Trish nodded and took one of the mints Holly had in a seashell bowl. “Yeah. Pops.” She unwrapped the plastic and popped the mint in her mouth as her eyes scanned the black-and-white Eyes on Etna.
“Do you…remember any of the stories?” Holly asked. She tried to keep her tone casual but, internally, her heart was thumping in her chest. If Trish had a lead on this…if Holly’s intuition was right…maybe they were one step closer to finding a cure for Jacob’s moonlust once and for all.
But Trish just shrugged again and Holly was reminded of how young she was. Apathetic teenagers. “Not really. Just bits and pieces. You should ask Mama Mae. She’d tell you.”
“Of course.” Holly made a mental note to do just that when they got back, even though she would have preferred it to come from Trish’s mouth. Despite their age difference, Trish seemed to be the only one of the clan members Holly could really talk to. “Are you hungry?” she asked, hoping some food might jog the younger girl’s memory.
Trish perked up and nodded her head rapidly. Holly smiled. “I’ll pick up something from the cafeteria...do you want to come or stay here?”
“I’ll stay, if that’s okay,” Trish said. Despite her persistent efforts to come visit the school, now that she was actually here, Trish had turned gun-shy. All the students, the classes, the waterfall flow of pupils in and out of each room…it had to be overwhelming for her. Baby steps, Holly thought to herself. And then she thought: baby. Her hand wanted to rest on her stomach just to cup it, feel it, but she didn’t want to be too obvious, not until she’d told Jacob anyway, so she forcibly kept her arms at her sides.
“Yes, of course,” she said. “I’ll be right back, then.”
Holly left Trish in her office and walked next door to pick up something for lunch. Meanwhile, her mind was spinning. The Robin Hoyte hunter story had been a wild hunch, a complete shot in the dark, but now…
Holly could taste it. Like that well-water smell right before a rainstorm. This was the start of something big. She was onto something. Research, academic intellect—that was half the battle. But trusting her instincts would get her all the way.
She’d taken a step into the cafeteria and was immediately hit with the smell of day-old pizza and lemon-scented cleaning product. Nausea suddenly wound its way through her and clenched like a fist around her stomach. Before Holly knew it, she’d stumbled over to the nearest trashcan and hurled into it.
Ugh. A vile, grimy feeling crept up her bones, like gravel under her skin. Holly steadied herself, hands gripping the can, and spat into it, trying to collect her composure.
“Dr. Westmore? Are you okay?”
One of her students was kind enough, at least, to slow her pace and examine the older woman.
“I’ll be fine,” Holly said with a practiced smile. “Thank you.” The student left and Holly grabbed a napkin from the concessions table, wiping her mouth. It hit her then just how much she sounded like her husband. I’m fine, don’t worry about me, while something grew and lived and wreaked havoc inside of her. The difference between the two was, at the end of the day, Holly’s suffering would lead to a new life. Jacob’s would lead to death…or worse. The rest of his life trapped in the body of a bear.
And where would Holly be? Alone. Abandoned by the man she’d married for the second time in her life. Only this time, she wouldn’t be alone to take her grief out on term papers and bottles of wine. She would have to change diapers, clean up toys, and watch their child grow up all on her own.
She felt like she was going to be sick again. Pull yourself together. Holly staggered upright, took a breath, and tried to keep the contents of her stomach in order.
Holly survived the lunch line and managed to make it back to her office in one piece. In her paper bag, she carried two apples, a bagel, a muffin, and a banana, deciding that Trish had to like at least one of those things. She pushed through her office door and was surprised to see that Trish wasn’t alone. Instead, a boy in a crisp navy-blue shirt hovered behind her, his Ray-Ban sunglasses tucked into the neck of his shirt and grazing her shoulder. He murmured lowly to her and she giggled, a light, airy sound.
A chill swept through Holly. “Cayden,” she said curtly. Languidly, the cougar-shifter unwound from Trish and turned to face Holly instead. He leaned against her desk and folded his arms casually over his chest, cocky smirk planted on his face.
“Dr. Westmore,” he said. “We were just catching up…that’s not against the rules, is it?”
“Do you know each other?” Holly said, turning her attention back to Trish, abruptly ignoring Cayden. She dropped the paper bag on her desk and walked around to sit in her tall chair, resuming her position as the authority figure in the room. If she’d learned anything about animals (and she hoped she had, living on a ranch swarming with shifters), it was that they responded well to body language. She straightened her spine and lifted her chin minutely. Cayden—predictably, instinctively—cowered somewhat, hunching his tall frame down an inch. He’d—no doubt—learned to respond obediently to the presence of a Head Bitch in Charge.