, but she’d then give it to you anyway. No one would begrudge you taking it.”
She twisted her mouth, torn. Maybe she should ask Lydia first and—
Trick took it from her and shoved it in his pocket. “There. Now I’ve taken it. Your conscience is clear.”
Frankie softly snorted in amusement. “If I wasn’t busy, I’d make a citizen’s arrest.” She lifted one of Christopher’s shirts to her nose. Beneath the smell of stale cotton was . . . “Earthy musk, dark chocolate orange, and . . . Caroline. I remember this smell.” For some reason her eyes filled. “I didn’t remember hers as clearly as I do his. That makes no sense. I have some of her old things.”
“Yes, but those things probably belonged to her before she mated with Christopher, so her scent would be slightly different on those. You only knew your parents when their scents were intertwined,” he pointed out.
Damn, she hadn’t thought of it that way.
“If you were to find something that belonged to her after she mated with Christopher, her scent would then be as memorable to you as his is.” Trick flicked a look at the shirt. “How do you feel when you inhale his scent?”
“It makes me feel safe and happy,” she admitted in a low voice.
“Until the end, you were safe, and you were happy.”
“Some think Christopher killed himself because he didn’t want to live without her, but wouldn’t he have died from the severing of the bond anyway?”
“Right. But most believe he wasn’t thinking clearly. He was acting on pure emotion. Emotion can make you do stupid things. I always thought it was more likely that he pulled that trigger because he hated himself for what he’d done to your mother and just couldn’t live with it a moment longer—that he didn’t think he deserved to live a moment longer.”
“Maybe.” Dust tickled the back of her throat, and she coughed.
“Ready to go?”
“Yeah. I’m ready.” She returned everything to the chest, secured it shut, and then stood upright. Rubbing her hands together to shake loose the dust, she said, “I’m glad I did this.”