Her Forbidden Threeway

Reached watched in surprise as a punch was thrown instead of a clawed scratch and Scott fell to the ground instantly. It was obvious that confusion had hit them both like a tidal wave. Jackson eyed his hands, his body and looked around, obviously expecting himself to tower over their surroundings. Instead, he found himself small. The way he always felt after he returned to his human state.

Scott spotted Reade first and swiftly clambered to his feet. He moved to her while Jackson was contemplating the events that had taken place and allowing himself time to adjust. Scott’s arm had just snaked around Reade’s waist when she collapsed into the darkness, the weight of what had happened proving to be too much for her to handle.

*****

Reade stirred awake and immediately recognized the texture of leather beneath her. She ran her hand across the material; the return to reality had left her foggy and dazed. She took a moment to allow herself the freedom of growing accustomed to the new surroundings.

She could still smell smoke.

There was a coldness that swept across Reade’s forehead and she sighed in relief. It was wet, chilling and did wonders to ease away the blinding headache that was making her nauseous. Reade raised her hand and touched the wet cloth that was being applied to her head, slowly opening her eyes to meet the dim lighting.

The darkness of the space had been canceled out by a few lit candles and Reade gasped in fright as she spotted the grandmother, moping her brow above her. Her features contorted and Reade instantly went to move, but the old woman forced her shoulder down.

“Relax,” she said, this time caring and calm. It was the type of behavior that is expected from an elderly woman. “You’re safe.”

“Why are you doing this?” Reade asked, her gaze narrowed and full of skepticism and fear, despite the comfort in the old woman’s tone. “You hate me.”

The grandmother frowned and her forehead became a painting of creases and wrinkles. “I don’t hate you, I hate your kind,” she said as she shook her head.

“I have a stereotype now?” Reade asked, touching the flannel being pressured against her head. “What is this?”

“Herbs from the store,” said the grandmother. “It’ll help with the after effects.”

“The after effects from what?” Reade asked herself, though she knew that there were far more important questions that she needed to ask the grandmother. “Are Scott and Jackson okay?”

“They are,” the elderly woman responded with a slight smile. “Thanks to you and your quick thinking.”

“Thanks to the crystals I stole from my father,” Reade corrected, searching the surroundings.

There was a beaded curtain cutting them off from the store, this being a hidden room in Drakon, no doubt. She felt relieved that she wasn’t at home, or still at the field. She needed to be alone for a while. No father, no dragons, just her mind. “Where are they?”

“They’re at your house,” the woman stated flatly.

The new information caused Reade to jolt to a state of alertness and she launched upwards, causing the flannel packet of herbs to slide off of her face and slap to the floor. She swallowed loudly, obviously and instinctively reached for her phone. It was nowhere to be found.

 “They’re going through your father’s possessions,” the Grandmother spoke quietly.

“They have no right!” Reade objected, moving to stand. “That is my house! They can’t just break into it!”

This time the woman didn’t try to stop her. She washed the herbs from her hands in a small, silvery basin and shrugged nonchalantly.

“They asked me to keep you here,” she replied. “They’ll be back soon.”

“I’m not going to be kept prisoner!”

“No one is asking you to be,” the woman modified. “You have shown signs of grave power, and it didn’t come from nowhere. Your father is a part of something harmful to my grandsons, and they have every reason in the world to protect themselves. That is exactly what they are doing, child.”

“What is my father a part of?” Reade asked, though there was a part of her that wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

“Let’s just say, in this newfound world of mythology and unexplainable occurrences, there are two groups of people. One is the lamb, the other is the knife,” the woman answered, straightening out her boney fingers before her. “Your father, in this instance, is the knife.”

“My father is a widower,” Reade objected, laughing off the thought. “He likes the crusts cut off of his sandwiches, and his idea of a good time is late night television and a bowl of popcorn. You cannot expect me to believe that he, the man I have watched attend princess birthday parties, is harmful to your two grandsons who happen to shift into non-existent creatures that could put Godzilla to shame.”

With a heaving chest, Reade fell back onto the leather couch, her head in her hands.

“This is impossible.” She said.

The grandmother stood up before Reade and pursed her lips and crossed her arms.

“You need to choose what side you are on before you get any deeper, sweetheart,” she said. “You think what you’ve just seen is the worst thing to happen? This is a weekly occurrence. I’ve been cleaning blood stains out of t-shirts more than I’ve been cooking casseroles.”

Reade closed her eyes.

“My decision was already made in the field. I care about them. Both of them.”

The grandmother nodded. “Then let them protect themselves.”