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.”

dragged home,

No, thank you.

smells like the artificial scent of clean linen. A scent I’ve grown to despise over

frown deepening as I lazily flip through channels. I can feel the weight of his gaze, disapproval radiating off him in waves. He’s struggling, I can tell. Part of him wants to chew me

the TV as I rapidly cycle through channels, a kaleidoscope of

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Homecoming

my eye. A hunky male lead with tousled hair and a roguish grin. The over–the–top soundtrack swelling with orchestral passion as the camera pans over his

cheesy shifter romance Selene had been obsessed

the feelings from overwhelming

1. me.

smoldering with an intensity that could set the screen on fire. “I will never choose her,” he growls, his voice a deep rumble that is probably sending thousands of women across the country into a dramatic swoon. “And I

you go.

laugh. If only my life was as simple as worrying that my mate

woman.

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Ava: Homecoming

me. The scent of a familiar, nausea–inducing wolf washes over me, thick and musky

the couch. A slow, predatory smile stretches across his face as he rakes his gaze over me. I fight back a shudder, memories of his cruel

my least favorite smells now. I

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

flank him, their leering stares just as unsettling. I swallow hard, my mouth dry, as Phoenix turns to face

off her unless it’s absolutely necessary,” he warns, his tone hard. “Alpha

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soon for dinner. I don’t need any issues before

then.”

lazy shrug. “Whatever you say, Phoenix. We’ll be

back to me, and I force myself to meet it head–on, refusing to show fear. A muscle in his jaw ticks, and I know he can smell my discomfort no matter how

to make sure you don’t try to run off again. Can’t

can we?”