King Cave (Forever Evermore, #2)(10)

Jack debated silently, then he accelerated our pace only the barest bit, possibly cutting our journey by only fifteen minutes.

Lips thin, I was beginning to feel caged in. “Felix, as each hour passes, tell me.”

There was a quiet pause behind me, and then he stated efficiently, “Will do.”

“Felix?”

“Yes?”

I knew what that pause had meant. “What is your opinion on the likelihood of the Shifters becoming hostile?” I felt Ezra and Jack stiffen at my words.

Another pause. “It’s…a possibility.”

Shaking the rising tension out of my left arm, I sighed. “Send Aros back to keep an eye on them. Have him report if it becomes a problem he can’t handle.”

I heard him murmur to Aros, and then he confirmed, “Done.”

“Hostile?” Pearl asked on a whisper, her tone vexed.

Already a tiny bit irritable, I snapped, “It’s f*cking claustrophobic down here.” A bitty growl erupted; my wolf hated this something fierce. “Shifters need open space.”

“Jesus,” Jack muttered, and quickly rested his hand on top of mine on his shoulder, rubbing soothingly. He glanced back once. “Little help here.”

“I’m on it,” Ezra murmured. Because of the dome, he was unable to refocus any of his power, which could be used to sooth, directly on me. Instead, he began prattling softly, talking about summer days in California, where he had grown up. He spoke of the sun: its pounding heat. He spoke of the breeze: its harsh rustling. The rain: its damp coolness. The fog: its morning dew. The hillsides: their scenic view. The smells: their inviting hunger.

Two more hours lugged by and Ezra was still speaking unobtrusively, his voice becoming slightly hoarse, while I trembled inside his hold. I focused my will on the dome but listened to his words, his tone. I could tell that he really loved certain aspects of his home town while despising others, such as the traffic. With the following hour heaving by sluggishly, he began speaking about his parents, regaling with tales of his adolescence, such as his dad and him watching football on Sundays or how his mom would drag him and his dad away from the television on the occasional Sunday to attend church. It was obvious he adored both his parents.

Speaking for the first time in hours, I murmured quietly, “That sounds like my family, except substitute it with watching Saturday morning cartoons with Antonio, and then my mom hauling us to a park or out shopping afterward.”

Ezra chuckled gently, his voice very soft and hoarse now. “I can’t imagine Elder Farrar being led around by anyone.” He grunted. “Or watching cartoons.”

I shook my legs out as I hiked the harsh bottom of the Sound. “He and my mom got along well, so I don’t think he opposed it too much.” I rolled my shoulders. “And don’t discount cartoons. There’s some pretty violence there. He liked all the fighting ones; he found them amusing.” I know I had. “Speaking of not imagining a person being led around,” I snorted, “I’d pay good money to see your dad sitting in church.”

“He slept most of the time,” Ezra barely breathed, probably because of his mom nearby.

I nodded. “So did Antonio whenever we went.” A wheeze, half of which was my wolf growling, escaped my throat, and I murmured quickly, “Keep talking.”

He did. Even though his voice was nearly shot to hell, he spoke of his home. His room growing up. His teachers at his previous school. His combat training from the age of four with his father, which explained why he was such a fierce fighter.

“It’s lighter up ahead,” Jack stated, interrupting Ezra.

Instantly, I peered around Jack’s shoulder. He was right. Sighing heavily, my whole body shook, and I muttered, “Oh, thank God.”

With a wee bite to his tone, Ezra grumbled, “I’m sorry. Was I boring you?”

My gaze shot to his. Narrowed green lights met my wide blue ones. “No. Not at all.” I shook my head. “I didn’t mean it that way.” It probably had sounded discourteous after he had saved my ass from going insane down here. “I liked hearing all of it. Promise.”

Haughtily, he sniffed once and looked away, clearly still irritated.

Apparently I wasn’t the only one affected down here. Needing my left hand, I finally tucked my gun away in the waistband of my cargos and rested my newly freed hand against his hard stomach, feeling his muscles flexing with each step he took. My hand was still trembling, but I rubbed his stomach soothingly and rested my head against him, listening to his heart beat strongly and healthily.

It took a few minutes, but I eventually heard him sigh, and he rested his cheek on top of my head once more, mumbling, “Sorry.”

I shrugged. I knew he was. Had known for a good minute when his heart rate changed and his body increasingly relaxed against mine. It had taken him that long to say he was sorry for snapping at me, which I thought was pretty humorous. “So am I, since it did sound ill-mannered. I really did like listening to you.”

He hummed deep in his throat, his vocal cords already healed. “Well then, I’ll tell you about the third car I wrecked.”

I blinked. “Third? How many cars have you wrecked?”

“Seven,” Vivian stated loudly, sounding miffed, unable to hold her tongue. “He’s a damn menace behind the wheel. Also, and not to be forgotten, three different insurance agencies have dropped us.”