Tangled

59 Ava: Homecoming (I)

When I walk downstairs, Phoenix is hanging up the phone. It strikes me how much I’ve changed when I realize I have no curiosity, no spark to ask who he was talking to.

I don’t care.

It’s either related to me in a way that isn’t going to be pleasant, or it will have nothing to do with me. That’s it. Those are the two options.

I have no urge to grow closer to the asshole who shares my genetics, so I don’t ask.

Instead, I plan.

I won’t be able to escape right away. I’m not even sure how I can escape. I have no money, no phone, no

contact with the outside world. But now that I’ve been

out there? Now that I’ve been on my own?

It doesn’t seem as impossible as it did when I lived

here.

If I just have a chance, I’ll take it.

“Some of the guys will be coming by to watch over

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59 Ava: Homecoming (1)

you,” Phoenix announces, coming by to sniff at me. “Don’t start anything. There’s plenty in the fridge, so just make something for dinner. Don’t forget that Alpha Renard is coming.”

home, now I have to make them dinner?

No, thank you.

on the worn couch, reaching for the remote. The soft fabric smells like the artificial

weight of his gaze, disapproval radiating off him in waves. He’s struggling, I can tell. Part of him wants to chew me out like the disappointment I am. The other part is trying to play nice, to lull me into a false sense of security for whatever

satisfaction of acknowledging either side. My eyes remain glued to the TV as I rapidly cycle through channels, a

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Ava: Homecoming (1)

hair and a roguish grin. The over–the–top soundtrack

same cheesy shifter romance Selene had been obsessed

judging it clinically in my head to try to stop the feelings from overwhelming my heart. Terrible acting. Melodramatic plot. Cringeworthy dialogue. A lump forms in my throat, grief threatening

1. me.

never choose her,” he growls, his voice

you go.

a bitter laugh. If only my life was as simple as worrying that my mate would want

woman.

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Homecoming (1)

the door, but my body betrays me. The scent of a familiar, nausea–inducing wolf washes over me, thick and musky with undertones of sweat and aggression. My heart pounds against my ribcage as if begging to be let

memories of his cruel hands on my body making my skin crawl. I can smell the tuna on This breath from here, courtesy of the tuna sandwich for he eats for lunch every

my least favorite smells now. I can’t even think about

rumbles, never taking his eyes off me. “If it isn’t little Ava Grey, back where

just as unsettling. I swallow hard, my mouth dry, as Phoenix turns

necessary,” he warns,

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soon for dinner. I don’t need any

then.”

widens at the threat, and he gives a lazy shrug. “Whatever you say, Phoenix.

in his jaw ticks, and I know he can smell my discomfort no

closer. “We’re just here to make sure you don’t try to run off again. Can’t have our

can we?”