The Blood of a Nightlock

Chapter Twenty

"Nice hit, Wrenny." Dad said as he registered the kick to the mitt. "You're a solid fighter already. Can't wait to see how you grow."

I beamed at him. "Maybe I'll be able to spar against you one day."

"I'm sure you'll spar against things much more dangerous than me."

I lifted my brows. "You think?"

He nodded. "I know so. You'll be lethal out there." He removed the mitts and dropped an arm across my shoulders as we headed back to the car.

"I don't want to be a cheerleader like Isla."

"Thank God." He said as I laughed. "I don't know if I can sit at football games and watch my daughter shout things into a crowd of people with a lot of pep. No one's naturally that peppy."

I laughed. "I think I might try out for basketball."

"That's what I'm talking about!" He beamed at me.

"Tryouts are next week though."

"Guess we'll have to train ya up."

"I like spending time with you." I said.

"It's the best part of my day."

"Isla said she thinks you like me more than her."

He smiled down at me. "I love you both the same. We just have some things in common that Isla and I don't."

"It's fine, Dad, you can say I'm your favorite."

He pressed a kiss to my hair. "Wren, you're special."

"How about we stop and get some ice cream?"

"I love that idea. Are you buying?"

"No." I laughed as I opened the car door.

"No? You're gonna ask me out, but not pay? That's not how that works."

I smiled at him over the car. "I love you, Dad."

"Oh, my little Wren." He said. "I love you so much."

My eyes fluttered open and I registered the unfamiliar room. I swallowed around a raw throat and moved my eyes to the pair of boots resting on the bed beside my legs. Mitchel. He had a ball cap pulled down over his eyes, his arms across his chest, and he was quiet. Fremont was on my other side, asleep on a makeshift bed of recliner chairs. I winced at the dull pain in my leg and reached over to lightly touch Mitchel's arm. He lifted his head instantly to peer at me from under the hat. He swung his legs off the bed and adjusted the hat as he did. He bent down, a hand on either side of my body as he rested his forehead against mine. I stared into his eyes before he moved and pressed his lips to mine.

"Hi," he whispered.

I lifted a hand and lightly ran it along his jawline. "Hi."

"How are you feeling?"

"Sore." I admitted quietly.

He kissed me again.

"Is my leg still there?" I asked.

He smiled against my lips. "It's there."

"How bad is it?"

"You'll have a nasty scar, but you'll be fine."