Chapter 43: Weak little mate
Chapter 43
Cameron
I think I’m getting the hang of it.
The shifting, the senses, the strength—yeah, I’m managing. But it’s a strange duality. I’m glad I’m adjusting, but also... kind of uncomfortable with how natural it’s starting to feel. It’s like the longer I’m here, the more Cameron Anderson—the version of me I built, fought for, branded into my DNA—slips through my fingers.
Like I’m turning into someone else.
I glance up from where I’m stacking firewood, and there she is. Lenora. Laughing at something Ronan’s saying, her hands on her hips, her face tilted toward the sun. Her shorts are criminal. Absolutely unfair. And the worst part? She knows it. She turns, like she felt me looking, and smirks with that wolfy, all-knowing expression.
Then she goes back to talking like nothing happened.
I blink. She can’t actually read my thoughts... right?
"Such humble accommodations, boss," a voice says behind me.
She’s in one of her usual flowy skirts, bangles clinking with every movement, something vaguely incense-y trailing behind her like a warning bell. Simone always looks like she just walked out of a poetry reading or a moon ritual. I should have known she would turn out to be a witch.
"It’s not that bad," I say, a little more defensive than I meant to sound.
Okay, maybe it’s small. And maybe the pipes groan when you take a shower longer than ten minutes.