Wicked Fox (Gumiho #1)(42)

His words shouldn’t have caused the skip in her pulse. They shouldn’t have shot a thrill of pleasure through her. But they did. For the first time in her life, Miyoung’s control over her heart wavered. Or maybe she had never had control over it at all.

“You ask too many questions,” she said.

Jihoon sighed in resignation. “I’ll walk you home.”



* * *



? ? ?

It was drizzling lightly when they stepped outside.

Jihoon asked her to wait while he ran back in for an umbrella.

Miyoung debated leaving, but she waited and wasn’t quite sure why. Instead, she stood in the rain, closing her eyes as she let it fall unfettered onto her cheeks. It was cool against her skin and brought the smells of the street to her. Dirt and concrete and leaves.



“It’s nice out when it rains.” Jihoon’s halmeoni stepped out the back door, wrapping her coat around her in a tight hug. She’d tied a scarf over her hair, and it protected her from the drizzle.

“Soon it’ll be snow.” Miyoung put out her hand to catch the cold droplets.

“Big things always happen at the first snow.”

Miyoung waited for Jihoon’s halmeoni to elaborate but instead she said, “My Jihoonie, he doesn’t make friends easily.”

Miyoung glanced over, frowning in confusion. “Everyone at school really likes him.” She didn’t know why she said it. Perhaps to comfort Jihoon’s halmeoni.

“I’m glad. He’s kind and sweet, but he doesn’t trust easily. Not after his mother left.”

Miyoung held her tongue. She didn’t want to ask, but she was curious about this story.



“When Jihoon first came to live with me, he was such a quiet child. Sometimes he wouldn’t speak for days. It worried me.”

Miyoung pursed her lips to hold in a laugh of surprise. She’d never have thought the gabby Jihoon was ever quiet.

“I worry about how he lived in the first four years of his life. And I’m ashamed that I let it go on for as long as it did. I wanted to fix that for them. Him and his mother. But she needed something more. And leaving was the best she could do at the time.”

“How is a mother leaving a child a good thing?” Yena might be cold, but one thing Miyoung always knew was her mother would never abandon her.

“Just because something doesn’t seem right to most, doesn’t mean it’s not right for you. You get that, don’t you?”

Halmeoni had the same observant eyes as her grandson. It was worrisome to Miyoung.

“Jihoon thinks the best way to live is to keep everyone at a distance. He hides it well, too well. But he sees something in you. It might not seem it, but it’s a rare gift he’s giving you, his friendship.”

“I didn’t ask for it.” Miyoung felt as if gravity had increased, pushing down on her, a heavy weight she didn’t want.

“It’s not something you ask for, that’s why it’s a gift.”

Why did these two insist on believing in her? Why couldn’t they just let her be?

“I’m not worth it.” She closed her fist and the rain in her palm slipped between her fingers.

“That’s not for you to decide either.”

Was there something in Halmeoni’s look that implied she knew more than she let on?

The door behind them opened with a loud clang.

“Halmeoni, you shouldn’t be out in the rain.” Jihoon rushed forward to hold the umbrella over her, the same one Miyoung had given him in the playground. Somehow that made her fidget with discomfort.

“Don’t fret about me.” Halmeoni grinned, patting Jihoon’s cheek before stepping to the door. “Walk this girl home.” She captured Miyoung’s eyes with her own. “You stay safe.”



“What was that about?” Jihoon asked as the door closed.

“Nothing,” Miyoung lied. Heaven save her from observant humans and their nosiness.

She started down the path without waiting for Jihoon. His shoes slapped against the damp pavement as he jogged to catch up.

Jihoon stood so close his shoulder bumped hers, and Miyoung tried to scoot away.

“Don’t be a baby.” Jihoon stepped closer again.

“The umbrella is too small.”

“Which is why you should be grateful I’m sharing it,” Jihoon said.

“It’s my umbrella.”

“I thought it was a gift.” Jihoon blinked innocently, an exaggeration that made Miyoung want to laugh. So she frowned instead.

A breeze swept against the umbrella, pushing it back so the moon came into full view. The sight of it made Miyoung’s stomach clench. Her hunger was twice what it should be. A reminder that without her bead inside of her to hold the energy, she was losing strength too quickly.

She lowered her eyes to the shining asphalt.

“Does it affect you now?” Jihoon asked, and she knew he referred to the moon.

“I can always feel it.” Miyoung tried to ignore the pains running through her muscles like wild horses, a reminder that something was missing inside. She shoved her hands into her jacket, tightening her fingers around the yeowu guseul. It warmed against her palm, a small comfort in the cold. “My mother says gumiho are always women because we gain our power from the moon.”