Forged in Fire (The Forged Chronicles Book 3) (17 page)

S
he didn’t look
like a bitch. Nothing about her suggested she’d been involved with Jonovan or his death, but she had to have had something to do with him. Otherwise, why was she even at his burial? No one was even supposed to know about it. Normal people don’t show up at a stranger’s burial—especially not people who looked like her.

I wanted to forget about the way her wet black dress hugged her body. And how her damp hair fell in her face hiding one of her eyes. None of that mattered. What mattered was finding out how involved she was with Jonovan and whether he’d planned to make her his mate.

The old pickup truck didn’t fit her. It was as though she’d borrowed it from her father. Maybe she had. I wasn’t sure when she’d gotten to town, but it had to have been after I left a month before. I’d hoped my brothers would keep things under control while I was away, but as usual as soon as I left everything fell apart.

I walked into the trees and shifted, waiting for the familiar feel of my bear to take over. He was stronger and more instinctual than my human form, and he was the only chance I had of catching up with her truck now that it had already disappeared around the curve of the road. My vision tunneled as I adjusted to my second form.

I didn’t have any time to waste, so I took off through the trees that ran parallel to the worn road that led back into town.

I caught up to the old truck quickly. She was driving slower than people normally would. Either she was being especially careful because of the rain, or she wasn’t used to driving these roads.

I caught a glimpse of her through the window. She’d pulled her long brown hair back into a bun on the top of her head exposing her neck.

My bear growled, and I became even more certain of her significance and her involvement with Jonovan. An image of him touching her came to my mind, and I wasn’t sure if my bear or human side growled louder. It didn’t matter. There would be others. I didn’t have to claim her as mine even if every part of me knew I should.

She pulled into Mrs. Peterson’s long driveway, taking out a row of dark pink hollyhocks with her sharp turn. For someone who drove well under the speed limit she wasn’t cautious with her turns.

She slowed down as if to assess the damage she’d caused before continuing up the driveway and over to the gravel extension that led to the guesthouse. Mrs. Peterson had been renting out the place sporadically for years, but the girl’s presence there could only mean one thing: she wasn’t staying in town long. If she were she’d have rented a place far away from the watchful eyes of Mrs. Peterson. But it also meant something else. Mrs. Peterson would be able to tell me everything about the girl. Starting with her name.

I stayed hidden in the thick woods that ran all around the back and side of the property. She sat in her truck longer than I expected. She could have been waiting on the rain to slow, but she was already soaked. She’d seemed unperturbed by the water at the cemetery. I didn’t imagine a little bit more water would change anything. But what did I know? I was as clueless about women as the next guy.

She opened her door slowly and stepped out. She clutched a cream-colored envelope and held it against her chest as she dashed toward the front door of the small blue cottage.

I couldn’t make out any writing on the envelope, but by the way she clutched it, I could see it was important to her.

She closed the door to the house, cutting out my view. I had no clue who the girl was, but she was someone special. I’d find out who she was and get my answers. After that I’d either never let her go or pretend I didn’t want her. I already knew the latter would be almost impossible to do.

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