Aiden’s parents were polite enough, but she didn’t feel as if she was being welcomed as part of the family or anything; she was more of a curiosity. She felt vaguely worried. Would they change Aiden’s mind about her?
The meal was served with small talk at the picnic table. Aiden took every chance he could to touch her, brushing her fingers when he handed her a fork, wiping some crumbs from her face, nudging her with his shoulder when he made a joke. Vivian noticed that his mother looked away when he did this, as if his affection bothered her.
Vivian told the edited version of her background. Mrs. Teague was thrilled at the concept of running a country inn. She had the impression that Esmé must be very chic. “You must introduce me to your mother,” she said.
Yeah, Vivian thought.
I know you’d love to go with her to a biker bar and get into a friendly fistfight over some guy with “Suck My Crankshaft” tattooed over his heart.
“I expect you’re proud of Aiden’s poem in
The Trumpet, ” she said to change the subject.
Ashley burst out laughing.
Mr. Teague stabbed another burger from the serving plate. “I would have preferred a team picture in the yearbook.” It had the smell of an old argument.
Vivian expected some words of support from Aiden’s mother, but none came.
Aiden concentrated on his food, but his cheeks were flushed. Vivian wanted to leave and take him with her.
When they’d finished eating, Aiden helped his mother take the dishes inside. Mrs. Teague looked surprised, and Vivian knew that Aiden must be on his best behavior.
Mr. Teague glanced over at his daughter, lost again in her Walkman, before he addressed Vivian. “Um, so, what’s a gorgeous girl like you doing with my son?” he asked.
She was tempted to say
He’s great in bed, just to see Mr. Teague’s face, but she didn’t. “He’s pretty gorgeous himself.”
“He’d be better-looking if he’d cut that damn hair. I would think a girl like you would go out with someone older.” He winked at Vivian.
Like someone your age?
Vivian thought, repelled by the man’s lack of loyalty to his son. She gave him a sultry look. “Well, some older men are attractive,” she said in a purposely breathy voice, and watched him puff up like a rooster, “but I haven’t met any for a while.”
Luckily Aiden and Mrs. Teague came back before Mr. Teague figured out whether or not she’d insulted him, and Ashley removed her headphones to ask in a bored tone when dessert was coming.
“I’m gonna show Vivian my room,” Aiden said.
Ashley perked up. “Whoa-oh-oh.”
“Do you think that’s quite proper?” his mother asked.
“Gimme a break,” he mumbled. “You’re all down here, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know why you’d want to show that room to anyone,” Mr. Teague said. “But don’t be long or we’ll send the posse after you.” He laughed self-consciously.
Aiden relaxed the moment they were alone. He nuzzled and kissed her all the way up the stairs while she squirmed and tried not to giggle too loudly. She wished his family was a thousand miles away.
“I’m sorry I mentioned the poem,” she said.
He shrugged. “That’s all right.”
The woodwork in his room was painted black, and so were the radiators and the ceiling. The walls were covered with posters and hooks from which dangled such things as beads, tassels, and a fake shrunken head made from an apple. “My mom wouldn’t let me paint the walls black,” Aiden explained. “She said it would be hard enough painting over the ceiling when I finally left home, so I gave her a break.”
I’ll bet, Vivian thought, imagining the fight they must have had. “I’m painting my room, too.” She told him about the mural.
He laughed. “I guess your mom’s not too thrilled, either.”
She shook her head. “Cute,” she said, examining a plastic model of Godzilla that marched across the top of his black dresser, followed by half a dozen smaller Godzillas.
“Momzilla,” Aiden said.
Next to the Godzilla family was a mound made of plasticine topped by a crucifix. She suspected it was meant to be a grave. A tiny doll’s hand poked through the surface, like a corpse emerging.
“You’ve got a warped sense of humor, boy,” she said.
Aiden laughed with her. “My aunt Sarah gave me the cross. It’s real silver. She thinks I’m going to hell.”
“Why’s that?” Vivian asked. It seemed strange that one of his own pack would damn him like that.
“Oh, my long hair, I listen to Satanic music, and I have an unhealthy curiosity. She suggested to my mother that she burn my books.”
“No!”
“Honest.”
She walked over to have a look at those dangerous works of literature in his bookcase. Most were horror and fantasy novels, but at the end of the middle row sat
A Witches’ Bible Complete and
The Druid Tradition. An Aleister Crowley paperback lay open, facedown on the top shelf.
“You believe this stuff?” she asked.
He looked relieved that there was no sarcasm in her voice. “Well, curious really. I mean, we shouldn’t close ourselves to possibilities right?”
So he liked to be open to possibilities, huh? Was he open enough to accept the truth about her? There was a thought. Would he still care for her if he knew?
“You read Tarot?” she asked, picking up a pack of cards. It was the classic Rider-Waite deck.
“I haven’t learned yet. I’ve got something about it here, though.” He shuffled through some books.
“That’s okay,” she said. “I only wondered. My great-aunt uses that deck.” It was easier to call Persia Devereux that than to explain. A pack was like family, and all older members were aunts and uncles. “She’s very good.”
“Cool. Your aunt reads Tarot. What other neat stuff does your family do?”
More Kickass Werewolf Reads
Dive into our collection of free werewolf romance novels—where fierce Alphas, daring heroines, and heart-stopping twists await. Every story burns with forbidden desire, loyalty, and destiny. Don’t wait—here’s a world where love bites hard and nothing is stronger than the call of the mate.
Leave a Reply